On the Streets of New Orleans

by Lynn Lorenz

  For a few moments, the two lay there, just breathing and relaxing. To Charlie it seemed strange, yet comfortable. Perhaps more comfortable than it should be, and that brought his brain around to how this was not what he deserved. This small moment of happiness.

  But damn, if he couldn’t get used to it.

  Chapter 13

  DEVON’S CELL phone buzzed. “Fuck.” He sighed and sat up. “I need to get that.” He found it among his clothes. “Hey.”

  Charlie listened, but he could only hear a man’s voice, not the words.

  “Tonight? You sure?” Devon ran a hand over his face. “I’ll be there.” He snapped the phone shut.

  Charlie didn’t need to be told. “I’ve got to go anyway. The shelter closes at ten.” He got up and searched for his clothes.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, man. I wish we could have more time.” Devon danced up and down getting into his jeans, then pulled on a black T-shirt.

  “Me too.” Charlie gave him a quick smile, hoping it would hide his disappointment. He understood about work, but what did Devon do that would pull him out at this time of night? He just didn’t want to ask, afraid of the answer and the argument it might start.

  Despite Devon’s promises, Charlie feared he really was involved with drugs. How deep could Charlie go without getting hurt or maybe even destroying his life? It would have been so easy for Devon to offer drugs along with the sex, and what Charlie feared most was not being able to refuse.

  That he’d lose so much control, his willpower, that he’d try it again. Just one more time. And he knew if he ever did another line of coke, he’d never find his way out of that bottomless pit.

  “What’s wrong?” Devon came over and ran his hand over Charlie’s back.

  “Nothing.” Charlie shrugged. Devon must have seen Charlie tense up around his thoughts. “Just”—he glanced up—“would’ve liked more time with you, that’s all.”

  Devon grinned. “I’ll make it up to you, babe. Swear.”

  “Looking forward to it.” Charlie smiled back, knowing he’d avoided that landmine with Devon. “Give me a ride back to the shelter?”

  “Of course.”

  They finished dressing and left. The car ride was quiet. Devon seemed preoccupied, and Charlie didn’t want to risk saying a word that might start a fight.

  Devon pulled the car up to the front of the shelter. It was almost ten, and the guys were all standing around, getting their last smokes in. Charlie gave Devon a quick nod and got out.

  “I’ll call you later.” Devon waved and drove off.

  “Hey. Y’all are going to have to clean up this mess. Last time I did this, I got robbed.” Charlie gave them a hard stare, and they all nodded. One of the men went inside, then came out with a couple of brooms and a dust pan.

  Charlie leaned against the railing of the porch and watched them work, but he couldn’t help but glance out into the night and wonder what Devon was up to and if it was legal.

  DEVON TURNED the corner and spotted Jingo slouched against the wall of the warehouse. He slowed down, then pulled the car over to the curb. Jingo flicked his cigarette away and got in without saying a word or even giving him a nod of recognition.

  “You’re sure it’s going down tonight?” Devon drove off.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Been watching the place and followed a couple of the guys. They went to lunch, and I got in line at Parkway with them. The big honcho from Mexico is stopping in tonight to check out the operation.” Jingo tapped a steady rhythm on the door with his fingers.

  “Okay. We’ll get the bastard tonight.” Devon headed down Carrolton Avenue toward City Park, turning at Beauregard Circle to drive through the park. When they reached the old tennis courts, he pulled over. They wouldn’t have much time before a cop cruiser came by, so Devon would have to make it fast.

  He got out and pulled out his cell phone. He’d just hit the number and put the phone to his ear when someone stuck something hard and cold in his ribs.

  “What the fuck?” Devon tried to turn around, but the gun just dug deeper.

  “You’re a cop. A fucking cop. Did you think you could fool me? I been smelling pigs like you all my life.” Jingo’s hatred came through loud and clear.

  Devon’s mind flashed on a hundred scenarios. All of them played out in a blink of an eye and all of them ended the same way.

  With Devon dead.

