Hard Bitten

by M. K. York

  I know a pretty good defense lawyer

  Damn right you do

  I do have to work though

  See this is the shitty part. If I was there you’d be having more fun fun is really not the point

  Why wouldn’t you want fun work if you could get it?

  can’t argue with that

  I’ll let you do your Poirot thing

  He was tempted to reply to that, and he had a feeling that was what Mark had intended—Mark knew how he felt about Poirot—but he could easily lose track of the surveillance if he paid too much attention to his phone, so he reluctantly put it aside.

  He hadn’t known whether Williams was at home when he started. There was a garage, which suggested Williams wouldn’t be using street parking; with an expensive car, that only made sense. There were a few scattered lights on, which could be Williams or could be a housekeeper.

  Around midnight, though, the garage doors went up. Lukas scrambled to focus the camera on them. Williams’s car pulled out, and Lukas had an agonizing few seconds of decision-making before he started his car, leaving his headlights off until he was well off the side street.

  Since it was so late, it was easy to keep Williams in view. Lukas tried to keep as much distance as possible, although he had to hustle at stoplights. They were pointed toward the city. Lukas had the distinct feeling that Williams was headed back to the warehouse.

  And he wasn’t disappointed. He drove past the warehouse, continuing out of the line of sight, before killing his lights and swinging back to the spot he’d used the previous week.

  The light in Williams’s office was on. Lukas stared at it, wondering what could possibly be so urgent as to demand his attention at this hour. It was starting to look like a pattern—like Williams was coming back to the warehouse when he knew it would be deserted, maybe to work on a second set of books. If Greg had been handling that for him, it would make sense that he’d be at the office more often. Although he had no baseline, so he couldn’t guarantee this was new. He’d bet it was, though. Ron Williams didn’t strike him as the kind of rich man who’d be happy putting in these nighttime hours.

  That would be a question for the former Mrs. Williams, if he ever got ahold of her. Had this been a habit of his, in the past? Maybe it had been part of whatever marital discontent had led to the divorce.

  What Lukas wouldn’t give to get a look at the office—but that would be frankly illegal, and he had a feeling Mark would be horribly disappointed in him. Just the thought opened up a chasm in his stomach.

  If only Williams would crack open the blinds. Maybe he could get access to higher ground, get a better sight line in the window.

  But the blinds stayed shut. Around two, Williams left, climbing into his car and slamming the door with what looked like unnecessary force.

  Lukas followed Williams back until they were getting into Ballard, and then he peeled off and went back to his own place. No sense making himself too visible to the neighbors—someone might come for dinner and leave hours later, but they’d be unlikely to come back at that hour. And rich people were often old people, and old people seemed to suffer from insomnia at high rates, if the number of retirees who’d banged on his windows over the years was any indication.

  He crawled into bed without stopping for a shower, and gave himself the luxury of not setting an alarm. It was usually hard to sleep after surveillance work, and this night was no exception, his mind running in circles like a hamster wheel. Of course what it picked to fixate on was Mark, texting him, checking up on him.

  Not going to happen, he told his brain. He wasn’t going to give up a revenue stream for a pair of pretty eyes.

  He had to roll over again, restless. He wasn’t going to. It was a closed discussion. Even if—no. Closed.

  But in that window of lightning-edged lucidity, between profound exhaustion and sleep, he decided it couldn’t hurt to think about the possibilities. And that, too, was a mistake. He knew it was, even as he was making it, but his brain blithely reassured him.

  If he did ask Mark out—maybe after the trial, maybe that would work—if he did ask, he was pretty sure Mark would say yes. They could go somewhere, a nice dinner out, Mark liked those, with cocktails. Lukas hadn’t had an adult date like that, what, ever. And then back to Mark’s place (so much nicer than Lukas’s), and Mark would ask—he was pretty sure Mark would just ask, because Mark didn’t believe in bullshit. Mark would ask him to come in and they’d be all over each other, Mark would be like he was about everything else with sex: halfway to extravagant. Expressive. He’d—and somewhere in all of this Lukas had started jerking off, slow at first but speeding up, and he’d gotten about as far as getting Mark’s cock in his mouth before he came.

