by Andrea Speed
“No, I was with his twin brother, Sloane.”
“Twin brother?” His surprise was both obvious and strange.
“You didn’t know he had a brother?”
“I did, but… he never told me he was his twin.”
Wasn’t that curious? Perhaps he didn’t want to spawn the same ménage à trois thoughts I had when I first met Sloane. “You’ve never seen his Facebook page?”
His pale blue orbs gave me a thirty-yard stare. “I’m not on Facebook.”
“Huh.” Well, that was becoming the new hipster thing, to shun social networks.
Tyler’s shivering was plainly visible now, so he pointed toward his bathroom door and asked, “Can I go get dressed?”
Like he needed my permission? That showed how cowed he was by the cops. I nodded and waved my hand like a benevolent king, and he went to the bathroom to put some clothes on. I caught a glimpse of skin before he closed the door, but it was probably his back. “Why were you so afraid of Sander showing up? He get violent on you?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard through the door. I probably didn’t need to, but better safe than sorry.
“No, it’s not that, it’s just… it wasn’t a good breakup.”
I grunted a half-interested acknowledgment and got up, looking around for his computer. It was just a desktop model, a couple of years out of date, but it was on. The monitor was powered down, but that was easy enough to turn on again. “That doesn’t explain why you were terrified.”
“I wasn’t terrified. I was just… surprised.”
A search through his browser history revealed a site called echocityboyz.com, and I figured it for porn. I was close, as it was a rent-boy site, and the browser address went right to Tyler’s page, where he was depicted shirtless and in skintight white boxer briefs. Here his name was “Chase,” though, and he was a versatile who would give a massage for an extra charge. I’d been wondering how he made the money for the furniture—now I knew.
I shut the monitor off and returned to my position on the couch. “Is that why you hightailed it out of there, Chase?”
“No, it wasn’t that, it—” He stopped suddenly as he realized I called him his hooker name. Tyler opened the bathroom door and peered out cautiously, now dressed in tight designer jeans and a sleeveless skin tight muscle shirt, both black to emphasize his slimness. “Are you here to arrest me?”
“No, son, I just want you to be honest with me about Sander Granger and the Serpent Club. No more of this bullshit, or I will arrest you. Someone’s gonna hafta pay for these bruises on my face, and it might as well be you. Clear?”
He nodded, completely bereft, and told me an interesting tale. Very interesting.
If it was true, I was a fucking idiot.
ONCE out of Tyler’s overpriced apartment, I headed straight for Sloane’s place. I almost didn’t expect to find him at his pimptastic condo, but he answered the door shirtless, in contour-hugging black briefs, showing off the kind of body Tyler probably wanted in more ways than one. Seeing me, he pasted on a big grin and leaned alluringly against his door. “I was just thinking about you—holy hell, did you get in a fight?”
“Yeah, I really hurt their fists with my face.” I came in without waiting for an invitation, passing through a mildly fragrant cloud of aftershave and hair gel. “So when were you gonna tell me, Sloane?”
He closed the door and did half of a model’s turn, giving me a good look at him. Since I’d already fucked him, I didn’t see what the point of this was. All this brought on a flash of guilt, as I thought about Kyle, and I was disgusted with myself. I could fuck a thousand Sloanes and still want Kyle. How pathetic was I?
As funny-looking as I am, or at least think I am, I’ve never had trouble getting men. Maybe it’s the job, the romantic notion of private eye as knight in tarnished armor, when in reality it’s a shitty desk job that never pays enough to be worth the trouble it inevitably lands me in. Or maybe it’s like Kyle says—I’m not as funny-looking as I seem to think I am.
“Tell you what, Jake?”
“That Sander was a hustler.”
That caught him like an unexpected uppercut. His smile faltered and fell, like an ice skater who lost an edge and couldn’t catch themselves before they landed face-first on the permafrost. “What?”
“I talked to someone in the know. I also saw his page on Echo City Boyz. It was him, wasn’t it?”
Sloane opened his mouth, closed it, and repeated this action before sinking down onto the edge of a rococo armchair. He placed his hands on his knees and sat stiff and stock-still, staring at a nothing point on the floor before gathering his thoughts and attempting speech. “He wasn’t… he didn’t do it a lot. Just sometimes, to help cover the rent.”
“And you neglected to mention this why?”
“’Cause I was ashamed. Besides, it had nothing to do with—”
“The Serpent Club is a sex club,” I snapped, losing patience with his lost-little-boy act. It was too professional, too well rehearsed to be true. “That’s what was in it for him, wasn’t it? A paycheck. He wasn’t into silver foxes; he was into their wallets.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Sloane said, now looking at me with wounded puppy dog eyes. He was starting to tear up for good measure. “But I didn’t think his… part-time job had anything to do with this. He’s still missing, Mr. Falconer.”
“Yeah, but now someone’s picked up the game board and tossed it over. The guy harassing him, was he a former client? A pimp?”
“A pimp? What? No! He didn’t have a pimp.”
“What about a former client? Was he being stalked?”
A long pause, where he seemed to have to mentally search for words. “If he was, he didn’t say. I mean, he was bothered by the e-mails, but I don’t think he ever took them seriously.”
