Austin’s Epic Intuition Fail
I felt like James Bond or Maxwell Smart— Inspector Clouseau?— furtively glancing left and right before following Peter into the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” he asked, briefly glancing at the hand I used to pull him into a stall. I raised my brows and tugged his belt loose once we were inside, door closed. “I thought it was obvious?”
“You want to have sex in a men’s bathroom?”
“Huh? You said…Wasn’t it a signal? Your coming in here? I read online that gay men did that.”
“Yah, in the 1960’s, Austin. Or at a Republican National Convention. Not on the first date in the bathroom of a restaurant. In this century.”
Oh. Oh, well, while I still had the nerve. I sank to my knees and took a steadying breath and grinned up at him. “As long as we’re here.”
“You want your first sexual experience with a guy to be in the men’s bathroom, trying to give your first blow job?” He was more amused than astonished, but both emotions were warring for his eyebrows which dipped forward and then lifted.
‘You said you didn’t kiss. I don’t know. You make me ridiculous. I turn into an impulsive teenager whenever I’m around you.”
He burst out laughing, combing a hand through my hair. “Just relax. It can’t be more nerve-wracking than the first time with a girl, right?”
“I was never nervous with women,” I answered, watching him unbuckle the belt that I’d abandoned. I chewed my lip nervously, pulling pieces of skin off and reaching up to grab hold of his hips. That seemed…I just wanted it over with. Band-Aid ripped off. Gay virginity out the window. Sexual tension eased. “I just didn’t care what they thought. They were a means to— whoa, hello. That’s a penis.”
“That’s a really shitty attitude toward women,” he said quietly, thumb trailing down my cheek.
I knew what he was doing, trying to distract me from my nervous blathering, but all it managed to do was perturb me. “Are you really going to lecture me with your dick waving in front of my mouth?”
Outside the stall, a throat cleared. I stood up quickly as footsteps clicked on the tile and the stall door next to us closed. Peter was holding back laughter so hard his chest shook. “You have no shame,” I told him, and that was when he grabbed my tie and pulled me into a kiss. A kaleidoscope of colors danced behind my lids.
FUCK!
I didn’t register the lip ring at first, or his bared cock pressed against me, there were too many neurons firing in my brain, too many emotions and reactions zipping through my body.
If the guy in the stall next to us made another sound, I didn’t hear it through the blood pounding in my ears. After minutes of his lips pulling and sucking on mine, until my mouth was raw, things slowly came into focus, like eyes adjusting to a dark room; only it was my senses that were becoming attuned.
I marveled that his hair was coarse, not soft as I had imagined it to be. My fingers twisted in the thick strands, locking in place as I held him close. Warmth emanated from his chest as it bumped against mine. He exhaled through his nose and his breath butterflied across my cheek.
Cinnamon and the scent of tobacco invaded my nostrils. He tasted mildly of garlic. That shouldn’t taste good, I thought. But it did. And then I stopped thinking as his teeth grazed my bottom lip.
I parted my lips to sigh, and he used the opportunity to push me against the wall and invade my mouth with his tongue, cupping my jaw between his palms. I had kissed before, but this wasn’t kissing—this was being kissed. No control on my part and only half aware of the whimper I made as he pulled away.
“Your phone’s ringing.”
“Oh,” I said dumbly. The heat of his fingers soaked through my shirt as they moved up my sides. I fumbled for the phone in my pocket, mesmerized by his mouth—until he dipped forward. Closing my eyes, I offered my neck to his lips and teeth. “Glass,” I answered huskily.
“Oh, Christ. I don’t want to know,” Luis said. The phone beeped when I dropped it. I scrabbled to catch it, fingers pressing on the buttons before I brought it to my ear again.
“I—Uh. What?” I had to stifle a moan as Peter bit the slope of my neck that led to my shoulder and then stepped back and began tucking in and zipping up.
“I’m standing over Alvarado’s corpse.”
Instantly, I sobered. “Shit. When?”
“Coroner is checking into it. Shot in the back of the head. No murder weapon found. No weapons here of any kind. Unless the killer took it with him, this won’t be a self-defense case.”