  He scrubbed his hand off on a tissue, and fell asleep with the lingering glow and the sense of having done something stupid.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lukas called Mark the next day, feeling obscurely guilty. “Hey,” he said, and Mark’s voice when he answered was so warm. It was too much.

  When he told Mark the whole story, Mark made a considering noise. “So. He’s having to step up, do some of the work himself? We think that’s the deal?”

  “It seems pretty likely.”

  “Doesn’t it seem like he’d need to be there to handle the transactions? If we think the black van was drugs, if he didn’t take charge of it personally, who did?”

  “Good question. The only real second in command I ID’d with interviews was Kupfer.”

  “Can you come up with a reason to swing back by and talk to them again?”

  “I could probably come up with something, but it would be a problem if I was doing interviews that weren’t sanctioned by your office.”

  “Shit. Well, let me talk to Lena.”

  “Okay.”

  “How are you doing?”

  Lukas leaned back against his fridge, feeling the plastic against his skin where his T-shirt was riding up. “Not bad.”

  “Your guys doing football again soon?”

  “Yeah, game tomorrow, actually.”

  “Shit, playoffs, right? Who are we playing?”

  “The Panthers.” Lukas paused. “You want to come?”

  “Hell, yeah. Best time I’ve had in ages. Plus Jen keeps needling me because she thinks I need friends.”

  “Huh, really?”

  “Yeah. I keep telling her I don’t need friends, I have work, and she starts mumbling about how that makes me a loser or something. Whatever, her girlfriend bought a punch bowl.”

  Lukas had to laugh. “Well, I can see how that would call her judgment into question.”

  “Christ, yeah, didn’t I tell you about that? At the holiday party. It was like a Stepford Wife situation, or like, aspirational bourgeoise.”

  “That is not a combination of words I expected to hear.”

  “It’s like if Martha Stewart were younger and insecure and gay.”

  “That’s a little cold.”

  “Not really. I mean, getting compared to Martha Stewart... That’s a woman who went to prison over insider trading. Cutthroat. Smart lady. Not smart enough, obviously. The smart thing is usually to not do the illegal thing.”

  “Is it true she smuggled in supplies to bake a cake?”

  “I don’t know but I choose to believe it’s true.”

  They talked a little while longer, Mark showering Lukas with gossip from the Public Defenders office, Lukas contributing where he felt like he was on solid ground, until Mark said, “Okay, so where are we meeting up for the game?”

  “Uh, it’s at Nick’s again. Consuela is great about hosting.”

  “Nice! It’s an early one, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I’ll try to get there a few minutes before the game.” Mark paused. “Thanks for letting me come. I know last time was—it wasn’t—well.”

  “I know,” said Lukas around the choking feeling. “It’s fine.”

  “Yeah, well, thank
s. See you tomorrow.”

  After they hung up, Lukas made himself a ham sandwich on autopilot. It was one thing to have suspected after the last time, and another thing entirely to have what amounted to explicit confirmation that Mark was thinking the same thing he was.

  And was, from the way it sounded, sorry about it.

  *

  “Hey,” said Lukas, as soon as Nick let him in. “Look, I forgot to tell you, but I invited Mark again.”

  “That’s awesome! He’s a funny guy, you know that? Good jokes!”

  “He’s pretty chill.”

  “Did you tell him to bring beer again?”

  “No beer!” yelled Consuela from the kitchen. “Tell him to bring bean dip, some jerk forgot to buy beans when he was shopping. Honestly, beans.”

  Nick rolled his eyes at Lukas. “She’s been a little sensitive lately because she’s getting pregnancy brain,” he said, under his breath.

