“To Protect and to Serve.” Darrell reminded him of the police force’s motto. Would this have been easier over a drink? He’d fucking well get one after. He waited a few seconds for his father to ask outright if he were gay. No, that would be worse, because of the ugly, reductive, shaming synonyms Chief would use for it.
“Is it that you felt unsuitable for serving in the military?” his father asked.
“What, like other people were once felt to be ‘unsuitable’?” How long could they dance around this? “You know that the US military was able to adjust, to become more inclusive, first accepting one marginalized group, and…another not that long ago. Or do you wish certain acts, one in particular, weren’t repealed?”
His father shocked him by saying, “I don’t know.”
“I do.” Darrell took a couple of steps away. “I know you couldn’t accept it. Wouldn’t. So maybe the Williams version of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, as applied to so many areas, should just stand.” With understanding of just what those areas were. So, business as usual then, with hopefully fewer attempts to fix him up with girls. As bleak and shitty as that was, Darrell could handle it. Had been handling it.
“Accept a son of mine being a faggot?” His father sounded as though someone had said the Navy was the best branch of the armed services, and the others also-rans. “Is that what you’re saying to me?”
Darrell sighed and tucked in the flap on the bag of gravel he’d been using, making sure it was neatly put away. The irony of that displacement activity wasn’t lost on him. “I’m not saying anything.” Neither of them was ready for this, so Darrell switched tracks. Deflected. “I wish I could talk with Mom,” he said, half under his breath. “If she were still here.”
“Well, she’s not.” Chief kicked at the planks of wood propped against the wall. “She left, like the quitter she is.” He was usually careful not to cram adjectives onto the label he wrapped around the neck of his absent wife and his children’s runaway mother, although they hung in the air.
The usual pause that accompanied any mention of his mother filled the space all around them. “Do you ever think stuff could have been handled differently?” That was more than they had ever said on the subject and Darrell was using it as a warm-up. “That you could have handled Mom’s problems differently? Any kind of addiction is a disease.”
“The hell?” Chief stood tall. “You think choosing to get blitzed on vodka is like having cancer? So you’re saying a woman who doesn’t have to go out to work, who lives in a decent house in a good part of the city, who has a husband who doesn’t cheat on her, doesn’t knock her around and doesn’t gamble, is sick?”
“I’m saying maybe you could have tried to find out why she needed to drink.” He expected his father to take a swing at him over that but pressed on when he didn’t. “You just listed a lot of negatives as things she didn’t have. That might be a good place to start.”
“Don’t talk out of your ass, boy,” Chief snapped. “Woulda, coulda, shoulda sounds cute—”
“Sung by pansy-asses in a pop song, yeah.” At least his father was unlikely to make him chant it in a singsong voice and snap his fingers to accompany it now that he was out of his teens.
“And real men live in reality.” Chief delivered the second line in the axiom, as he always had.
Darrell recognized there was no point to this. “Maybe it’s best we don’t have this talk.”
“Or best none of us do anything that could occasion this talk,” his father slammed back.
And he’d thought his vision of the rest of his life in relation to his family was bleak. Him avoiding any mention of whatever man he was seeing, or in a relationship with—yeah, right—while his brothers married and had kids who fought for Grandpa Jack’s approval. His brothers and father managing not to make any reference to him being stag at each and every family event. Bleak and lonely.
“I have to go. The patio’s looking good. And maybe you should set up a small swing set, where one used to be. Travis and Ashley are sure to be having kids soon.”
Because they were in a relationship. Ashley could come to all the family parties and lunches, weave her way into the fabric of the Williams family’s life, as could Leah, Ryan’s other half. But any guy he dated would be in the shadows, left out of the Brick’s Tavern get-togethers, never invited to any celebrations on the base. And who would put up with that? No one in the long-term. So it wasn’t fair to even start anything with anyone.
With Aldric. He had to pull back, keep things casual. The next time he spoke to Aldric, he’d make him understand.
* * * *
Monday laughed at Darrell’s Sunday plans.
