Dirty Games

by Barbara Elsborg

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve got a bet with someone I can beat them and you know how much I like to lose.”

  By the time Linton left the hospital, Dirk had a place reserved at The Moors, a rehab centre in North Yorkshire with highly qualified staff, specialising in individualised treatment. Linton made sure Dirk heard him pay for three months up front, non-refundable, though Dirk didn’t know how much it was costing. The place looked as though it was in the middle of nowhere and Linton hoped that would help Dirk to stay put, assuming he didn’t tire of what looked like a five star hotel.

  There was a large swimming pool, hot tub, tennis courts, gym and cinema room, even a nine hole golf course, and the meals sounded better than Linton ate. The hospital were planning to discharge Dirk tomorrow so Linton was glad he’d left clothes for him. Tomorrow morning, he’d pick Dirk up and drive him straight to Yorkshire.

  He’d almost reached The White Peacock when a call came through on his old phone from Owen. Linton’s heart sank before he answered. He hoped Owen hadn’t changed his mind. He couldn’t disappoint Dirk now and although he thought he could probably convince The Moors to refund Max’s money, he was desperate that Dirk keep moving forward now he’d agreed he needed help.

  “Hi, Owen. What’s up?”

  “Don’t let him fuck you,” he blurted and gave a muffled sob.

  “I thought you wanted him to fall for me? I’m not sure that’s going to happen if we don’t fuck.” Oh God, I hadn’t even thought about that.

  Owen groaned. “Then don’t fall in love with him. Promise.”

  Linton swallowed hard. “Hardly likely. I don’t believe in it, remember?” He and Owen had had plenty of discussions about it when they were at school and university.

  “Promise!” Owen half-yelled.

  “Fine. I’m not going to fall in fucking love with a bisexual guy. Isn’t that why you picked me?”

  Linton cut off the call and went into the pub. He bought a Corona and sat in the same place he had the day before. Don’t think about Pascal. But the thought led him straight down that particular path. Linton was still hurting. At least he could look forward to an extra five weeks without bumping into him in the office. Pascal worked in both London and Paris and there was no way Linton could avoid him forever though he wished he could.

  He’d never trust a bi guy again. He’d said that to Max when he’d been called into his office to get yelled at about his relationship with Pascal. Pain had made Linton open his mouth when he’d have been wiser to keep it shut. He’d allowed Max to see his vulnerability and one chink in Linton’s armour was all Max needed.

  Although Linton was on time, he had to wait thirty minutes before Budak showed up with his two guys. Luckily he was able to activate the app before he put the phone in his pocket.

  “I wonder if you here with cops,” Budak said.

  Christ. “Why would I do that? I prefer my head attached to my body.” Linton curled his toes in his shoes. This guy scared him. The app suddenly seemed a bad idea.

  Budak laughed and sat down.

  Linton started to reach for his messenger bag then changed his mind. “I’m going to put my hand in my bag, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Linton pulled out the envelope and pushed it across the table. Budak put it straight into his inside pocket.

  “You’re not going to count it?”

  “I don’t think you stupid enough to cheat me.” He turned to the guy behind him and made a gesture with his hand. The guy left the pub.

  “So you’re done with Dirk, and with me?” Linton asked.

  “Debt repaid. That’s good.”

  Linton would have liked it in writing, even though he had it recorded, but thought it wise not to ask. He spotted Budak’s guy coming back into the pub carrying a bag and a battered guitar case.

  “Your brother’s,” Budak said.

  Linton’s brain linked up things he didn’t want linking. Dirk hadn’t been certain who attacked him. He’d thought Budak had given him time to pay, but this guy’s idea of time to pay wasn’t the same as Dirk’s. Even though Linton had been fairly sure Budak was responsible, now he knew for certain, he suddenly seethed with fury.

  “You had my brother beaten up. You injected him with an overdose of heroin. Had him raped?” A muscle in Linton’s cheek began to twitch. “He almost died. How would you have got your money then?”

  Budak smiled and patted Linton on the cheek. Linton jerked away before he was pinched.