  Consuela stuck her head out. “I’ve been sensitive because you forgot basic party supplies! Good to see you, Lukas.” She waved and then ducked back into the kitchen.

  It was somehow even worse than the first time. Lukas felt jittery, couldn’t calm down and sit still. He’d come early on purpose, to make sure they knew Mark was coming, and now he channeled the restlessness into helping Consuela set up.

  Mark actually showed up next. He rang the bell again, and the hairs on the back of Lukas’s neck stood on end.

  “Playoffs, baby!” Mark said, fist-bumping Nick. He was wearing that cologne again, and a too-tight zip-up hoodie. He still looked arguably heterosexual, but it seemed more like a certain level of self-conscious drag, this time.

  Lukas managed to smile at Mark, and this time they seemed to have an unspoken agreement: Lukas took the far end of the couch and Mark sank down next to him, once Nick had settled on the other end.

  Lukas felt the agonizing, simultaneous, and deeply opposed desires for Mark to sit farther away from him, and for Mark to touch him. God, it was awful. He could feel the heat of Mark’s body all along his side, and Mark seemed to fiddle with his beer bottle an excessive amount; his arm was continually brushing Lukas’s. An accident? Maybe. Lukas wasn’t inclined to believe in accidents where Mark was concerned.

  And in that light, it was verging on cruelty. He was starting to think about that, and starting to get almost angry, when he turned his head and saw Mark watching him. No one else was looking—on screen the Seahawks were losing, to everyone’s alarm and dismay—but Mark was just...looking at him, as if he was something interesting.

  Mark flashed him a rueful smile and turned his head forward, focusing on the screen.

  After that, Lukas let his leg relax a little, and he ended up with his hip and thigh pressed to Mark’s. He half heard and half felt Mark suck in a breath. It made him feel reckless, giddy again.

  After the disappointing game, Lukas helped Consuela pick up, and Mark helped too. The other guys were mostly shooting the shit in the living room, and Mark gave Consuela his best smile when she thanked him. “It’s only fair,” he said, “after you let us take over your place.”

  “It’s no trouble.” She looked flustered, smoothing her hands over her skirt. Mark had that effect on people.

  “Hey,” said Lukas, after she left the kitchen, just him and Mark rinsing bottles and dumping them into the recycling, “want to do something after this?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “You ever been to the Locks?”

  “The what?”

  “The Ballard Locks. It’s a ship canal, connects the Sound to Lake Washington. It’s kind of cool.”

  “I haven’t been. Should I?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” Lukas gave him a slow smile. It felt too big.

  Mark grinned back. He’d been rinsing the same bottle for over a minute. “I guess I’d better, then.”

  Frank hollered something indistinct in the other room, probably about the loss, and Mark twitched, eyes going back to the sink. But when Lukas left the kitchen to gather up a few more plates, he felt light-headed.

  Afterward, by tacit agreement, they didn’t mention where they were headed to anyone else—just left at the same time.

  “Do we drive? How does this work?” asked Mark.

  “Nah, we can walk there from here. It’s not bad.”

  “Easy for you to say, you did sports, you’re probably still vaguely in shape. I haven’t gone running in—oh, God, let’s not think about that.” Mark laughed, sounding pained, self-conscious.

  “You run?” They’d fallen into an easy rhythm, walking side by side, heading down the hill toward the water. It was a gray day—there wouldn’t be many people at the Locks. Which was just about right.

  Mark shrugged. “Sometimes. I’ve never been religious about it, like some people get hard-core, you know. I just try to make sure I have good shoes.”

  “I thought maybe you played football, from how you are about the games.”

  “No, if I had experience with everything I have opinions about, I’d need a life about twice as long.” Mark got a faraway look in his eyes. “I did make out with a football player under the bleachers, though.”

  “What, really? That’s so cliché.”

  “It’s a cliché for a reason!”

  “Was it the quarterback?”

  “Hah, no, tight end.”

  “Oh, that is just... I’m not even going there.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t get to either, so.”