“So, what happened was you had a dream about your late husband” He held the phone away from Randa Buckman’s hysterical shout that no, her late husband’s ghost had appeared.
“And he told you he wants his favorite puzzle box buried with him, and if not, you’re—and I quote—‘doomed to die an agonizing death’. Is that correct, Mrs. Buckman? I see.” He also saw that she wanted him, or any of the SAPD, to pass this along to the antique store for her. How long before she went over Darrell’s head on this? She must have contacts higher up in the force. She was gone before he could bid her goodbye, and he hung up.
Sean whistled at what Darrell was writing down and spun his forefinger near his temple. “The death and all the stuff that came with it sent her overboard.”
Darrell shrugged, but Sean might have a point. Crazy people did crazy things. And if his suspicions were correct about those artifacts being valuable and a certain party wanting one or more back, it made him worry more about Aldric’s safety. I want everyone safe, he told himself, but knew he was beginning to care more for Aldric than he should.
“It’s me,” he said shortly when Aldric answered the phone in the store. The guy didn’t even have a cell, in this day and age.
“Hi! How did your visit with your father go?” Aldric replied.
“Don’t ask, don’t tell. Oh, nothing,” he continued, when Aldric made a confused questioning noise. “Look, Randa called.”
He filled Aldric in on developments and his theories, wondering if he should be telling this to Elliot instead.
“Jonas has been researching the symbols left and doesn’t think they’re connected to cults or curses,” Aldric said. “And from what I’ve been studying too, it can’t be a case of the artifact being really valuable and sold by mistake. That can’t be why Randa wants it back. The puzzle boxes are nice and interesting, but there’s never been any made that are worth any money, and there’s nothing valuable in the Buckman items.”
“So what’s your explanation?”
“I don’t know.” Darrell could imagine him shrugging those round shoulders. “Some cruel joke on Randa? Maybe someone Buck bested or ruined in business getting revenge on his wife? Or someone from her life or past playing about? I have to go.”
Darrell didn’t suggest another meeting—although he wanted to—just said goodbye instead. He busied himself in work straightaway, checking up on Nick Buckman. As he’d thought, the guy was not exactly an upstanding citizen, and it was interesting that he was now back in SA after questionable business dealings out of state. From police reports, the guy was no stranger to threatening or lying to get what he wanted. Fuck.
Mateo didn’t pick up when Darrell called. Once the voicemail kicked in, Darrell left his message. “You know who this is, just as I know you saw me on Sunday. Listen, I don’t give a crap about any stupid antiques you or anyone might want, or if you or anyone are trying to piss off Randa Buckman. But don’t involve Aldric or you’ll be fucking sorry. Got that?”
The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced Nick Buckman was trying to scare his stepmother into handing him some share of the estate, and Aldric had gotten caught in the crossfire.
He managed to get a little free time that afternoon to talk to Aldric in person and let him know his thoughts.
Sean dr
opped him there and drove off, leaving Darrell on the sidewalk outside the store. One look through the window at Aldric’s pale, stricken face, and Darrell was charging inside, his hand going for his weapon, his anxious voice demanding, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Chapter Thirteen
“Aldric?” Darrell pressed. “Are you alone?”
His question took a few seconds to sink in. Aldric glanced around the store. Yes, just him, alone, no customers or staff, and standing behind the counter with his hand on Elliot’s old-fashioned landline phone. He nodded. “Jonas doesn’t work today, and Elliot’s at a client’s, discussing an acquisition that he or she wants.”
Darrell holstered his gun. “And did something happen?”
“A phone call.” Only just realizing now he was still touching the phone, Aldric dropped his hand.
“From…?”
“I don’t know. Anonymous!” Aldric shook his head, like a dog coming out of water.
“Sit down.” Darrell helped Aldric walk the few steps to the chair behind the counter and his hand on Aldric’s shoulder had Aldric bending at the knees to drop into it.
“Where can I get some water?” Darrell asked, and Aldric wondered if that was worry or irritation he heard in Darrell’s voice.