  “Look, man, I’m offering you a chance to change. Make a difference. Rebuild this city.” Devon had to keep Jingo talking. He was pretty sure his contact on the other end of the line was listening. At least he prayed he was. “If you kill me, you’ll just be another punk… another drug dealer.”

  “What’s so bad with that? I can make a lot of green with the Mexicans.”

  “The Mexicans? Man, you don’t want to get mixed up with them. Trust me.”

  “Trust you? That’s what I did, boss. Fuck trusting you. The pay sucks.” Jingo waved his hand, and the gun moved away from Devon’s back.

  Devon spun and swung, landing a hard hit to the side of Jingo’s head, but he didn’t drop the gun. So Devon ran for it, straight into the trees, deep into the park, hoping Jingo couldn’t see him.

  The report from the gun echoed in the night, and half a second later, the impact knocked Devon face-forward into the dirt and leaves. Intense pain shot up his leg and the urge to cry out bubbled up in his throat, but he knew his best chance was in keeping quiet.

  Jingo stood at the car, gun in his hand, trying to see through the darkness.

  Devon lay still, like a fawn in the bushes, knowing any movement meant death. His leg bled, warm, sticky fluid spilling from him onto the cold ground. The pain rose and retreated in tides, each time threatening him with unconsciousness.

  It would be easy to give in, close his eyes, but he’d never see Charlie again.

  Devon dragged the phone to his ear; somehow, he still clutched it. “Officer down,” he whispered. It was his only chance. “Code 108. City Park. Tennis courts. Officer down.”

  Then he relaxed, staring up through the huge branches of the oak trees to the dim stars overhead. The earth beneath him grew damp with his blood.

  The car started; he recognized it as it drove off.

  Jingo was gone.

  Devon wondered if the Mexican boss was really in town or had this all been a trap. He’d been so wrong about Jingo. When had they gotten to him? How long had he been on their payroll? How had he missed seeing Jingo’s true nature? He’d really fucked that up. Devon’s bosses would never let him live that screw-up down. If he lived.

  Devon slipped in and out of the tree limbs and stars.

  He wondered if he’d ever see Charlie again.

  He wondered why it’d taken him so long to realize he was in love with Charlie.

  SOMEONE WAS banging on the door to the shelter.

  “Fuck.” Charlie pulled on a T-shirt. He left his room and padded barefoot to the door. “This better be good.”

  He opened it to cops on the other side.

  “Whoa. What’s going on?” He’d never had cops come to the shelter before. Ever. Must be looking for someone, but for the life of him, Charlie couldn’t think of which man it could be.

  “Are you Charlie MacAfee?” The bigger cop didn’t look happy. A patrol car was parked at the curb behind the two officers. No lights. No siren.

  “Yes.” Charlie had no idea why they’d want him, but a shiver of cold ran down his spine, and it wasn’t from the temperature. He almost said, “I’ve been clean and sober for years, officer,” when the shorter cop stepped forward.

  “Do you know Devon Maxfield?” the man’s voice demanded in that way cops have—sort of like you’d broken the law, and he knew it.

  Everything inside Charlie went liquid, including his bones. “Yes. Why?”

  “There’s been a shooting.” The cops shuffled their feet and looked everywhere but at Charlie.

  “A shooting? Devon shot someone?” Charlie held onto the door.


  “No. I’m sorry. Detective Maxfield has been shot. He’s at the hospital, and he asked for you before he went into surgery.” The cop’s face twisted, as if he’d tasted something bitter.

  “Devon’s shot?” Charlie’s knees buckled, and the tall cop grabbed him before he hit the ground.

  “Whoa.”

  The other cop said, “We’re here to take you to the hospital.”

  “Okay. Let me put some clothes on.” Charlie stepped back, then turned and bolted to his room. He dressed so fast he didn’t even think about what he threw on. After writing a quick note to pin to his door explaining he’d been called away, he stuffed his feet in his sneakers and grabbed his wallet and keys. He used an old pushpin to tack the note to his door and then ran back to the front, where the cops waited for him. They looked like they wanted to be someplace else.

