Deck followed her and Naim reluctantly. Gunshot wounds to the head weren’t his favorite thing ever, but he’d be there for Naim.
“Hang on,” Laura repeated to the coroner’s attendants. “He, uh, he can give us a positive ID.”
The attendants shrugged and took a step back as Naim took one forward and looked.
He’d worked the ER too many times to be fazed by the condition of the body, but it had been a very long time since he last saw someone he actually knew like this.
The shot was to his left temple, the loose contact wounds indicating that it was a point-blank shooting. A small caliber weapon had been used, but the upper left quadrant of his head had still collapsed at that close range. The rest of his face and head, however, were eerily undisturbed, and in the shadowy lights of the low police spots, he almost looked asleep.
If you ignored the part of his head that was caved in.
“He looks happy.” Naim’s voice was flat. “Like he was glad it happened.”
“Whatever he’s been up to, it got him killed, Naim. I don’t think he was glad.” Laura kept her tone even, but looked at Deck with a worried question on her face. Deck shook his head.
Naim ignored them and continued to study what remained of the boy’s face. “He wanted to hurt me. A lot. He wanted to hurt a lot of people, but he really hated me.”
Laura glanced over her shoulder, looking around at the officers on duty. She whispered, “Naim, don’t say things like that out here.”
He shrugged. “He’s dead five, maybe seven hours. I’ve been at the hospital since eleven this morning, Laura. I appreciate the concern, but I have a flawless alibi.”
Laura glanced up at Deck.
“Wha—Don’t look at me. I’ve been on a tour since six this morning. Jesus Christ, Lor.” He glared at her, then glanced back to Naim, passive and still, as he scoured the remainder of Doheany’s face for only he knew what.
Naim took a sharp breath but didn’t look away from the body. Laura bit her lip and took a few discreet steps back. She didn’t know why, but she understood that Naim needed some kind of private space with the dead boy.
“I wish he had let me tell him. That I’m not who he thought I was trying to be,” Naim mumbled to himself.
“Yes, you are, Naim.”
“No. He thought that I did this all on my own. That I was some sort of beacon of the will to escape that sucking chest wound of a life we shared. He thought I just did it, that I was somehow able to make different choices than he did. That’s why he hated me. I wish he knew that I just got lucky.” He blinked at the still face in the bag, unaware of the increasing impatience of the coroner’s assistants.
“But you—”
“No. I got lucky. Lucky. That’s it. Étienne made me leave. Every day of my life, I made the same choice over and over: I chose to stay in Marseille and stay in that life. Étienne is the one he should have hated.” He breathed a laugh at the sickness of that thought. “I didn’t do anything to get myself out. I chose that life until Étienne made it so easy for me to choose something else.”
After a long silence, Naim reached out and touched the boy’s face, and the soft smile that curved his mouth was unreadable.
“Were it not for Étienne, this would have been me.”
Deck shuddered and tried to fight the bile in his throat, wondering how true that was.
Two weeks after Play-Doh’s murder, there was still no suspect and it looked like there never would be. There was a rumor coming out of the DA’s office about Wes Rizel having a hand in it, but Rizel had charmed his way through questioning and had an air-tight alibi. He was a dead end.
Naim and Deck both knew what would happen even though they didn’t discuss it. Nothing. Nothing would happen, and the case would go cold. Laura privately told Deck that pretty much every cop in town knew Rizel was behind the murder, and the DA wasn’t being particularly subtle about the fact that the deal Doheany made had been about Rizel. But with no Doheany, there was no testimony, and no one could prove anything. And Deck didn’t want to fuel Naim’s distance any more. It was growing too much as it was. He’d been thoughtful, quiet, and hard to reach since the murder. Deck hated how he always compared himself to Play-Doh, but now he was even more worried that Naim would start to see himself through the lens of Rizel. Secure, successful, and not the kind of man you would find down the Bottom. But still scum at heart. Gutter trash.
Sometimes Deck wondered what good Frannie did Naim, if any.