“Oh. There.” Aldric pointed to the table he now knew to be saber legged, which meant the legs flared out like curved swords. It held the tea-making equipment that he still associated with his first day here—even though Elliot made the fragrant brew twice a day, before lunch and before dinner—and also a glass jug filled with water. The glasses set out around it didn’t match it or one another. “Thank you. I’m fine.” Darrell saw him when he was overwhelmed too often, for one reason or another.
“What did the person on the phone want?” Darrell kept his voice light, as if the matter were nothing, and seemed more focused on handing Aldric a paper napkin.
“They—he, I think—said to bring Buck’s favorite Japanese puzzle box and hand it over if I value my life.” His teeth chattered as he said the last part. He felt stupid for being so upset, but the call, the rough, disguised voice, was just registering with him, as well as the words that had been spoken. He slid off his glasses and polished them with the napkin.
“Hey.” Darrell slipped behind him and rubbed his back. “It’s okay.”
Aldric twisted to see him. “It’s a prank, a cruel joke, like we said, right?”
Darrell brushed a soft kiss across his cheek. “Did it sound like a prank?”
Aldric shook his head. “N-no. It was…it was scary.”
“Do you know which box they meant? Which was his favorite?” Darrell continued in his soothing voice, and Aldric could just see him interviewing people like that, dealing with them in that reassuring way. A far cry from how he’d interacted with Aldric at their first meeting. The difference almost made Aldric snort.
“I do now. The caller described it. Hexagonal with white inlays. There are a couple of hexagonal ones, and a few have pale inlays or applique bits on, but only one box fits the description. Huh. Like those diagrams you learn in math.” He drew circles with both forefingers.
“Venn diagram.” Darrell said it as though he understood what Aldric was talking about, what he was seeing in his mind’s eye. “And take it where and when?”
“The Spanish Mission in two hours’ time.” Aldric waved a hand in the direction he thought the missions lay, in San Antonio Missions National Historical Park. “The San Jose Mission,” he added before Darrell could ask which one in that calm voice that didn’t make questions seem like an interrogation.
It occurred to him that this was probably a police matter. Well, Officer Williams was here. And, damn, Darrell looked good in his uniform. When Aldric thought about him, which was a lot, he pictured him in that, not in jeans or slacks. Aldric’s mind also dwelt on Darrell’s nightstick, and his handcuffs. He raised his eyes to Darrell’s face, seeing the tightness there and the clench to his jaw.
“You’re angry with me?” The question slipped out before Aldric could put a brake on it.
“What? No, not with you—because of what’s happened to you!” burst from Darrell. “I’m furious that call scared you, babe. And I’m angry with whoever made it. When I catch them—” He grimaced and shook his head.
Aldric passed him the glass of water, and Darrel’s well-shaped lips kicked up a little on one side before he drank. Aldric was scared, yeah, and despite his efforts, he hadn’t done a good job of hiding it. That Darrell was angry for him and concerned about him thrilled him. He took the glass back from Darrell just so he could touch his hand. When, after he’d set the glass down, Darrell caught his hand and held it, it felt as though he’d won a prize. Run a marathon. Run a race then won a medal.
“Elliot told me to close up and not be here alone,” he said, thinking of his boss’ concern.
“Oh?” Darrell’s voice sharpened, his eyes narrowing.
It must be his cop antennae twitching.
“Is he jumpy? Nervous?” Darrell prodded. “Or acting different?”
Aldric frowned, thinking. “I don’t know. No. he’s just caring. Protective, I suppose you’d call it. He’s—”
The bells tinkled, signaling that the door was opening. Darrell shoved himself in front of Aldric and placed one hand on his holstered weapon.
“Aldric?” Meredith’s voice was higher than usual and she sounded confused.
“It’s Meredith, from the restaurant over the road,” he hissed at Darrell, bobbing his head around Darrell’s body so their neighbor could see him—as difficult as that was when he’d gone rigid with nerves. He pushed to his feet then brushed against Darrell and felt the taut thrum of tension in him too.