  Lukas couldn’t help the stupid honking laugh he let out. “Jesus Christ!”

  “Let me guess,” said Mark. He wasn’t looking at Lukas; he was staring off at the buildings that lined the street, as if they were interesting. “You don’t get a lot of chances to talk about this stuff.”

  The smile fell off his face. “Yeah. Not so much.”

  “Seriously, this probably isn’t any of my business, so you can tell me to let it go, but is it the—religious family?”

  Lukas sighed. “Partly. And partly that I just don’t want to have the eighteen fucking million conversations I’d have to have.”

  “What about your friends?” Mark jammed his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Do you think they’d be weird?”

  “Honestly? No. I think they’d be fine. Frank, I don’t know, he’s kind of an asshole, but Nick and Alex would be fine.” Lukas had to add, ruefully, “I think they already suspect, actually. Alex keeps trying to talk to me about feelings.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Yeah. Right?”

  “That’s something, though.”

  “I don’t know, by now it almost feels like habit. My family wouldn’t... They wouldn’t take it as well.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lukas had to resist the urge to slouch. “What about your family?”

  “Oh, they’re fine. Mom’s always on me about settling down and having kids, she doesn’t care if they’re with a surrogate or adopted or whatever. I keep telling her I’m only twenty-six, come on, give me a fucking break!”

  Lukas found himself laughing again, without entirely meaning to. “That’s, uh, something?”

  “I mean, it’s her being supportive in the only way she knows how. So I take it in the spirit in which it’s meant.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “He was okay with it. He still gets kind of uncomfortable if I talk about it a lot, but he was fine with Dylan, when they met.”

  There was a moment’s silence. “Dylan, huh?” said Lukas. “Your guy who went to the megafirm?”

  “Should have known you’d figure it out.” Mark laughed, but without any humor in it. “Yeah. He moved in with me when I moved to the new place. Uh, he wasn’t sure whether he was going to get the firm job, but we talked about it and I knew if he got it he was moving, so it wasn’t—it didn’t come as a surprise.”

  “Sorry. That sounds hard.”

  Mark shook his head. “It’s been—what, since May? Yeah, May. It’s okay. We weren’t t
ogether for all that long. A year, maybe.”

  Lukas was briefly dazzled with that, the idea that a year wasn’t that long. “Oh.”

  “He was a good guy, but we just wanted really different lifestyles, you know? He’s all about that megafirm life, he’s excited to be in New York, and I’m—honestly, I kind of feel like Seattle is working for me.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah.”

  The air was chilly, the breeze up off the water cutting through Lukas’s coat like a knife. The conversation drifted to less loaded topics, and finally they were walking through the gardens on the way to the Locks.

  Mark was glancing around. “This is cute.”

  “Yeah, there’s—people do picnics and stuff on the hill, over the water.”

  “I can see the water from—oh, hey, cool!” They passed the last of the trees, and they could see the Locks in all their glory. Less than their usual glory, maybe, given that it was mid-January and everything was gray and chilly and none of the flowers were blooming, but the view down into the chambers was still pretty impressive. One of the locks had evidently just closed, and the water was thundering into the chasm to lift the boats to the level of the channel. Mark peered down over the edge. It was all intimately familiar to Lukas, the barnacle-covered walls, the rushing noise of the water over the stiff wind, but Mark looked interested.

  “You want to go check out the fish ladder?” Lukas nodded across the Locks. “Probably not a lot of fish right now, but it’s kind of cool.”

  “Fish ladder?”

  “You know, because we’ve blocked off—how much do you know about salmon migration?”

  “I’m from Ohio. How much do you know about cows?”

  “Touché. It’s so salmon can get back upriver and spawn, basically.”

  “And right now there aren’t salmon?”

  “It’s not really peak season for them. That would be...oh, about September through November.”

  Mark squinted at him dubiously. “And yet you want to go see the fish ladder with no fish in it.”

  “There’s educational displays!”