by Andrea Speed
“The lion. It usually doesn’t bother to distinguish between friend and foe. There’s just prey and not prey in the moment. Try to be in the latter category.”
Chai felt overwhelmed by this, even though he was aware it was coming. He was so glad for the Valium. “But it’s you, right?”
Roan grimaced and looked away. “It is and it isn’t. I can’t explain it. It’s me, and it’s not me.”
Chai told himself to be cool with this, but come on. Not even the Valium was enough to make this okay. “What?”
“I know. I feel the same way.” Roan shrugged and put the keys in the ignition. “Imagine living with it.”
Chai couldn’t. He honestly couldn’t imagine living with any of it. His imagination failed at this point. He wanted to blame it on the hangover, but E’s hangover cure had worked like a charm. This was weirder than Holden had ever said.
When they arrived at the Jungle—or near it, really, since it didn’t have parking and they had to stop a block over—Roan pulled a small bottle out of his pocket and offered it to Chai. “What is it?”
“Peppermint essence,” Roan said, tipping the bottle on his fingertip and smearing a bit under his nose. His head shot back, like he’d been punched, and his eyes and expression scrunched up like he had a bad ice-cream headache. After a moment, it passed, but his eyes watered. “It whites out my sense of smell for a bit. You might find it helpful too.”
Chai shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m good.”
Roan raised an eyebrow at that and capped the bottle. “You’ve never been to the Jungle, have you?”
“No. Why?”
Roan slipped the bottle back into his pocket and patted it. “Let me know when you change your mind.”
They walked a block, and the wind shifted, and it was like they were walking into a dump. It was a relentlessly human smell of garbage and shit and so many other things Chai didn’t want to think about. No wonder Roan had assaulted his own senses before this ever got the chance. “Holy fuck, gimme the bottle,” Chai said. Roan handed it over without comment.
He did as Roan had and wiped a smear of it under his nose, but it didn’t help that much. It just added a predominant, heavy mint smell to the garbage. Maybe being able to shut down your sense of smell was another thing Roan had on all of them.
The Jungle wasn’t really what he expected, although Chai liked to think he didn’t have preconceptions. It was a barren space beneath the freeway, sprawling toward a tree-infested area where you could occasionally see tarps and tents in the greenery. A few types that definitely fit the bill of homeless looking—or hipster; the line was very fine—gave them hard stares, but most of them seemed to change their minds after looking at Roan for a few seconds. So he wasn’t crazy? Roan kind of gave off a dangerous vibe? It was hard to explain. He was hardly physically intimidating, like Grey. It was simply one of those inexplicable things. Roan had a lot of those. Maybe he was on some internet list of cryptids—Roan: Unknown all the way down the category. Unknown, unknowable, but still able to fuck you up.
After a few moments, a man appeared from a makeshift tent at the border between the end of the bridge overhang and the greenbelt. His skin had a yellowish tone, more jaundiced than anything else, and his hair was a scraggly, opaque rat’s nest, more an absence of color than any color at all. But his eyes were hard gray, as if he’d seen everything three times by now, and nothing your punk ass could bring to his table would bother him at all. “Hey, you’re that cat guy, aren’t ya?”
Roan nodded. “I am. What of it?” Roan’s voice didn’t change, his posture didn’t change, but there was a crackle in the air, a static charge of testosterone. The guy looked flinty as shit, but it would be a miracle if he could stand up to one second of Roan.
The man looked away, licking his lips with a pale pink tongue. Holy shit, Sam Elliott’s gone-to-seed stunt double had just acquiesced. “You know Fox, right?”
“I do. You see what happened yesterday?”
Chai was aware they had watchers and listeners, and if they wanted to attack he and Roan were technically far outnumbered. But Chai stopped feeling nervous when he realized they would never have enough numbers to take Roan down. Holden was a sword, blunt and heavy, while Roan was a killbot with chainsaws for hands. Your best was never going to be good enough. And Valium was a hell of a drug. Why didn’t more people use it?