“Hang on,” I said, watching Peter adjust his clothes. “Peter, does Iss have a gun?”
“Iss didn’t like guns,” Peter replied. Didn’t? Iss didn’t like guns?
Realizing his mistake the moment the words are out, slowly he raised his eyes to meet mine. “It’s not what you think.”
Fuck!
Chapter Nine
Austin Glass-Fuckup of the Year
“It’s not what you think,” Peter said, but my heart had seemed to stop. My fist was tight enough that I worried the phone would crack and my breathing was so labored, it was half a minute before I could speak.
“Did you get that?” I asked Luis, impressed by how calm I sounded.
“Yeah, I got it. It’s not enough to bring him in.”
Peter began reaching into his pocket. I stopped his hands with a gentle touch. “I need you to keep your hands where I can see them.”
Luis said something, but I was too focused on Peter, whose fingers hovered at the waistband of his jeans. My heart was pounding, had been the whole time, but I was now aware of the skips in its beat.
“I just need to call Cai, okay? That’s all.”
I kept the phone connected, so Luis could hear in case something happened, but I placed it on the toilet paper dispenser. Shaking with fear and anger, I raised both hands in what I intended as a calming gesture, keeping my face placid. “Peter, I’m going to take you down if you reach for your pocket.”
“Am I under arrest?” His jaw clenched and vibrated, genuine dread shining in his eyes.
”Not yet.” Using the past tense when speaking about someone wasn’t probable cause. And it wasn’t even him saying ‘didn’t’ instead of doesn’t. It was the slow way his eyes came up to mine. That was when I realized his mistake wasn’t just an accident of phrasing. Thus far, nothing connected Peter directly. It was only that one word that could be explained away by even the most incompetent of lawyers. I didn’t have reasonable suspicion. Suspicion, yes, but not the type that would convince a judge.
Watching his lips part to expel a jagged breath, I recalled how good they felt when he pressed them against my skin. My throat constricted, a ball of humiliation pushing upwards from my stomach. My mouth still stung from his kiss. The attraction still hovering between us made me sick. All his lies, his manipulations, the hostility, the teasing, and I still wanted him.
“Then, I’m free to go?” He glanced at my cell.
I rapidly searched my memory for any reason to arrest him that didn’t involve me outing myself as his potential lover, or worse still—as someone who bought his services. Something minor would work. However, my only thought was that twenty minutes ago I finally figured out why I was so obsessed with this man; was finally able to view my attraction to him objectively.
Two Epiphanies in Less Than An Hour. I’m On A Roll.
Staring at Peter’s defiant gaze, I still felt the impulse to protect him, but my new found clarity was enough to stifle those urges.
I snatched up my phone off the dispenser. “Tell me there’s a witness.” Who didn’t see Peter or anyone like him.
“Unconfirmed. We’re still canvasing,” Luis answered. “But there’s a tentative time of death. Neighbor thought he heard the gunshot between eleven and eleven thirty last night. M.E. says that’s consistent with his findings. Body’s in rigor, but the heat is playing with body temp. He can’t confirm better than ‘between eight
and thirty-six hours’.”
“Naturally, the neighbors called 911,” I said sardonically.
“One,” Luis replied with a combination cough/laugh. One person had called. That narrowed time of death only if the neighbor could definitively identify the sound as a gunshot. I could ask Peter for an alibi for the last thirty-six hours, and he could mention to me that I was part of his answer. Or, and this was more likely, he’d lawyer up. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if I could account for my own whereabouts for the last thirty-six hours. No question I asked him would make things better right now.
“Let him walk. We can bring him in later if we get something more from forensics,” Luis said. I murmured my agreement and hung up.
“You’re free to go,” I told Peter reluctantly.
Nearly a week had gone by since I witnessed Peter’s current expression, that sad little smile while he stared at the floor. I now saw it as an aim to draw my sympathy. He pulled the door to the stall open, brushing his hand against mine in the process. It was enough to send my blood rocketing through my body again, but I gave nothing of my reaction away, not even acknowledgment of the touch.
