Shattered Glass

by Dani Alexander

  “Darryl,” I greeted, taking Peter’s old seat on the recliner. I tossed papers on the coffee table and shoved them across to Dave.

  “Hello, pretty little detective.” Darryl smiled devilishly, green eyes managing innocence and sin as he stroked Peter’s thigh and stared at me. Peter, leaning over to take some of the paperwork, was either oblivious or indifferent to the touch. My eyes were fastened to Darryl’s fingers.

  Before I could remember my gun was in Captain Ashanafi’s desk, Dave grabbed a few of the pages and, like Peter, began looking through them. “What are we looking for here?” he asked.

  Grateful for the pull away from Darryl and Peter, I leaned forward and flipped my laptop so I could see it side by side with Luis’s. “Clues to who owns these businesses. Forensics is still—” Darryl’s fingers twitched up Peter’s thigh. My eye ticked. “Why are you here?” I was too riveted by his hand touching Peter to give Darryl the glare he deserved. A dim voice in the back of my head said, ‘touching what’s mine’. I tried to smother, stuff and toss the voice away.

  “He brought me clothes for court,” Peter answered for him, brows drawn inward with confusion. He followed my gaze down, eyes bouncing back up. I’d never seen him grin so quickly.

  I tried to reason why that would require Darryl being here. In my house. When no explanation was delivered, I asked, “Why didn’t you go to him?”

  “Isn’t it easier if we all drive there?”

  “All? All of who?” I asked, not wanting to hear the obvious answer.

  “Us.” Peter swept a hand among Darryl, me and himself.

  “Why would the three of us be going to listen to Cai’s bond hearing? I did my part.”

  “Moral support?” Dave threw in with a blink of interest. I’d respond to that if I didn’t think he was being completely facetious.

  Bastard.

  “I can’t pay his bond,” Peter said quietly.

  Darryl, throughout this back-and-forth exchange, stroked Peter’s thigh and glared at me. I smothered a possessive growl. “That’s not my prob— Is there a reason you need to molest him?”

  “It’s called being compassionate, prettyboy. Did you want me to just call him a whore and ignore that he’s hurting? Or maybe you’d like me to leave you alone with him so you can take advantage—”

  “Stop it, Dare,” Peter said, not harshly enough to please me. “His lawyer says bond is going be like a million dollars or more. If he gets it at all. I can’t put up the restaurant as collateral because it’s going to be under investigation now. Our house isn’t worth more than a hundred thousand, if that.”

  “Are you asking me, or is this another tit for tat?”

  I could see his wheels whirring, trying to come up with the answer that would play me best. Would he beg? Offer himself? Try and seduce me again? Was anything he said real? Never mind. Those were all irrelevant. What was relevant was that Peter Dyachenko had me at a smile.

  “I’ll pay you back,” he pledged with a face so steeped in earnestness, I almost believed him.

  “How? Don’t answer that.” Whoring himself out if I had to guess. If I was jealous of Darryl’s hand, the idea of Peter being with anyone else was a physical weight on my chest, crushing the air from my lungs.

  But I had no right. Zero right. Nada. Nil. Neither the justification, nor a reason to be possessive. Of all the feelings I had for Peter—lust, warmth, protectiveness, anger, frustration—jealousy was the most confounding. And it had to go.

  “You’re a dickhead with a badge, prettyboy,” Darryl snarled. “He—” Peter’s hand cut him off with a gentle squeeze.

  “It doesn’t matter how. I’ll sign whatever papers you need.”

  The sickest part of me—the one that had worried about Peter’s HIV status, the one that said I had a right to his body because of what he put me through; the rotten, evil section of my soul that said Peter was mine—that was the portion of my mind that slithered up to my ear and hissed the venomously seductive, ‘Imagine the ways he could pay it back’. “Okay,” I said, ignoring the devil inside, “For starters, how about you stop lying to me.”

  Dave continued his quiet watchfulness, but the shake of his head was reproach enough. He thought I was an idiot. He wasn’t wrong.

