by John Inman
“And what’s that?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I already knew.
One pale tear slid down the old lady’s cheek and plopped onto the little cat’s back. “I’ll forget everything about you,” she said. “I will. But you have to do something for me. Do what you came here to do to that evil man up the street. Do it for the boy he killed. But you do it for my Jim too.” Another tear fell. “Do it for my Jim,” she said again, her voice cracking this time. “When I know you’ve done what needs to be done, then you’ll know you’re safe from me. I’ll never speak of you to anyone as long as I live. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“It’s because of you that my husband is dead. With the Alzheimer’s hanging over his head, you saved him from an even worse death later, I reckon, but still you took him from me sooner than he needed to go. You have to make it right.”
“I will. I promise.”
I opened my mouth to say something else, to beg forgiveness, maybe, to tell her how sorry I was for her loss, but she didn’t give me a chance.
“Please don’t come here again,” she said almost kindly. “Even when your work is finished, don’t come here again.” Before I could respond, she stepped back and quietly closed the door in my face.
Chapter Thirteen
SEVEN DAYS passed. Days when I tried not to think about poor old Jim Cotton. Again, I stepped away from my surveillance of John Allan Davis. To clear my head. To get my thoughts in order. Except for the hours Kenny worked, he and I spent the week together. Tonight I was at his place because he wanted to cook me dinner.
Kenny’s apartment was spotless as always. Everything neatly in its place. Furniture lined up at perfect angles. His closets carefully arranged, unlike mine, which always looked as if they had been strafed with machine-gun fire.
At the moment, Kenny was bustling around the kitchen, cleaning up the dinner dishes, refusing to let me help. He wore baggy lounging pants, the fabric so thin I could see the shadow of his ass crack through the seat, which was distracting as hell. He was shirtless—in fact we both were—because it was a warm night. Kenny didn’t have the benefit of ceiling fans and air conditioning like I did. He didn’t have my dogs lying around underfoot either. They were back at the house, guarding the homestead. What he did have was an old box fan parked on a chair by the kitchen window, drawing in what cool air it could grab from outside, which wasn’t much. The roar of its motor was a constant background rumble that somehow seemed to capture Kenny and me within its bosom of sound, drawing us together even more than we already were.
It was always fascinating to me, watching Kenny do everyday chores without the benefit of sight. Washing dishes, drying them and putting them away, sealing up the leftovers from dinner and stashing them in the fridge. In Kenny’s apartment, he knew every square inch of living space, the precise location of everything he owned, and by the sound of my gentle stirrings, he told me once, he always knew exactly where I was as well.
I liked knowing he knew where I was.
With the last dish put away, he turned and leaned his back against the sink, casually crossing his ankles. The drawstring on his lounging pants was loosely tied. The pants had slipped down to where they barely clung to his lean hips. The little trail of pale hair that connected his pubic area to his belly button drew my eyes like a magnet. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to rush across the room and drop to my knees at his feet.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
I laughed. “You don’t want to know.”
A lazy smile tweaked the corners of his mouth and told me he probably already did. He brushed a hand across his lean stomach, and with his other hand, he pushed his hair back out of his eyes. His forehead was shiny with sweat from standing over the hot dishwater. The window behind him was steamed up too. In the darkness through the glass, I could see the waxy white blossoms of a yucca plant that stood against the side of the building. It was swaying gently in the night breeze. Kenny’s apartment was on the ground floor.
“Do you really have to work tonight?” he asked.
I sipped at a glass of Diet Coke. Ice tinkled when I drank. It was kind of a treat having ice for a change. Left to my own devices, I was too lazy for ice. I usually slurped Coke from the can. “Yes,” I said. “You know I do. I’ve taken enough time off.”
I studied Kenny’s face. He had homed in on the sound of my voice, and his eyes were aimed directly into mine. It was almost as if he could see me. His white cane was nowhere in sight. He didn’t need it when he was home.
His fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his lounging pants and idly ruffled through the thatch of pubic hair there. He wasn’t trying to tempt me; he simply had an itch. I could see the outline of his dick, sleeping but lovely, through the washed-out fabric. My own dick rose watching him.
“Will you come back here when you’re finished?”
“It’ll be late,” I said. “I’d better not. You have to work tomorrow.”
“I’ll sleep better if I know you’re coming. I mean coming here,” he said, his dimples flashing into view for a split second. This time he was teasing.
I chuckled lightly, loud enough for him to hear. Then I let his statement float on the air, not quite sure how to answer it. He seemed to understand and let my silence stand.
“A funny thing happened today,” he said.
I was still watching his fingers move casually under the waistband of his pants. I gathered together most of my willpower and tried not to take my cock into my fist and start pumping it for all I was worth. God, Kenny really was the sexiest man I had ever seen.
“What, baby?” I asked. “What happened?”
He thought back with a tiny smile, as if he still couldn’t quite believe what had occurred. “I was on a break. I had packed a sandwich so I wouldn’t have to come back here to the apartment for lunch. I was eating it on the bench in front of the center.”
“Where we met,” I interjected with a grin.