“Is everything okay? Not more vandalism, or, God, not another attack?” she questioned, her gaze on Darrell.
“No. Officer Williams is just checking in,” Aldric answered. “Did you want something, Meredith?”
“Erm, yeah. Elliot usually gets a dinner today and the boss wanted to check on him since he hasn’t called his order in.”
“He thought he might be delayed, but he mentioned he’d be back here later, so he’ll want dinner,” Aldric guessed. Elliot ordered from Cabot’s Brasserie at least twice a week and insisted Aldric and Jonas join him as his guests if they happened to be around.
“Well, let’s hope he’s back before we close!” Meredith knocked on the wood of a cabinet near her then left.
Darrell took a few steps around the store, and Aldric studied his back view. Darrell was not an over-muscled jock, and wasn’t even particularly tall, although he was strong, his body buff. Aldric liked him the way he was. He followed him and stroked a hand down Darrell’s back. It was as toned as he remembered. Fantasized about.
“Careful.” Darrell jerked away, his gaze on the store’s glass windows.
Aldric hoped Darrell wasn’t doing what he thought he was and decided to test his suspicions. “Are we going back to the drive-in for our next date? If we wanted to go for a meal out, the restaurant across there is really good. Oh, you probably know it, as you live near here, right?”
“Aldric.” Darrell twisted over his shoulder to glance at him. “Not now.” He turned back to the door when the bells sounded, and it opened again. “Sean. Officer O’Hara.”
“Thought you were only gonna be a minute?” Darrell’s partner said. He came in, studying Darrell. “What?”
“Shut the door and turn the key.” Darrell raised his chin at it, then crossed to the window to pull the blinds down.
“What’s up?” Sean looked at Aldric. “Developments?”
“Can we talk in that office in the back?”
It wasn’t a question, not when Darrell was leading the way as he spoke. Aldric hadn’t been able to appreciate seeing Darrell as a patrol officer the night they’d met and had tried to imagine him working at the station, or out on the beat, like something from a TV show. But now, with him filling in his partner— this was how h
e’d envisioned Darrell on the job.
“A puzzle box?” Sean reared back in his chair when Darrell reached that part of the story. “Like in Hellraiser?”
“What?” Aldric didn’t understand, but saw Darrell fighting a smile.
“Movie,” he replied. “Maybe. You’ll get used to Sean, Aldric. He’s…imaginative.”
Sean’s forehead creased. “So you two are friends, now? While working on this?”
“Sean, listen.” Darrell glanced at him and swiped a hand over his mouth. “I haven’t called this in.”
Sean frowned. “Because you still think it’s a prank? On who? Both the widow and this store? Or maybe it’s revenge?”
Darrell flinched a little at that, and Aldric wondered why.
“But seems to me we’re back to robbery.” Sean scratched his red head. “Is this particular box valuable?”
“No. It’s modern, and even the older ones were common. They were used as decorative jewelry cases. Look.” Aldric reached for the guide to the trinkets he’d been studying. “They’re just carved wood, some of it in mosaic patterns. I showed you before. In the safe, when you were checking that it was secure.”
“I can’t recall.” Darrell didn’t meet his eyes. “And they’re not here now?”
“They are. Elliot hasn’t taken them to the depository yet. Do you want to see them?” He directed that at Sean, who was looking uncomfortable. Not waiting for a reply, Aldric led the way to the small, secure room next door to the office that served as the premises’ walk-in safe then keyed in the code to open it.
Inside, he took up the hexagonal box. “This one must be the one in question.” He pressed some of the pearl inlay squares.
“Don’t open it!” Sean ordered, his eyes wide and his hands out as if to brace for an explosion.
“I can’t. I don’t know all the moves. I’ve only managed to open this simple rectangular one, and that was done by pure luck,” Aldric admitted. “Lots of times, if you do make the mechanism work, you don’t know you did it, so you lock it again.”
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