  “Let’s go.” He pulled the door shut after him and locked it. The men could get out by simply turning the dead bolt in the morning.

  The cops hustled him to the car and put Charlie in the backseat.

  This time, no flashbacks of the ride in the cop car the night Lloyd died played in his head. Instead there was only the fear he’d be too late. That he’d get to the hospital, and Devon would be gone.

  Fuck, he hated hospitals.

  And cop cars.

  But not cops, it seemed.

  No, he loved a cop—a detective, as a matter of fact.

  Charlie rubbed his face with his hands and leaned back, swallowing a few gulps of air to keep from throwing up.

  No way could he face another person he loved dying on him.

  Another reason he stayed away from men and relationships. This hurt too damn much.

  Charlie silently cursed Detective Devon Maxfield. Badass, huh?

  Son of a bitch was more like it.

  Why the fuck didn’t Dev tell him the truth? Why didn’t Dev trust him?

  CHARLIE FOLLOWED the tall cop inside and to the elevators. They rode up a few floors to the surgery waiting room. The doors opened, and Charlie stepped into a corridor swimming with cops.

  “Hey, Captain, this is the guy”—his guide jerked a head at him—“Charlie MacAfee.” He took Charlie by the elbow and led him toward an older man in a suit.

  The man stuck out his hand. “Captain Van Pelt.”

  Charlie shook it. “Where’s Devon? Is he all right?” His gaze searched the room, but no Devon.

  “He’s in surgery now. They’re removing the bullet.” The captain stared at him with narrowed eyes. “So you’re Devon’s partner.”

  What? Charlie blinked at the man.

  “Sorry. Isn’t that the term you use? Partner?” He seemed sincere. No mocking tone in his voice, only a sort of pity in his eyes.

  “Yes. Partner.” The only thing Charlie could think to explain this was Devon had been talking—ranting, most likely—due to the pain or shock. Or… what the hell? He had no idea, but something told him to play along, otherwise, he’d never get to see Devon.

  Seeing Devon had become a priority to Charlie.

  “How long has he been in surgery?”

  “Two hours.” The captain looked at the floor. “He was hit in the leg, and he’s lost a lot of blood. We didn’t find him for about forty-five minutes after we got the call.”

  “Where was he?” Charlie lowered his shaking body into a seat, and the captain sat next to him, talking in a hushed voice.

  “City Park. Do you know why he was there?”

  “No. Devon was very… secretive about his work. He didn’t tell me much.” It hit Charlie like a sledgehammer to the head. “He wanted to protect me.” Of course. How could he be so stupid? “Did you get the guy who shot him?”

  “We know who it was. We’re looking for him now. Don’t worry.” The captain patted Charlie’s knee. “We’ll get him, and he’ll go to trial for this.”

  Charlie just nodded.

  Around him, the other cops shot furtive glances at him. Checking him out. Checking out Devon’s boyfriend. His partner.

  Charlie sat up straighter. He’d play the part if it got him in to see Devon. He’d do just about anything to see him again. Touch him. Kiss him.

  And then he’d kill him with his own two hands for not telling him the truth.

  Chapter 14

  DEVON GROANED. Nothing hurt, but he felt like his brain was swimming in cotton.

  “Charlie?” His voice rasped and didn’t sound like it belonged to him.

  He was thirsty, his throat hurt, and he wanted Charlie. He wasn’t sure which he wanted the most.

  “Water?” he croaked.

  Someone moved to the side of him. A white plastic spoon with ice chips was brought to his mouth. He opened his parched lips to let the ice slide in.

  It felt so good. Cool and wet.

  “Devon?”

  Charlie’s voice.

  “Charlie?” Devon turned his head and looked into a very pale, very worried face. And he knew at that moment he’d be fine. He raised his hand to touch Charlie and Charlie took it, holding it with both hands, warming him.

  Charlie brought his hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’m here.”

  “How long?” Devon swallowed. “More.”

  Charlie gave him the straw again, and he sipped.

  “They took the bullet out last night. You went to recovery. Do you remember talking to me there?”

  “No.”