It was a particularly warm evening when Naim didn’t come home from work. He’d been near silent the day before, and by six o’clock he still wasn’t responding to texts, and calls went straight to voice mail. When Deck found him, he was going to kick his ass.
Deck drove around the Bottom, starting at the hospital, then winding his way through the streets from there. In the back of his mind, he knew Naim wouldn’t be gone long, that he wouldn’t purposefully terrify Deck this way. But he couldn’t just sit at home and wait. He finally found him at a run-down playground just off Fourteenth Street and kicked himself for not figuring that’s where Naim would eventually go.
Fourteenth Street was the block in town where you could find anything you wanted.
Anything.
Why Naim was here today was anyone’s guess, but Deck hated it at the same time he wasn’t surprised. He sat in the car and breathed for a while to calm himself before going to talk to him. Naim could do what he needed to do to deal with things, but he couldn’t shut Deck out, and he couldn’t drown himself in his past.
He approached Naim’s back as he swung gently from a broken-down swing set at the end of the playground.
Naim must have sensed him, but how he knew it was Deck, Deck had no clue.
“I’m sorry. I think I lost track of time.”
“Yeah. You did.”
“I’m sorry,” Naim repeated in a whisper, genuine and sad.
Deck went to speak, to say something angry and light into him a little bit, but Naim spoke first. “His birthday was today.” He looked at his swinging feet.
Deck frowned as he leaned on the post of the swing set. Whose? Oh. He closed his eyes and breathed. Fuck.
But then Deck got angry again, because of all people, Naim knew he understood. Naim should have told him it was Étienne’s birthday. He should have told Deck that was on his mind on top of everything else. “Naim—”
“You were right. I can’t stop thinking about it, and I think you were right.” The words rushed out of Naim in an almost curious tone. “If nothing else, if I were as much like Play-Doh as I think I am, he never would have thought me worth his time. He never would have sent me away to do something better.”
Deck stood still and blinked hard, not sure if he could breathe properly. After a very long time, he found his voice. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
Naim sighed, and Deck could tell that he was trying to feel ashamed but didn’t. “Who the fuck ever bothered with Doheany?”
Deck moved to the swing next to Naim and squished himself into it, then thought for a while.
Because he, of all people, understood.
“I think you might have been right too.” He turned to look at Naim, dark and beautiful, the slight movement of the air around them shifting wisps of his hair. Deck thought about the visceral reaction he always had when people tried to tell him that Adam’s death wasn’t his fault. How he’d quit counseling the day his therapist suggested that maybe it wasn’t.
It wasn’t about wallowing or feeling sorry for yourself. But fuck if it didn’t just shit him off when someone tried to tell him that what he felt was wrong. “You did make choices,” he told Naim. “I think you’re too hard on yourself because you forget that you didn’t fucking have a lot of choices to make. But you did make them.”
Naim nodded and took a deep breath as he stared at the ground.
“And neither one of us knows what would have happened if Étienne hadn’t gotten you out of there
.” That was as much as he could concede, and in that moment he understood that Naim needed to hear it. “I… Life makes us capable of all kinds of shit. Shit maybe we never thought we’d do until the right or wrong circumstances come along. I think that you were born a good man at heart. I know you were. But I also want to believe that you always would have been. But, yeah. I know that maybe I just don’t want to think about what that life could have turned you into.”
Naim nodded again and looked to Deck, his face grieving, and his lip trembling slightly. “Étienne was a good man. And he was never anything else, no matter what they did to him.”
Deck took a deep breath, hoping Naim would take that thought to its right conclusion.
“Play-Doh never wanted to leave this way of life. He never wanted better or different. I kept thinking we were alike, but I don’t know that any more than you know the man I would have become in Marseille.” He reached out and took Deck’s hand, slightly awkward across the chains of the swings.
“The guys that were killed or disappeared when I was a kid, they may have been hurt at one time, as kids or something, but that world is where they wanted to be important. I never did. You heard about kids aging out and promoting into runners or dealers or procurers of talent.” He sneered the last words, allowing himself, for just a moment, to remember what his primary role in that life had been.