“A little,” the guy said, with a twitch of his head toward his collarbone. Chai couldn’t tell if that was involuntary or not. “There was a lot of screaming. Blue called the cops, I think. I mean, we thought it was Fox getting killed, but he wasn’t the one doing all the screaming.”
“I bet not. Spread the word if anyone has any cell phone footage of the fight to get it to me or to Officer Murphy at the SPD. It’ll probably save Holden from a charge if it appears like it was self-defense.”
The man nodded, and Chai saw a muscle jump in his cheek. Involuntary. He glanced toward Roan but never quite at him, as if he couldn’t bear to look at him straight on. “I really thought he was gonna fight his way out of that. They were droppin’ like flies.”
“Foxes are predators. People forget that.” What? What did that mean? “Did you recognize any of the men?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t think so. If they were ever here, they ain’t been here for a while.” The man reached into the baggy pocket of his jeans, which had seen better years. He pulled out something that Chai didn’t recognize at first. “Fox left this behind. Figured he’d want it back.”
It was only when Roan reached out to take it that Chai recognized it: Holden’s butterfly knife. It looked like it had blood on it. “Thanks, I’ll give it back to him. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
Wasn’t that evidence? Shouldn’t the cops have confiscated that? It was from a crime scene! Roan must have known that, but he didn’t say anything. “How has the cop presence down here been? Worse than usual?”
The man rolled his eyes. “Been super bad. It’s like they’re trying to start some shit every few days.”
“Except for the drugs? Those have been moving, right?”
The guy shrugged. “I dunno. They keep bustin’ people for ’em, but it always seems like they’re around anyway.”
“Same cops?”
The man shrugged once more and involuntarily twitched again. Either he was coming off something, jonesing for something, or had some kind of nerve or muscle disorder. God, to be sick and be out here… life was a fucking cruel joke, wasn’t it? At least if you weren’t born rich. If you were born rich, it must have been like swooping through loopy tunnels of Astroglide every goddamn day. Again, Valium was a surprisingly powerful drug. “Cops is cops. They’re all the same to me.”
“Fair enough. If they or some others come asking if I was here, tell them everything. Tell them I was, and I was questioning everyone.”
The man raised one of his barely visible eyebrows. “Want me to make shit up?”
“No, low-key it. Make it seem like information you don’t feel good letting out.”
The man smiled, revealing teeth the same shade as his skin. “You’re up to somethin’.”
“I’m always up to something,” Roan conceded. He turned around, and the half dozen or so people around them seemed to all shrink and retract as one. Chai almost laughed, even though it wasn’t funny at all.
Everyone here knew exactly what Roan was. There was no equivocation, no denying the reality of it, because the world didn’t work that way. This was a harsher world than the people constantly buzzing on the freeway overhead would ever know. Yeah, a lot of them were mentally ill and probably blew up what Roan was in their own minds, but they didn’t deny it for a convenient reality. They couldn’t. Life or death could hinge on knowing what Roan was and how to deal with him. It shouldn’t have been a shock for Chai since he had been homeless too, although admittedly not for too long. People like Holden and these people all around him had probably been homeless for much l
onger. Chai never thought of himself as lucky, especially after the accident, but right now he did. He was lucky, much luckier than everyone here. And that included Roan.
Roan went on to talk to two more people, but no one was quite as helpful or forthcoming as the first guy. Chai belatedly wondered if he was a spokesman of sorts. By the time they walked back to the car, Chai was starting to feel the Valium wearing off, and his stump was starting to hurt. Chai didn’t want to sigh in relief when he sat down, but he did and decided not to be ashamed of it. Without a word, Roan offered him his open bottle of painkillers, but Chai declined with a shake of his head. It would probably only make him tired. “So tell me, do you have any idea how Holden fought six guys and did so much damage to them? Have I known Superman this whole time and never realized it?”
“No. Holden simply remained disciplined. He played to his strengths.”
“What do you mean?”
Roan pocketed his pill bottle. “Ever been in a fight?”