  “Hear that, Rabbit? He wants the whole truth. How’s this for truth, prettyboy. Peter doesn’t even like boys.”

  “This is like the Desperate Houseboys of Denver,” my best friend quipped, looking from my stunned face to Peter’s guilty head drop, to Darryl’s satisfied smirk. Dave got up and went into the kitchen. I vowed that if I heard corn popping, I was going to bludgeon him with my fireplace poker.

  “He has a pair of come-stained pants in the bedroom that argue for the prosecution,” I said flippantly. I wasn’t buying Darryl’s taunts, but Peter wasn’t offering any rebuttal. If he wasn’t at least bisexual, then I felt completely used.

  “Darryl, would you stop, please?” I knew that pleading look in Peter’s eye. He needed for Darryl not to alienate his golden goose.

  “Why? So he can treat you like a whore? He calls you one often enough. Can’t you see how he’ll want to get paid?” He gripped Peter’s arm, pulling him to the front door. I got up to stop them—or shut the door behind them. “Come on. We’ll get the money some other way. Cai wouldn’t want you to take it from him.”

  I couldn’t argue with Darryl’s logic. Or fault it. He was doing what someone who truly cared about Peter would do: stop letting him sacrifice everything for Cai. I sighed and considered committing myself to a sanitarium. “You don’t have to pay me back. Get your clothes on, and we’ll go.”

  Peter’s lips hinted at a smile. Darryl dropped his hand, releasing Peter who stood by the entryway. Darryl was still dubious, and his thin shoulders held the stiffness of self-righteousness, but he appeared less angry.

  With relief, I propped my ass on the back of the sofa as Peter headed to the guest room. Instead of passing, he stopped in front of me and cupped my jaw. My lips parted before he leaned in for the kiss. I fisted the edges of his shirt, yanking him closer, until his hips were warm under my hands, until the twinge of pain from my tilted position faded under the softness of his mouth, until I forgot all my objections and reasoning.

  He pressed into me with an arch of his hips, supporting my neck with both hands as he controlled my mouth with his. Peter liked control, and who was I to complain when it felt like this? I had no breath, each exhale stolen by his teeth or tongue. Whether it was that lack of oxygen, or just the dizzying feel and smell of him, my heart sped up. He eased back just enough to suck in my bottom lip briefly before pulling away. My mouth chased after him.

  With a quiet, “Thank you,” Peter left me there, stupefied, shivering, and desperate.

  And that asshole Dave looked on while sharing a bag of popcorn with Darryl.

  My Ass is A No Fly Zone

  After both Peter and I changed into more appropriate ‘court clothes’—which for him meant less holey jeans and a tucked in button-down shirt—the three of us piled into Arturo, leaving Dave to man the house. Or, as he said upon our leaving, “Gonna watch ESPN without a wife and four kids drowning out the game and changing the channel to Nickelodeon.”

  We were driving in silence until I couldn’t stand it anymore. “What did he mean you don’t even like boys?” Darryl was smirking in the back seat. Peter sat in front, wearing his impenetrable gaze, which I was beginning to understand meant that he was upset or sad.

  “It means he likes T with his A. He prefers ladypenis over the real thing. Gay for pay. Norman Normal. He’s a breeder. Het-er-oh-sexy,” he mimed sign language.

  “Darryl,” Peter sighed long-sufferingly. “Would you please shut up?”

  Gay for pay? How did that explain Alvarado. For that matter, how did it explain Darryl. “Is he on medication?”

  “Don’t encourage him with the option of legal drugs.”

  “You’re not contradicting him.”

  Peter l
icked his lips, and my heart sank in my body before rebounding with a much less vibrant thump. “He’s…right.”

  “And you’re…straight?”

  “I’m okay with men. Maybe I’m partially gay? I don’t know. I don’t label it. I like both. But, gun to my head, I prefer women.”

  “Then—”

  “I prefer you overall.” Peter grinned. My heart rate exceeded the speed of sound.