“Some say Émile worked the streets when he was a kid. Just a rumor but either way he was always a criminal. I never wanted that. My ambitions never exceeded scoring my next high and dying without too much pain. I refused to think about aging out. Figured I’d be dead by then anyway. That just seemed to be the path I was on, and I had no desire to try to change that.
“Doheany did. But in this life. I hated the real people too, just like him. But I hated them because I knew I’d never be one of them. Just like that first day in the hospital with you.”
Deck looked at his feet and felt oddly guilty for having flirted with Naim that day. He’d wanted nothing more than for Naim to smile at him. Notice him back. And he had, but in a terrible way that hurt his soul.
“Play-Doh hated people like us because he thought we believe we’re better than him. My hate was different. I didn’t hate anyone as much as I hated myself for not being real. Better.” Naim looked up at the rising full moon. “I don’t think he actually had a conscience. Sometimes abuse or neglect creates sociopaths—truly disaffected people. This whole time it’s bothered me because I thought we were the same. But I was wrong. I would have died by my own hand or something completely out of my control. But, Doheany wanted to be something more. Something better, and that’s what got him murdered. He knew what he was doing.” He was quiet for a minute. “I never tried to be something better than what I was. Not really.”
“Naim—” This was what hurt Deck the most. That Naim still thought that he wasn’t the same as other people. That he was what they’d taught him he was. Not real.
“I’m getting better, Deck. I am.” Naim turned and looked at him. He took a minute to stare at Deck’s open, loving face and appreciate that this open, loving man wanted him. Loved him. “I think I’ve been an asshole about this.”
Deck couldn’t help laughing, and Naim smiled back, although both of their eyes were still sad and wary.
“I have to be getting better, don’t I?” Naim shrugged. “I have you. And Jen and Eli and Marie, Laura, and even the guys at the house to an extent. Good people who like me and care about me. Even back then, I had someone good.” He squeezed Deck’s hand. “That has to mean something.”
Deck sighed and looked back up at the moon with him, ignoring the shouts and conversations starting up on the street around them as Fourteenth Street’s nighttime businesses got underway. “I’m pretty sure it means everything.”
They just listened for a few minutes, silently understanding that they would have to leave soon. That was okay. Naim wanted to leave.
After a little while Deck let go of his hand. “Naim?”
“Hm?”
Deck smacked him in the head. “You’re kind of an asshole.”
“I know, cupcake.” Naim straightened his ponytail.
Chapter Nineteen
“Who knew a ceiling fan could be so complicated.” Naim planted his hands on his hips and admired the strip of skin exposed between Deck’s T-shirt and jeans as he stretched on the ladder.
“Shut up, Naim.” Deck grunted, dropping another screw. “Fuck.”
Naim chuckled and bent to pick up the screw. “I think I have some forceps around here somewhere.” He handed the screw up to Deck. His expression was not kind. “Want me to look?”
“Shut up, Naim.”
Naim shut up for a few minutes as Deck wrestled with the fan. It tugged his shoulder and chest enough to hurt just a little too much when he held it up to get the screws into the ceiling, but he wasn’t about to tell Naim that. He’d make Deck stop and call fucking Keller or Bosko or someone. Or worse, try to do it himself and end up electrocuted.
Stubborn asshole.
“You’re moving a little stiff there, Sparky. You sure you got it?” Naim cocked his head.
“Naim. I hate you, Naim.” Deck growled at the fan. It was one tiny little spark. Just connected two wires wrong, is all. He wasn’t even touching it when it went off. Naim would have freaked out about that if he had. Deck knew what he was doing. He and the guys did this for a living when they weren’t putting out fires, and it’s not like he didn’t know how to handle electrical fires anyway. Wiseass.
Naim laughed again but grabbed on to the ladder when it wobbled more than he was comfortable with. “Okay, cupcake, seriously. Let me help with something. You’re starting to make me a little nervous.”