  “Dirk a very stupid brother and you a very good brother.” Budak smiled at him. “He needed lesson. Make sure you never do.”

  “Did you have to inject him with heroin?” Linton blurted.

  “Thought he’d like it. Makes life better.”

  Thank you for that admission, you bastard. Budak walked out and left Linton with Dirk’s guitar and bag. Linton checked both. The guitar to see it wasn’t damaged and the bag to make sure neither Dirk nor Budak had left something inside Linton didn’t want to find, or for the police to find because he didn’t trust Budak as far as he could spit. But the guitar was fine. A basic electro-acoustic because Dirk had sold the previous two. The bag was stuffed with Dirk’s clothes and shoes but no dope. Everything smelled of smoke and needed washing.

  This time on the way back to his flat, he listened to what he’d recorded, wondering if he’d ever need to use it, then switched to an app for a chess game, picturing the moves in his head. He carried on with that as he laundered, then ironed Dirk’s things. He ironed his own pile too, allowing himself a brief smile when he registered he didn’t have to wear a work shirt for five weeks if he didn’t want to, and finally he packed a suitcase for his brother including some of his own clothes to supplement Dirk’s. Linton’s jeans would fit if Dirk wore a belt. The T-shirts and sweaters would be baggy until Dirk regained the weight he’d lost.

  When the door buzzer went off just after six, Linton was about to head out to the chess club. He checked the camera and his heart sank when he saw Dirk. What the fuck?

  “Can you come down and pay the cabbie?” Dirk asked.

  Linton ground his teeth, picked up his keys and wallet and went downstairs.

  After the taxi had gone, Linton led Dirk back into the building. He kept telling himself to stay calm, not shout.

  When they reached the door of his flat, Linton could contain himself no longer. “You were getting out tomorrow. What are you doing here?”

  “I’d forgotten I’d promised I’d do something for a friend.”

  Linton ushered him into the flat. “What did you promise? You’re not in a fit state to do anything.”

  “Said I’d play at an open mic at The Room in Borough.”

  Linton groaned. “You can barely stand upright let alone play. And have you forgotten you don’t have a guitar anymore?”

  But even as Linton said that he knew the guitar was just behind him in the hallway next to the case he’d packed.

  Dirk spotted it. “Is that mine?” He bent down. “It is mine. How did you get it?”

  “From Budak. It looks okay.”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.” Dirk’s shoulders slumped. “So it was him who had me beaten up.”

  Linton wasn’t convinced by that performance. He suspected Dirk had known from the moment the guys jumped him.

  “Come and sit down. How did you persuade the hospital to let you out?”

  Dirk stopped on the threshold of the lounge. “Sorry it was such a mess when you came home.”

  “It’s sorted. Do you want a drink? Tea? Coffee? Something to eat?”

  “Cup of tea would be good.”

  Linton made them both a drink and sat next to Dirk.

  “Did you just walk out?” Linton asked.

  “I signed myself out.”

  Christ. “Did they give you any medication?”

  “Nothing to give me. There’s no physical symptoms for withdrawal from cocaine addiction that require medicine. It’s my head I ne
ed fixing. I’m just going to be tired, depressed and anxious. A moody sod.”

  “Like you normally are then?”

  Dirk huffed. “Thanks a lot.”

  “You can get through this. I know you can.” Please don’t fuck up.

  “The doctor came and talked to me. Warned me. I can’t drink alcohol, even if I think it’s something I can control. I’m not an alcoholic but the only way to get through this is by not touching anything that might be addictive.”

  “You can still wank though, right?”

  Dirk laughed. “Assuming I feel like it.”

  “Christ, have you ever not felt like it?”

  “No. I still hold the world record I believe.”

  “So why have you left the hospital? What do you need to do?”

  “I just wanted to be with you tonight.”

  Linton’s heart ached for a moment until he remembered Dirk’s comment about the open mic in Borough. “Be with me or help your pal?”