His smile widened. “Yes. Where we met. Are you going to let me tell this story, or would you rather get all squishy and romantic?”
“Squishy and romantic suits me,” I said. “But sorry. Please continue.” I thought about drawing an imaginary zipper across my mouth to show I’d be good, but I knew he couldn’t see it, so I let it go.
He picked up where he left off. “I heard someone approach from behind me, walking through the grass. They seemed to stop right there at my back. Inches away. I imagined whoever it was looking down at the top of my head. At first I thought it was you, but then, somehow, I knew it wasn’t.”
“Creepy,” I said.
Kenny nodded. “It was. I said something like ‘Can I help you?’ But they didn’t answer. I could hear them breathing, but still, they just stood there behind me, not saying a word. Then a moment later, a hand came down and rested on my shoulder. It startled me, so I jumped up and whirled around. My sandwich fell from my lap, my cane slid off the side of the bench, and the man—did I mention it was a man?—the man chuckled and said, ‘Jumpy.’ That’s all he said. The next thing I knew, I was all alone. The odd thing was, I didn’t hear him leave. I didn’t hear his retreating footsteps whooshing through the grass. I didn’t hear the scrape of trouser legs moving away. Nothing. I—I quickly retrieved my cane and tapped around, thinking he still must be nearby, but I couldn’t find him. He really was gone.”
I sat at the kitchen table, staring at him. A chill stirred the little hairs at the back of my neck. I studied Kenny’s face and thought I still saw a remnant of fear in his forest-green eyes. Fear at the memory. Fear at what might have happened.
I tried to find a reasonable explanation. “Maybe it was someone at the blind center playing a joke on you.”
He shook his head. “I asked. No one even knew I was outside having lunch.”
As if the memory had burrowed under his skin like a chigger, still pestering, nagging, irritating, he lifted a hand and
laid it carefully on his shoulder. I presumed it was the same shoulder the stranger had touched.
I pulled myself to my feet and crossed the kitchen floor. When Kenny and I were face-to-face, our bare bellies touching, I stopped, rested my hands on the edge of the sink at either side of him, penning him in, and gazed down at his face, as entranced as ever. He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to my chest. His hands came up to grasp my hips and hold me in place.
“Do you think someone intended to hurt you?” I softly asked.
He hesitated only for a second, then sort of laughed the question away. “No. I think someone was playing a game. Spook the blind guy. There are a lot of ignorant people out there.”
“Oh, I hadn’t heard.”
Kenny pulled his head back and opened his eyes. As so often happened, they were not quite centered on me, so I touched his cheek and edged his face a silly millimeter sideways so they would be. His expression softened at either my touch or my sarcastic answer. I wasn’t sure which.
“We’ll probably never know who it was,” he said. “And it probably doesn’t matter anyway. It was a practical joke. It had to be.”
I wondered. But there was no point scaring him. “You’re probably right,” I said. “But be careful anyway.”
He nodded. More serious now, but still not quite serious enough, I thought. “I will, boss,” he said, with a wee bit of sarcasm embroidered around the edges of his words.
A series of memories strobed through my mind. An angry eye peering out through filthy curtains. A single tear rolling down an old lady’s cheek. A handwritten note scrawled on paper that read I See You.
No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.
And yet, the chill that previously crawled around on the back of my neck like a bug had somehow wormed its way deeper and now came to rest like a fist, clenching around my heart. I didn’t like that someone was playing games with Kenny. And I didn’t like what an easy target he was. Or how the merest thought of something happening to him made me shrink up in fear. And I certainly wasn’t convinced that what had happened to Kenny on that park bench was merely a practical joke played on him by some ignorant stranger. No, as much as I hated to admit it, I did not believe that at all.
Still, I didn’t want to frighten him.
I ducked my head and pressed a kiss to his chin. “Go pack your toothbrush,” I said. “It’s too hot to stay here tonight. Let’s go to my place where the AC works and the dogs are probably missing you like crazy. Their lives are so empty, you know. I’ll get you settled, then I’ll have to go out, like I said. I’ll probably come in late tonight, but it won’t matter. I’ll bring you back to your apartment in the morning. Then I’ll walk you to the blind center.”
I didn’t add that I’d feel far safer knowing he was at my home instead of his. And even while he was back at work the next day, I intended to keep an eye on him. After all, surveillance is what I did. I might as well surveil somebody I cared about for a change.
Again, Kenny dropped his head to my chest. “You don’t have to do all that, you know.”
“What? Take you home or walk you to work?”
“Either.”
“What if I like doing it?”
He gave a shrug, but I thought he was pleased. “Then I guess it’s okay.”
I touched my lips to his ear and felt a gentle shudder rumble through him. “Any time I can get you into my bed, Kenny, I figure it’s more than okay. It’s what I live for.”
The moment I said the words, I stood startled, wondering how they must have sounded on his end.
“Is it?” he quietly asked. “Is it really what you live for?”
I saw no reason to lie. I saw no reason to hold back any longer either. Suddenly my throat was dry, and there was a tremor in my hands. I even thought my knees might be on the verge of knocking together, like I was going to pass out or something. Like I was going to black out and fall flat on my face on the kitchen floor. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care one little bit.