“I got it, love.” Deck grunted again, finally managing two opposing screws into the ceiling so that he didn’t have to hold the fucking thing up anymore.
Naim sighed. “I should get a new ladder. I don’t like this ladder.” He held onto it harder. “Let’s go back to the hardware store when you’re done and get a new ladder, okay? If you need to fix something else, I don’t want you using this piece of shit.”
“Ladder’s fine, love.” Deck stretched a little more and wiggled the fan to make sure the wires in the light fixture were snug. “Turn the switch on for me?”
“On? While you’re still up there?” Naim looked suspicious and tried not to worry.
Deck noticed that he was doing that more the past few weeks. Since Play-Doh’s murder and the talk they’d had at the playground, Naim seemed to truly let go of the idea that he was some sort of dormant, loathsome parasite, just waiting for the right event to wake him from his made-up role as a good man with a good heart. He was more comfortable in his own skin.
But he was also worrying more.
He seemed hyperaware of everyone he cared for, not just Deck, and Deck grew concerned over Naim’s apparent need to control the safety and well-being of his loved ones. Deck knew it wasn’t just about the murder. No one wanted any of them dead. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that the only person Naim had ever loved before had died. And Naim would always feel that he could have prevented it. Just as he would always feel that he chose to become what he was in Marseille.
Now he was determined to make different, better choices. Choices that no one would suffer from. Choices that would keep everyone he loved safe and happy. That was impossible, and Deck knew and understood all of it, but he wouldn’t say anything to Naim. He had to work through it on his own. Well, not on his own. Deck would always be there, right beside him or, if he needed, behind him where he could catch Naim if he fell. But Deck knew he couldn’t force Naim to see and understand things that he wasn’t ready to deal with yet.
Besides, he had his own ghosts. Who was he to judge or lecture Naim about the things that caused him to weep and mourn silently in his sleep?
So, he would install a ceiling fan in their bedroom, let Naim fret over the ladder, and grin when he again felt
Naim’s breath on the thin trail of hair between his navel and his jeans where his T-shirt rode up.
“If you kiss me there right now, then I will fall. Go hit that light switch, baby doll.” He twisted in another screw and wondered who would jump whom first once he got done with this. Given his body’s reaction to the breath still on his belly, he was betting on himself, but Naim seemed to be enjoying the view an awful lot. And he could be fast, the little bastard.
“Okay, but are you almost done?” Naim tore himself from Deck’s belly and crotch area and his death grip on the ladder and went to the switch on the wall. “Let go of the fan blades. Are you almost done?” he repeated.
Deck sighed patiently, let go of the fixture, and Naim hit the switch. “Yup, just need to tighten it up.” He poked at it and gave it another wiggle, and Naim growled from the wall by the door, annoyed that Deck was touching a moving fan. Never mind that it wasn’t spinning quite as fast as a clock yet.
But the light flicked on and the blades were moving. That’s all they needed to know. “Okay, turn it off.” Deck spoke and reached back up with his screwdriver to tighten the fixture flush to the ceiling.
Naim moved back to hold the ladder and looked up at Deck again. He was so tall he only needed to be three rungs up, and Naim admired that beautiful patch of skin again. He smiled. “You almost done?” he asked for the third time, glad they were already in the bedroom. He eyeballed the distance from the ladder to the bed.
“Just a little bit more, love. We’re almost there.” Deck grinned at the ceiling.
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Loose Id Titles by Lillian T. MacGowan
Smoke and Mirrors
Lillian T. MacGowan
You can usually find Lily MacGowan reading, knitting herself into the sofa, or writing. Lily has been a carpenter, a circus aerialist, a Sunset Strip club kid, and a corporate mogul, but she gave all that up to teach middle school on the East Coast and is happier than ever. Lily’s hobbies include food, household renovations, and avoiding laundry. She’s a huge fan of comfy jammies and happily ever after.
Smoke and Mirrors Page 36