“What about you?”
He looked up at me from under a fringe of casually messy ebony hair, in a way he probably thought was sexy. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a hustler too, aren’t you? You split the duty. That’s why you both said you had brothers but never identified them as a twin. You didn’t want to tip off your customers that sometimes you weren’t the same guy at all.”
He tried on that shocked, innocent look. “No, Jake, I—”
“Cut the bullshit, angel face, or I walk.”
He pouted, but as soon as he realized it wasn’t working, cut the act. “I haven’t…. I did once or twice, but it’s not… I’m not…. I just filled in for him. I have no intention of ever doing it again.”
That probably explained why he slept with me, which was an ego blow, but I probably deserved it. “I need you to be honest with me, Sloane. If you’ve been lying about anything else, now’s the time to come clean. I can’t do a proper investigation if I don’t have all the facts.”
He hung his head, seemingly contrite. “I’ve been honest about everything else, I swear.”
“What about the Serpent Club? Have you been?”
“No! I know nothing about it at all. Sander heard rumors about it, though, thought Nick could get him an invite.”
“And he did, obviously. Who did Nick have him meet?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I don’t know!” he protested. “He didn’t tell me Nick had even gotten him an invite. I don’t know that he even knew until he arrived at the party.”
It seemed likely he was telling the truth this time, but I knew now I couldn’t completely trust him. “Why didn’t you tell me Sander’s ex was a hustler too?”
He stared at me blankly. “He was?”
So he didn’t know that. He must have genuinely been Sander’s acquaintance alone. “He never mentioned that, huh?”
“Sander? No, he didn’t.” Sloane stood and went to his bedroom, where the door was ajar, and I could see him do a clumsy but still oddly alluring dance as he stepped into his jeans, which were, by some apparent fiat given only to hustlers
, tight. “But he always thought we should do things differently, distinguish ourselves from each other—”
There was a knock on the door, and Sloane and I stared at each other for a moment. “Expecting company?” I whispered.
He shook his head. “Are you?”
It was my turn to shake my head. The knock came again, slightly more urgent, and I gestured for him to go to the door as I stood up, my hand unconsciously going to my Glock. Maybe getting jumped by the bat boys for the Echo City Angels made me more paranoid than usual, but considering my face still ached from batting practice, I couldn’t see it as a bad thing.
Sloane approached the door warily, perhaps picking up on my wariness, and asked nervously, “Who is it?”
For a long moment, there was only silence, and we continued exchanging questioning glances. My suspicions grew by the millisecond, and I moved to intercept Sloane before he could reach the door. I didn’t want to see who was on the other side of it.
That was when the shooting started.
8
BULLETS punched through the door, making Sloane yelp in fear as I tackled him. I covered him with my body as wood splinters and hot lead flew around the room, and pulled out my Glock and pumped a few bullets toward the door. It was random, nothing approximating aim, but I heard a noise in the hall of something heavy hitting the floor. Although I was half-deaf from shots, I thought I heard a muffled curse coming from the same direction.
I scrambled behind one of Sloane’s ornate chairs and dragged him along with me. I couldn’t hear him precisely, but it seemed like he was gibbering a bit, terror giving way to full on hysteria. “Made any enemies?” I shouted at him, keeping an aim on the door. It now had enough holes in it you could have strained spaghetti with it.
“Not armed ones!” he shouted back, arms wrapped around himself as if he could somehow make himself smaller.
Through the door I could see a shift of light and shadow, so I took more careful aim and fired a couple of shots. Whoever was outside the door jumped out of the way fast, but maybe not fast enough.
I waited, still keeping a fixed aim on the door, but there was nothing but stillness and shell-shocked silence beyond. Sloane had a hold of my arm, a grip so tight it was cutting off blood circulation. “Should I call 9-1-1?” he whispered in my ear. Well, maybe he shouted it, but it sounded like whispering to me.
“If you want.” But I bet his neighbors had already. Somehow I didn’t think the condo board would approve of someone shooting in the hallway.
It could have been a trap, but it had been quiet for a while, and I’d seen no movement through the door. I started to crawl around the chair, and he almost yanked me to a stop. “What are you doing?”
“I’m checking to make sure the coast is clear,” I snapped, yanking my arm out of his grip. “Wait here and be quiet.”
I crawled around the ornate furniture and got up to my feet beside the door, with my back against the wall that had a few extraneous holes in it as well. I took a closer look out in the hall before undoing the lock. I heard voices out there, questioning and querulous, so I guessed the gunmen (there had to be more than one) had already gone. I opened the door, gun down at my side, and had a peek.
Some of the bullets had gone into the wall across the hall, and I guessed those to be my shots. There was blood on the beige carpet, and a trail of it seemed to lead down the corridor toward the elevator. So I had hit somebody, which may have triggered the full retreat. For now. But I imagined once the cops had been and gone, they might come back with more guys.
One of the neighbors out in the hall, near the elevator, looked at me and asked, “What the hell happened?”
“Got me, bud,” I replied, and ducked back inside Sloane’s place. “They’re gone,” I told him, tucking my hot gun into my coat pocket and pulling out my cell phone instead.