  In the back, Darryl scoffed loudly then, maturely, made a gagging sound. “He couldn’t find his prostate with his head firmly up his ass. Seriously, Rabbit, what the fuck?”

  “I would just like to throw out there that we can all stop talking about putting things up my ass. No fly zone. Do not enter. No parking.”

  Peter’s smile made me squirm in my seat and resume silence for the rest of the trip to the courthouse.

  What’s That You Say?

  Angelica met us on the front steps of the building after I texted her. As we entered the courthouse, I expected Peter’s piercings to set off the metal detector, but surprisingly it remained mute. I just then noticed he wasn’t wearing his lip or eyebrow ring, and obviously he’d taken out his other piercings for this. Such random maturity from him mystified me.

  On our way through security, Angelica briefed us. “The Feds are here,” she said, throwing her soft leather briefcase onto the scanning belt.

  I tossed my wallet and keys into a tub, digging in my pockets for change. “They know.”

  “They know,” she agreed with a firm nod, not losing pace as she grabbed her case and clacked down the marble hall. Neither of us looked back at Darryl and Peter, but the patter of jogging feet told me they were behind us.

  “What’s that mean for bond?”

  “Depends on if the D.A. decides to hold back today and let the feds handle their case first. I doubt it. Big case, lots of publicity. They’ll both be vying for his blood. I think Will (Will Schoemaker—the District Attorney) has the upper hand. He has a stronger and more relevant case.”

  “Just a witness that saw him hours earlier,” Peter argued vehemently.

  “Time of death has moved. Coroner put it between ten and midnight. The neighbor that heard the shots is retracting his statement. He says it could have been later. Biggest problem now is that they know who they have. Will is trying him as an adult.”

  She finally stopped moving in front of a large set of polished wooden doors which opened into a courtroom. “Peter, right now you have to worry about two things. Cai might be denied bond, and you are probably going to be at least questioned, if not detained, by the Federal Prosecutor.”

  “Why would they deny bond?” I asked. At sixteen Cai was hardly a hardened criminal, but I knew the answer even as I asked. “They skipped town.”

  “He knows how to disappear,” she affirmed. “And they’ll use the fact that the feds want him in order to prove he has a history of violence.”

  “He’s not going to get bond,” Peter said, all emotion drained from his face. My earlier thoughts bore out; when Peter was most emotional, he shut down.

  “I didn’t say that. He hasn’t been charged with a crime by the federal prosecutor yet. That’s in our favor. And there’s no murder weapon or witness who saw the actual shooting.”

  I failed to catch Angelica’s careful wording. “Then why did they jump to prosecute?” I was confused. Most prosecutors wouldn’t even file with that kind of case.

  “Cai’s girlfriend is making a deal. She says Prisc raped Cai, and Cai went back there, got a gun from the living room, and then she heard a shot.”

  “That bitch! She’s a lying smack addict,” Darryl screeched, his voice echoing in the enormous halls. Half the courthouse turned around.

  “She’s lying,” Peter echoed. “Prisc didn’t rape him. And he didn’t go back there.”

  “She was pressured,” Angelica said, “Cai says she’s terrified of jail. But, Peter, they have evidence he went to the hospital and requested Cambivric.”

  “What’s that?” He and Darryl asked nearly at the same time.

  “It’s a drug they give rape victims to reduce the risk of exposure to HIV,” I said, leaning against the wall. Dammit.

  “Oh God,” Peter whispered pressing his hands against his forehead. “Fucking stupid. How did I not know?”

  “Let’s get through this, and then we can help him. His mother is here now,” Angelica soothed with a hesitant pat to his arm. “This works in our favor. But you’re no longer his legal guardian, you’re a suspect in your father’s murder at worst. And at best, you’re complicit in Cai’s flight. There’s only one person the courts would even consider releasing Cai to…”

  Her pause made my brows rise while my brain went through every person that could have a single—

  “Austin?” Angelica smiled.