  “You’re in a room now. It’s almost 6:00 a.m.”

  Devon closed his eyes and it came back to him. “Jingo shot me.”

  “We know. I mean, the cops know. You managed to tell them before you passed out.”

  “My leg?” Devon wiggled his toes, and pain shot through the leg. “Shit!”

  “Here. Press this button, and it’ll give you a dose of painkiller.” Charlie pushed a plastic device into his hand. “The bullet missed your femoral artery by a mile. Wrong side of your leg, thank God.” Charlie only looked slightly relieved.

  Devon took it and pushed the button, and it beeped. He tried to press it again, but nothing happened. “More.”

  “Sorry, babe. Just one dose every fifteen minutes. Doctor’s orders.” Charlie smiled at him, but the worry lines around his eyes remained.

  “’Kay.” Whatever they gave him was kicking in. “So tired.”

  “I know. Have one more sip of water and close your eyes, babe.”

  Devon sipped, then shut his eyes, but not until he gazed at Charlie one more time.

  “Love you,” Devon whispered as the drugs took over.

  Somewhere far away he thought he heard, “Love you too.”

  Devon smiled and slept.

  THE NEXT time Devon woke, Charlie was asleep in the chair next to the bed. For a long time, he just watched him sleep. Inside, Devon’s heart filled to near bursting. He’d done it, fallen for this man. Though he knew it was crazy, he could have sworn he’d heard Charlie tell him he loved him.

  Devon smiled. The pain resurfaced, and he found the button and pressed it again.

  He gazed at Charlie in the dim light of the room’s windows until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

  “CAPTAIN?” DEVON didn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. He’d expected to see Charlie, but it only took a moment for him to school his expression.

  “Devon. Good. How are you feeling?” Van Pelt searched Devon’s face as if he’d find the answer there.

  Devon sighed. “Better. Not so groggy. The pain in my leg is a dull ache now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Where’s Charlie?” He leaned forward and looked around the room. Damn. Was that a touch of a whine in his voice?

  “He went back to the shelter to change and let them know he’d be down here for a while.”

  “Oh.” The relief raced through Devon’s body, and he sank into the bed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were gay?” Van Pelt didn’t look or sound mad, but he did sound disappointed.

  “D
oes it make a difference to you if I am?” Devon knew he’d have to face this one day. Might as well be now.

  “Not to me, but I’ll be honest with you. The other cops, your fellow detectives, it sort of took them by surprise.” He chuckled.

  “I can understand that. Do you think it’ll be a problem?” Devon wanted to know, because if he had to watch his back or not trust the cops working with him, he might have to make some changes.

  “Hey, man, this is N’awlins.” The captain shrugged. “Half the city is gay.”

  “But not half the police force.” Devon frowned.

  “Says who?” The captain smirked, then burst into laughter. “Look. Everyone seems to be fine with it. But in case they aren’t, you let me know if there’s any bashing or shit, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m serious as a heart attack, Devon. I want to know. You’re a fucking good detective, and I don’t want to lose you. Not from a bullet, and I sure as hell don’t want to lose you over some gay-bashing.”

  “I swear.” Devon nodded. “When will Charlie be back?” He exhaled, glad to have that out of his way.

  “He seems like a nice guy.” The captain sounded curious.

  “He is.”

  “How long has he been working at the shelter?”

  “You know as well as I do. I’m sure you’ve already pulled up his records.” Devon gave his boss a hard stare. “I know all about him, Captain. The death of his brother, the jail time, the probation, and now, the time he’s putting in at the shelter.” Devon waved his hand at the captain.

  Van Pelt pursed his lips. “Yeah, well, call me protective.” He shrugged. “One thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If he’s your partner, why does he live at the shelter?”

  “Because Devon hasn’t asked me to move in yet.” Charlie stood in the door, a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other.

  Devon looked into Charlie’s eyes and couldn’t stop the grin. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Charlie came in and put the coffee and book down. He took Devon’s hand and leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead.

  Heaven. Now Devon knew he’d be better. More than better.

  “Well?” Van Pelt asked, as he stood.