“It’s a little ironic that today I gave up fighting what’s between us,” he said quietly.
I met his eyes, my face a careful mask, while his seemed twisted in melancholy. “That I chose today to start, you mean?” The smallest of nods was my answer, and then he turned to leave.
“That’s not irony. That’s fate.” When he exited the stall, I pressed the back of my head against the wall, following his movement with my eyes. “Did you do it, Peter?”
He stopped, hand on the door, didn’t turn around when he answered, “Who’s asking? My date? Or the cop?”
To me they were the same. Though, not lately, I had to admit. Lately, my title of ‘cop’ left a lot to be desired. “One and the same, Peter. The truth shouldn’t change based on the questioner.”
“I suppose if I trusted you’d believe me, I’d tell you that, no, I didn’t, Austin.” He turned slightly and met my eyes. “But, if you ask me again? I’ll say I want a lawyer.”
“Why are you so cryptic?”
“Why are you so difficult, pushy and conflicted? One minute you trust me, the next you have nothing but accusation in your eyes. I’m a whore, then I’m practically your boyfriend. You want to get to know me, but you follow me into the bathroom in order to hookup.”
“My whole life has been upside down since I met you! A little confliction is—.”
“Not my fault. Your confliction is not my fault or my problem.”
The laugh that pushed out of me had more air than humor. “You’re right. I’m not your problem. Not your type. Not your anything. I’ve ignored all your hostile rejections, the insults and the lies. You wanted me to leave you alone. I’m finally listening, Peter.” Moving past him to the exit, this time I halted at the door, eye-to-eye with him. “Next time I come after you, it’ll be to bring you in.”
He didn’t follow me out.
Temper, Temper
Detective Frank Marco looked and sounded like a pig: a squashed nose rammed between red, pockmarked cheeks, draping jowls, and a constant wheeze whenever he exhaled. He was also a remarkably soft-spoken guy with a gentle demeanor. Go figure.
By contrast, his partner, Max Delmonico, was a pig, though he could steal the spotlight from the prettiest of starlets. Delmonico had a hard voice and an even harder set of green eyes. Next to them, Luis was the poster boy for average.
By the time I arrived at the station, Alvarado’s body was on its way to the medical examiner’s office, and Frank Marco and Max Delmonico were gathered near our desks and locked in deep conversation with Luis, who was handing them files.
As I approached them, all three sets of eyes turned from their semi-circle of discussion to me. Was I imagining an apology in Luis’s frown? I wondered how much Luis had told them. Probably everything. And considering who the detectives were, I would know in less than five seconds just how intimate and detailed Luis had been.
“Glass,” Marco nodded.
“Well, if it isn’t Richie Rich,” Delmonico sneered. I exhaled with relief. Obviously Luis had said nothing about my relationship with Peter, or Delmonico’s jibe would have included some form of ‘fag’, ‘queer’ or ‘fudgepacker’.
“That’s it? That’s your big insult? A reference to a defunct comic book character? You need new material, Del.” It wouldn’t help. The only way to improve Del’s wit would be to exchange his brain with that of a coma patient.
“What’s up with your suspect?” Marco said to me. It took me a second to realize he meant Peter.
Luis had told them about him, apparently. Hopefully it was just that Peter and Prisc were lovers and had a recent disagreement Luis and I witnessed. “Said we should direct questions to his lawyer,” I answered.
“What was your take?” Luis asked. The glance that passed between us was almost telepathic. ‘Sorry,’ mine said. ‘You fucked up. Now you know. Get on with it,’ Luis’s shrug conveyed. He knew I wasn’t going to make the same mistake, not with Peter, or ever. Unfortunately, I was about to make a bigger one in the next few minutes.
“He’s hiding something, but I couldn’t read if he’s our perp.” A partial lie. My read was Peter didn’t do it, but I no longer trusted myself where he was concerned. “Any witness statements yet?”