Sloane looked up at me, still on the floor and still hiding behind the chair. He looked seriously traumatized, and oddly enough, that made him appear about thirteen. “What the hell were they trying to kill me for?”
“Damn good question,” I admitted. “Wish I had an answer for ya.” I had Kyle on my speed dial, so all I had to do was press a single button to ring him.
There were only two rings before he picked up the phone. “Jake? Jesus, I was wondering if you were ever gonna call me,” Kyle said. I guess saying hello was passé.
“Look, I need you to get over to the Armory Court Condos now. Somebody just tried to perforate my client.”
“What? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I nailed one of the bastards, but I’m gonna need you to run some police interference for me.”
Kyle sighed into the phone. “We need to talk, you know.”
“I know. Get me outta this, and we can talk all night.” Only after I hung up did I realize that could be taken euphemistically. I hadn’t had enough to drink to see that right away.
The boys in blue showed up before Sloane had found the courage to stand up. Although Hickey wasn’t one of the responders, neither cop was a fan of mine. Thankfully they’d just started the bullshit when Kyle arrived, looking messy-haired and adorable. He was the senior officer on site too (hard to believe, especially since I was sure he was younger than one of the officers), so they demurred to his authority. As soon as he could, he pulled me into Sloane’s bedroom and shut the door.
“What have you gotten yourself into?” he asked, scowling.
“Trouble, from what I can tell.”
“Cut the smart-ass remarks and tell me what I need to know. Exactly who are these people trying to kill—you or the sexy guy?”
“What, I’m not sexy?” The glare he gave me pretty much said ‘not now’. “I’m thinkin’ they’re after him. The bat boys coulda killed me the other night, but they didn’t. They were just sendin’ me a message.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow at that. “And what message was that?”
“Stop. I think someone doesn’t want me to find Sander.”
Kyle rubbed his eyes and was trying unsuccessfully to hide his frustration. “Why? And why decide to kill Sloane?”
“I don’t know, but I’m starting to think maybe Sander was party to something he shouldn’t have been. And they’re trying to kill Sloane because he’s his twin, and they don’t know which one of ’em stuck their hand in the metaphorical cookie jar.”
“Which you’re basing on what?”
“Absolutely nothing. You gotta better explanation?”
He shook his head at me. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not nearly enough. I need you to believe me, Kyle. I didn’t fake this shootout, and you know it.”
“Of course I do! It’s just….” He petered off, making a vague hand gesture that could have meant anything. “I don’t like any of this.”
“You’re not alone. But I’ll be okay as soon as I figure this out.”
Kyle eyed me in a way that morphed from skepticism to empathy. “You weren’t supposed to leave. I was supposed to keep an eye on you for twenty-four hours.”
“I’m fine. You know what a thick skull I have. Couldn’t give me brain damage with a wrecking ball and a power drill.”
Kyle touched my face, gently stroking my cheek with his thumb. “You need to be careful. I’d hate if something happened to you.”
I put my hand over his and took it off, mainly because my face still kind of hurt. “Look, Kyle….”
“I tried to get past you, you know,” he said, going on regardless of what I was trying and failing to say. “You’re self-destructive and determined to take yourself down and anyone within range. But for some reason I still love you, you stupid piece of shit.”
“That why you dumped me?”
That made him wince. “You won’t believe it, but it hurt me as much as it hurt you.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe you.” Actually, I did, but I wanted him to swing in the wind a bit. No sense in letting him off the hook that easily.
&n
bsp; “I’m sorry, Jake. If we’re gonna make this work, you have to get help. Promise me.”
“Help? Like what, rehab?” That made me smirk. I could imagine me in rehab. I could also image me getting kicked out of rehab. I don’t think I’m the type for it.
“Would that be so bad?”
I didn’t know what to say. He seemed so serious about it, and I hated to disappoint him. So rather than break his heart now, I kissed him instead. For a moment I felt resistance; then he melted into my arms, kissing me with equal ferocity. I pinned him against the wall, just because I could, although that made some bruises I had forgotten about suddenly ache. Damn, being tenderized by a bat really was a pisser.
He sensed my sudden reticence, because he pulled away and asked, “Are you all right?”
“I keep forgetting I’m black and white and red all over.” I caressed his face, feeling his stubble under my fingers. He hadn’t had time to shave before coming over here.
Why was I having such a hard time getting over a damn cop? Of all people, how did I fall in love with him? It was like the universe set out to have me fall for the most inappropriate person I possibly could. He was completely squaresville and completely sweet, while I was a drunk loser more at home with scumbags and weasels. It was an accident it happened in the first place; it was a pure comedy that we couldn’t seem to shake off each other.
There was a knock at the door, and one of the cops said, “Detective, the sergeant wants to talk to you.”
“Be right there,” Kyle said and then gave me a quick but promising kiss on the mouth. He still tasted like coffee. “I need you to go somewhere safe ’til this blows over. Something about this case stinks to high heaven.”
“Tell me about it.”
I stepped back so Kyle had a clear shot at the door, but he grabbed my arm and said, “No, Jake, I mean it. The Giardi case is being tabled.”