“Lately it is,” I whispered, brushing a hand across his chest. “Lately I’m living for nothing else but the time I spend with you.”
He didn’t answer at first. He simply gave a tiny nod and weaved a kiss through my chest hair, planting it firmly on my left pec.
It was perhaps twenty seconds later that he murmured, his lips still on my skin. “I’m living for you too, I think.”
Before I could respond, he squirmed out of my arms and moved off to pack his stuff. Minutes later we were on the road. I always liked the way Kenny rested his hand on my thigh when I drove. Tonight, he seemed pensive, filled with memories, maybe of the life he had lived before he lost his sight. Or maybe they were memories of the conversation we had started but never really finished back at his apartment.
“I miss driving,” he said now, as if purposely trying to take his mind off our half-stated declarations of love. Okay by me. I was still trying to wrap my head around everything too. “The freedom of it,” he went on. “The control, you know? Driving was one of the first things I mourned when my eyes petered out.”
“What kind of car did you own?”
“A Volkswagen bug. Lime green. When I first saw it on the car lot, I thought, wow, that’s the gayest automobile I’ve ever seen in my life. Bought it on the spot.” He sighed happily while his fingertips danced a little polka on my leg. Then his fingers stilled. “Later, it was the car that….”
I glanced his way. He was staring dead ahead, motionless. “The car that what?” I asked. Then I understood. “Oh wait. Was that the car you had the accident in?”
He nodded, but then perhaps deciding my eyes were on the road instead of on him, he cleared his throat and said, “Yeah. Somebody pulled out in front of me. I plowed right into them, of course. Didn’t have a choice. When I came to a stop, I was splayed out on my hood, wearing the windshield like a horse collar. By the time I woke up in the hospital, my sight was already going. Nerve damage, they said. Just a few days later it was gone completely. Along with the car. Along with most things I ever knew.”
I scooped his hand into mine and brought it to my lips. “I’m sorry, Kenny.”
He smiled in the darkness. “I know you are.”
Something in the rearview mirror captured my attention. A bright headlight riding alongside a dimmer one. They were on the same car. Unmistakably. And I’d been watching those lights for several miles as we wove through the neighborhoods that connected Kenny’s part of town to mine. If we had been on the freeway, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it. But here, on the residential streets, it was clear the car was matching me speed for speed, turn for turn. Shit.
I figured there were three possibilities. It might be the cops, somehow finally homing in on my little business enterprise, closing in to take me down. Or maybe it was John Allan Davis, tired of my snooping, moving in for a repeat performance of what he did to poor old Jim Cotton. Or, on a long shot, it might be my mother, tailing me to see if I was treating Kenny right. The last option I quickly ditched. Even she wasn’t that crazy. Plus she rarely drove these days. She was usually either too drunk or too stoned. The last time I had known her to drive was when she took Kenny to lunch.
On further reflection, I also seriously doubted the police would be driving around with faulty headlights. Surely it would be a little more to their benefit to keep their equipment properly maintained. Their jobs were dangerous enough without being unable to see where they were going.
Which took me back to my second choice. Davis. And that possibility was the one that frightened me the most. Not because he was following me, or because if he was following me, it meant he had my number and knew I was watching him. Even that didn’t bother me much.
What really horrified me was this—if he was following me now, it meant he had been casing me when I was at Kenny’s apartment. Which meant he knew Kenny was important to me. And he knew where Kenny lived. And if Jim Cotton’s wife was right and Davis had murdered her husband
, then what was to stop Davis from trying to do the same to Kenny if he thought it would get me off his back? And Kenny was blind. Which made him a much softer target even than poor old Jim Cotton.
Suddenly I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was Davis who’d approached Kenny on the park bench. It was Davis who laid his filthy hand on him. And the more I thought about that, the angrier I became. Suddenly my knuckles were white on the steering wheel, like I was trying to choke it to death. I wasn’t angry anymore. I was furious.
I knew immediately I wouldn’t leave Kenny alone again in his apartment unprotected. I wasn’t entirely sure how he would take the news, but I laid it on him anyway.
“You need to stay at the house for a while. Or at my mother’s. I haven’t decided which.”
I could feel him sitting over there in the dark, gaping at me like I was nuts. I knew it by the first words out of his mouth. “What are you—nuts? What brought this on? Stay with your mother?”
“Fine, then,” I said. “You can stay with me at the house.”
He considered that. “For how long?”
“Till the case I’m working is finished.”
“When will that be?”
“I don’t know.”
Kenny considered that. “You do realize I have to work.”
“Nope,” I said. “Sorry. As of this minute you’re on vacation.”
“I can’t do that.” His voice was getting higher. When Kenny’s voice got higher, it was never good news.
“Call in sick,” I said.
“I can’t do that.”
“You have to, babe.”
“Why?”
At that, I clammed up. I ran a few conversational scenarios through my head while I drove along, still staring at those mismatched headlights in my rearview mirror. I purposely avoided looking Kenny’s way, but I was pretty sure I could feel a frigid wind wafting over me from his side of the car. Kenny was pissed. And I couldn’t really blame him either.