  “I want to do both. I want you to come with me. I only need to be there for thirty minutes—tops, then we come back here. Kit, the guy who’s going to sing, has had a hard time. He was chucked out by his mother when he was thirteen. He’s lived on the streets for five years. He helped me when I was down. I want to help him now.”

  “I don’t think we should go out.” Linton didn’t want Dirk anywhere near temptation. Didn’t want a friend persuading him he didn’t need help, that all he needed was to get high. “We should stay here. I’ll order pizza. We can watch a film, one of the horror ones you like, get an early start in the morning.”

  “That sounds great but I don’t want to let Kit down.” Dirk chewed his lip. “I won’t let you down. I won’t even have a drink or a cigarette. I won’t try and score. I promise.”

  “You won’t mind being handcuffed to me then?”

  “Go ahead. You’ll have to take them off when I’m on stage or come on with me.”

  “I was joking.”

  “Do it if you like.”

  One side of his brain was yelling at him to order pizza and sleep in front of the door so Dirk couldn’t get out without waking him. The other half was trying to convince him to allow his brother this last night. It was good that Dirk didn’t want to let down his friend and showing Dirk he could trust him, even if he didn’t, would make his brother happy.

  The chess club could wait. Linton had mixed feelings about that approach anyway. He might not even get to play River and how was he supposed to persuade the guy to invite him back to his place when his level of autism might mean he didn’t make those sorts of gestures? And if Linton failed at that, when he did manage to link up with Thorne, wasn’t River going to be suspicious that he’d seen him at the chess club? If not suspicious, if he even mentioned it to Thorne, the game would be up.

  “Okay. We’ll go. Taxi there and back. You’re not up to anything else.”

  “Thank you.” Dirk flung his arms around him and hugged him.

  Please don’t let me down.

  Chapter Eight

  “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Thorne said with a groan. “When can we leave?”

  “Shut up.” Josh pushed a beer into his hand. “Not only did I promise to cheer on my mate but I also promised to bring someone with me. I couldn’t persuade River to give up his chess club so you’ll have to do.” He waved at a couple of guys and a woman who’d just walked in and the group picked their way over to where Thorne and Josh were sitting.

  “I’ll have to do?” Thorne mock-glared. “How to make a guy feel loved.”

  “The reason places hold open mics is to see who can bring in the most people. The more drinks they sell the better and they might even offer Andy a spot if he’s good and can fill the joint. I reckon most of Blue Watch are here.”

  Thorne perked up. “So I can leave?”

  “No. You’re an added bonus. You’ve already been recognised so people will stick around in case they get to rub up against you.” Josh laughed. “You know how much you like people rubbing up against you.”

  “Oh fuck off.”

  Thorne had tried not to make eye contact with anyone but he’d already had two requests for selfies.

  The trio Josh had waved at reached their table and were introduced as fire-fighter colleagues. The smaller one was Rich, the bigger bald guy, Stan, and the woman was called Denny. Stan sat next to Thorne and Thorne felt the immediate press of the guy’s leg. Did he give off some fucking vibe that made people think he liked to be constantly hit on? Denny sat on Thorne’s other side looking at him as if he was something delicious she wanted to eat but knew would be bad for her. Good. Don’t touch. Stan’s arm brushed Thorne’s and sent him straight into awkward mode. He turned to Denny and gave her a brilliant smile. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Even in the dim light Thorne knew she was blushing.

  Stan bent to put his mouth close to Thorne’s ear. “I saw Changing.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You were brilliant.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t get the ending though.”

  “You didn’t find it obvious?”

  The guy had big muscles, a lot of tattoos. Thorne liked or didn’t like muscles depending on whether he wanted to fuck or be fucked. He’d already pegged Stan as too keen, plus Thorne was behaving himself after what had happened with Mason. No more random hook ups.

  Josh put a tray of beers on the table. “Andy’s up next.”

  He sat down opposite Thorne and turned to face the stage. A guy in his late thirties with short, silver grey hair stepped onto the stage to a big roar from the crowd. Josh put his fingers in his mouth, let out a long piercing whistle and Thorne winced.

  “Christ, you’ll have every dog in the neighbourhood heading in your direction,” he said in Josh’s ear.