“No.”
“They’re chaotic, messy things, especially when more than one person is trying to put the hurt on you. Holden stayed focused as long as he could and targeted weak points on each assailant: eyes, nose, groin, knees, elbows, ankles. Rather than lashing out, he tried to make every hit count. It almost worked. He should get a medal for sticking to the script, ’cause that’s hard in a dog pile.”
Chai almost didn’t want to ask this, but he felt duty bound to do so. “You’ve been in fights with multiple people?”
Roan nodded. “Yeah. It’s not fun. Although I have a different worry if I get involved in them now.”
“What’s that?”
“When the lion comes out. And what it does to those stupid sons of bitches.”
The answer seemed obvious, but Chai still wondered. “Is the lion afraid of anything?”
“No. It just gets mad.”
Could he have said anything more creepy and scary? Chai was pretty sure that was the peak.
They decided to return to the hospital, since it was visiting hours, and Roan went off to visit Kevin, giving him time alone with Holden. Well, relatively. Scott was still there, and considering how rough he looked, Chai wondered if he had stayed there all night. There were rules about that, but he bet a handsome, charming athlete could find a way around it. As it was, Grey showed up and took him for some coffee, leaving Chai alone with Holden.
Chai found himself trying to imagine what it was like being attacked by six strangers and trying to keep your focus on specific targets. He couldn’t. But wasn’t Holden always beyond him? The way he could read people, size them up, and conform to their wants before they even articulated them. He wished he had half that ability. Chai started talking to Holden, even though he seemed to be out cold.
He wasn’t even sure what he was saying. He was simply talking, and he was glad to be off his feet. Well, foot. He winced and rubbed his knee, although that was just habit now. He remembered his month in the hospital, Paul being there, all strong jawed and dewy eyed, promising they’d get through this, which was true until it wasn’t. At the time, he thought his mother’s attempted visits were the worst thing, but it was Paul being a martyr and a fucking liar that was the worst in retrospect. His mother was annoying and deluded, but in her usual way. Maybe that was letting her off easy. He couldn’t forget that she’d chosen her latest husband over her son, and he didn’t think she ever really felt bad about it either. But his dad once said things between him and her were “complicated”—as in, they never actually loved each other. Liked each other once, for a bit, but by the time he was born it all kind of went out the window. Which somehow led to his dad moving overseas and starting a new, better family, and his mother battling alcohol, then embracing religion with the fervor of another addiction. Which led to his disagreeable stepdad and the disaster of the rest of his life. Although maybe it wasn’t such a disaster. Would he have found sex work without all that? Would he have found such good friends in the strangest places? Would he have somehow slid into detective work? It was terrible times that led him to here and now, so maybe that wasn’t so bad.
“What the fuck are you on about, Chai?” Holden mumbled.
It shocked him, as he’d genuinely had no idea he could wake Holden up. He was probably thinking this was like him after the crash, where he spent four days drifting in and out of consciousness, more out than in. Time unraveled in small, forgettable chunks, like scraps from a cutting room floor. “Holy shit! Dude, you’re awake. I didn’t realize.”
Holden looked at him from the hospital bed. His right eye was almost completely swollen shut, showing barely a glimmer between purplish-black bruises. Chai had no idea if he could genuinely see through it or not. “Yeah. I woke up earlier, and Scott was hovering around me. Did you really have to call my ex?”
“Are you kidding me? You’re aware he’s still crazy about you, right?”
“That doesn’t make it any easier. Although at least he’s still hot as hell. Got that going for him.” Holden coughed, and his voice sounded desiccated, so Chai levered himself up from his chair and got him some water. One thing he did remember from his hospital stay was feeling like he never got enough to drink.
Holden sat up carefully and groaned when he lifted his right arm and saw his entire hand was in a cast. “This is gonna be a bitch getting used to,” he said. He then grimaced. “Which was an insensitive ass thing to say to a guy who lost his leg. Sorry.”