Delmonico spoke up. “Regular train of boys running through that house. Prick certainly had a taste for the teenagers from what the nosy biddy across the street says. Some uniforms talked to her.” Del flipped a few pages in his black notepad and started reading, “Here it is. ‘Mrs. Millicent Waters was at a late mass yesterday. She saw three figures between the time she got home at ten and went to bed at 11:40-11:45. Which covers the time when Mr. Eduardo Ynez,” he flipped a page up and over, “next door, says he heard the gunshot.”
“How good a look did she get?”
Del flipped another page, shot me the bird and continued his recitation. “As I was saying, one with dark brown or black hair, thin, tall; definitely male.” Del made air quotation marks, “Gangly,” then went back to reading from the pad. “Not long after him, another one left, she can’t say boy or girl—just long blond hair and, emaciated. Her word again.”
Another flip of his notepad. “Last one she swears was a girl, but every neighbor says they haven’t seen anything without balls enter the vic’s house in the four years he’s lived there. We’ll assume they include his ball-busting wife. Just young boys other than that.”
“The girl?” I prompted. Del’s snickers and sneers were about to get on my nerves. Especially since the idea of young boys being anywhere near Alvarado made me think of Peter—whose hair, at ten at night, would have appeared dark brown. Though gangly he wasn’t. I said as much to the group.
The only reason Luis and I were at the scene was to coordinate notes and descriptions that had come up in our own investigation. With deep regret, I had to share my next thought.
“My suspect has a brother. Gangly, dark hair, six one or two. Nicholas Cotton. Age sixteen.” I jotted down the address.
Betraying Peter was easier than I would’ve thought.
“Lots of gangly boys with dark hair,” Marco pointed out with a frown. His way of asking why I zeroed in on the brother.
“Brother was involved with Alvarado. Intimately.” I hesitated. “And just spoke about him in the past tense.”
“The girl,” Del continued, scratching his nose with his middle finger while smirking at me, “Millicent says had a skirt clear up to her backside and a bra. Oh yeah, a golf hat.”
I didn’t rise to Del’s baiting finger. For whatever reason, he didn’t like me. By his “Richie Rich” comment, I had a feeling my wealth was his particular bone-picking. “Is that a look now? Golf hats?” I asked with a lift of my lip in distaste.
“You tell us. We heard you turned faggot,” Del said. The blood drained from my face. My head whipped to Luis. “Th
at in fashion, Glass?”
“Next time I bang your sister, I’ll ask,” I ground out, stepping up to Del and peering down. Even my three inch height advantage didn’t intimidate him.
“You need me to turn around, fairy?”
“Del, knock it off,” Marco said with a quiet sigh, staring off in the opposite direction of me.
“Fairy?” I said to Luis, jerking my thumb at Del. “Is he for real? Richie Rich and fairy?” I glanced at my watch again and shook it. “How do I get back to the 21st century?”
“Click your heels three times, Dorothy,” Del said. I wasn’t expecting him to get better at insulting me, so I was rendered speechless for a moment.
The heat of humiliation warmed my cheeks as my friend and partner said nothing in my defense. “You want to be my first gay experience, asshole? Turn around, because I’ll click my heels right up your ass until you scream ‘there’s no place like home’, bitch.” I advanced on Del, fists clenched, fully intent on knocking him out. Before either of us could come to blows, Luis had the collar of my shirt, pulling me backwards, and Marco’s arm shot out to block Del.
“Just keep your faggot ass away from me,” Del screamed, bashing his chest up against Marco’s hand.
Walking backwards—or more yanked backwards by Luis—I shouted back, “First it’s your ass I have to watch. Now it’s mine? You sure I’m the faggot?”
“Enough!” Luis yelled, pulling me to face him. How someone in his shape managed to toss me around like a rag doll, I’d never know.
“What the fuck, Luis? You’re supposed to have my back. Fuck you!”
“This ain’t grade school, Glass. I ain’t your boyfriend standing up for your honor. You bring that shit to work, you handle the fallout.”
“How the fuck did I bring it here?” I screamed, spraying spit in an unblinking Luis’s face.
Calmly, Luis stared me down, “Five seconds to figure it out.”
I needed ten. “Shitfuck. The interview.” Of course—they had watched the recorded interview with Alvarado and my dad. “Goddammit.”
Shattered Glass Page 13