  The guy plugged in his guitar and faced the noisy crowd. “Hi everyone. My name’s Andy. I’m a fireman and I’m single.”

  The place erupted in clapping and banging.

  “Single with three kids,” Stan muttered.

  “Got a couple of my mates in tonight,” Andy said. “And if there are any unattached ladies looking for luuurve, remember it’s our job to go into hot places and not to pull out until everything’s dripping wet.”

  Thorne groaned.

  The guy had a good voice, but his first song was one Thorne didn’t recognise, which he thought was a mistake. When you needed an audience on your side, the best way to do that was to give them something they knew. Andy grew in confidence as the song progressed and so did Stan, who’d slid his hand onto Thorne’s leg under the table and was inching his fingers toward Thorne’s crotch. Thorne shifted away and tipped his chair back, balancing it on two legs. Stan couldn’t touch him now without being seen. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the guy was a colleague and friend of Josh’s, Thorne would have told him to fuck off and die.

  As the song finished, all the firemen yelled their approval and Josh leapt to his feet. When River dropped into the seat Josh had vacated, Thorne was so shocked his chair went all the way over and he crashed to the floor. Stan laughed and reached to help him up. Thorne brushed his hand away, his face burning with embarrassment.

  “River. You came. Thanks.” Josh grabbed another chair and pushed one of the bottles of beer he’d bought in River’s direction.

  As Andy started the next song, another slow one—mistake—Thorne stared at his brother. He was astounded he’d come into the pub, let alone entered on his own. River sat very still and tense as he watched the man on the stage. Thorne didn’t try to talk to him. He suspected River was barely keeping himself together. Loud noise, a big crowd, accidental brushes against people and a strange environment—a lot for him to cope with.

  As the second song ended, River leaned to speak to Thorne. “I need the bathroom.”

  “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

  Going to public bathrooms freaked River out. Thorne cleared a way through the packed roo
m to the corridor at the far end so River could pass without being touched. While he was in the Gents, Thorne took a leak as well.

  “You all right?” Thorne asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you come here from the chess club?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did—?”

  “Yes. Both matches.”

  “Josh really appreciates you making the effort.” Me too.

  “I don’t like the music.”

  “Don’t tell anyone that.”

  “Why not?”

  Thorne sighed. “We’ve had this conversation before. In these sorts of situations, if you’re not going to say something positive, don’t say anything.”

  They washed their hands and headed back out. A young guy who looked as though he should have been tucked up in bed with his mummy reading him a story was climbing onto the stage. His eyes were wide and his hands shaking. Thorne had planned to leave after Andy’s slot, but now he had River in a pub, which didn’t happen often, he decided to stay. River waited with him at the bar while Thorne bought another round of drinks before they returned to the table.

  The crowd was loud as the young guy at the mic introduced himself. When Thorne turned, he saw there were two of them on the stage. The nervy first guy had been joined by a slender guitar player with untidy dark hair and a banged up face. He looked vaguely familiar.

  The singer’s voice was thin and reedy. The guitarist kept giving him encouraging looks, but the applause was muted at the end of the first song. As the second song began, the singer suddenly bolted off the stage with his hand over his mouth. The guitarist faltered for a moment but continued the Coldplay song and took over the vocals. He had a better voice than the one who’d run. Thorne was still puzzling where he’d seen him.

  “Give him a chance,” a man yelled and people quietened a little but not enough for the singer to be heard properly.

  A couple of moments later, a guy in a black T-shirt and grey jeans jumped onto the stage and stood in front of the abandoned mic. Thorne’s heart gave a jolt. These two had to be brothers. The same untidy dark hair and big soulful eyes. Were they wearing eyeliner? Now there were two of them singing, strongly and in harmony, those watching stopped chattering and began to listen. Thorne was impressed by the way the newcomer won over the audience. The guitarist hadn’t been smiling, but now he did, a tentative grin and the one singing grinned back at him. A full-blooded, devastatingly beautiful smile. One that made Thorne’s stomach lurch in a way it hadn’t for some time.