“You’re mildly concussed. I’ll let it go.” Chai wondered if he should help him with the cup but figured Holden would rather not be coddled and simply gave it to him. Holden gave him a nod of thanks and seemed to have little trouble handling it. “Are you hungry? I could run out and get you something decent.”
Holden shook his head and winced. Chai couldn’t even guess what hurt him. Everything, probably. “Scott brought me breakfast. As I said, he’s been hovering.” Holden gulped down the water, and instead of telling him to not guzzle it, Chai kept his mouth shut and sat back down.
Once Holden had drained the glass, Chai told him, “By the way, I called Roan. He’s here.”
Holden raised an eyebrow. Normally he couldn’t do that well, but bruises and fresh scabs kept his other eyebrow immobile. “Really? Did you figure that would be my next move?”
“Wouldn’t it?”
Holden nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. So, did he solve the case before getting out of the car, or just after?”
“Just after. I had your phone, and he used it to call Big Mike and threaten him if he didn’t cough up information on the people moving drugs in the Jungle.”
Holden chuckled, although his bottom lip was swollen and had a tear, so he didn’t smile so much as grimace. “Did he threaten him by promising to show up?”
“Do I need to tell this story at all?” Chai asked with exaggerated crossness.
Holden remained where he was but tried to sort out his pillows into something comfortable. Chai had no idea if he succeeded. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
He sighed, feigning being put upon, but Chai didn’t actually feel that way. He was kind of envious that their partnership was so ingrained they knew each other’s moves. It was probably Holden’s idea of a perfect marriage: non-legally binding and they lived in different countries.
“The end result of it all is Roan thinks it’s bad cops, running seized drugs through the Jungle in an effort to make some cash. At the moment, we don’t have any actual proof of that—”
“Doesn’t matter. Roan’s hunches have a weird way of playing out. And it makes sense. Cops don’t make much, and if they have the drugs, they don’t even need to pay a supplier. It’s pure profit all the way down. Got any names?”
“No. But we were down at the Jungle earlier, and Roan talked to some people and encouraged them to say he’d been talking to them.”
Holden nodded. “It’s hard to believe that anyone still tries him, but people—men especially—are so fucking stupid. No matter the rumors, no matter
the YouTube footage, most macho straight fucks think, I can take him. Pansy cat guy ain’t that tough.” He snorted derisively. “Should be on all their tombstones. Along with I Was Stupider Than a Doorstop.”
“You really think they’re gonna take the bait?”
“I know they are, the stupid assholes. Sorry I won’t be there to watch.”
For whatever it was worth, Chai imagined he was right. There was a certain kind of straight man who couldn’t believe they’d lose to a gay man at anything. It didn’t matter what, where, or why, but it was doubly true if it involved physical activities of some sort. Like only the manliest of men could do it. E used to call it “testosterone blindness,” and he was undoubtedly right. But with all the evidence that Roan was better than human and they’d be lucky to leave any violent encounter with him breathing and in one piece, how could anyone make that decision? And cops too! They had to have a gossip grapevine in the precinct. You’d think they’d know better than anyone that Roan was absolutely the last person you wanted to try.
But he couldn’t shake a sense of doom. After all, what move had these cops made that was at all smart? The first mistake was murdering Burn, and from then on, it had all been downhill, a snowball becoming a boulder of bad decisions. It proved that wearing a blue uniform didn’t make you any smarter than the average criminal, and wasn’t that depressing? You’d hope cops would learn some stuff beforehand.
Holden was wearing one of those hospital paper gowns and was buried under blankets and sheets. But any time Chai caught a glimpse of his uncovered skin, it was discolored by bruises, scratches, or both. He might have fucked up those guys royally, but he was still jumped and beaten by six men. He was still hurt. “They give you any good painkillers?” Chai wondered.
That got another amused snort out of Holden. “I wish. No, they don’t give painkillers out anymore. I should probably ask Roan for some of his.”
“You know, if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
Holden looked at him like he didn’t know what he was yammering about. “I am talking to you.”