  “Say what now?” I said, doing my best Wile-E-Coyote-plan-backfired blink.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Three Against One—And Not in the Fun Way

  I grasped for the nearest metaphorical branch to avoid being pulled over the edge. “I’m not approved for foster care. They’re not just going to release him to me.”

  “You don’t need to be,” Angelica informed me. “His mother was flown in. You just need to have her staying with you.”

  My thoughts flat-lined. Peter stared at the floor with his fucking typical unreadable expression. Darryl glared under perfectly arched and plucked brows, as if anticipating my negative response. And Angelica’s attack was double-barreled: her damn kitten eyes and her placid smile.

  Fuck!

  “Austin, he’s a good kid. I’d take them myself but with his case and my others, the work hours for the next few months are going to be ridiculous."

  “There’s an entire fucking world out there and you pick me?”

  “You have a stable home—”

  “I’m a single man very recently outed. He’s a sixteen-year-old boy!”

  “You’re a decorated police officer—”

  “Working on the guy he killed’s case!”

  “Allegedly.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure I’m working on the case. No alleged about it.” Only, I wasn’t. When I got back to work, I’d be off this case.

  “Why do you have to be a smartass about everything?”

  “Because everyone else thinks I’m a fucking dumbass. I have to do something to prove them wrong.” No one was making an argument about this arrangement but me. If Luis were here he’d suggest they just shoot me and get it over with. This was just a slow, cruel, torturous death of my meticulously planned future. “What you’re asking me to do is literally toss my career away. Much as I despise Delmonico and think Marco is an idiot, I can’t take their chief suspect into my house. What kind of message would that send?”

  “That you think he’s innocent, and they should start hunting for the real suspect. They’re not even looking anymore, Austin. They’re sitting on their complacent—”

  “I wouldn’t look either!” I yelled, catching the attention of various whispering passersby as my voice echoed in the halls. “There’s a fucking witness, he was at the scene, he’s done it before. Who the fuck could possibly believe he’s innocent besides these two dipshits,” I hiked a thumb at Darryl and Peter, “who apparently think he’s the next coming of Christ. But not me. I am not joining the Cult of Cai.”

  “I believe he’s innocent,” Angelica said.

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “You know I can’t reveal anything he said. But I think I’ve made myself clear.”

  Damn her gentle smile. Damn her calm, rational voice. And damn her reproachful, guilt-laden eyes. And damn Peter, too, while I was at it. And his fucking bunny slippers that made me interested enough to pay attention to him in the first place. I was burning those fuzzy fuckers the moment I saw them again. Which reminded me, he was suspiciously silent.

  He didn’t make his usual plea with his eyes, or use his body and my feelings for him, he didn’t even
raise his gaze from the marble tile. Despite all of Angelica’s cajoling, what finally had me considering agreeing to do this was Peter’s lack of comment.

  Maybe he understood the gravity of my situation. I needed to believe that. I needed to believe he comprehended the fact that, should I go back to work, taking Cai in would make me a pariah amongst other cops who would already have enough trouble dealing with my being gay. Even Luis would probably distance himself from me.

  But, if I didn’t say yes, Cai would likely spend months awaiting trial in a jail cell. Could that kid survive? Even with Angelica up to bat for him, I was only mildly convinced of his innocence. It seemed everyone who spent time with this kid developed some sort of blind affection for him.

  I wasn’t kidding about the Cai Cult. And I had reached my fill of Peter’s complete and total lack of self. There’s sacrifice and then there’s martyrdom. Peter teetered too close to the latter relative to his ‘brother’. Besides Peter being a whore, besides his shaky morals; and his, at times, anti-social personality, the largest hurdle between Peter and me was going to be his absolute and total devotion to Cai. That kind of reverence was abnormal.

  Wasn’t it?

  Ultimately, I had to admit that the question wasn’t about Cai at all. It was about Peter. It was about how much was I willing to give up for someone who was a complete stranger little more than a week ago. He lifted his face from studying the floor. The entreaty in Peter’s eyes alone might have compelled me to do it; the slow rise of deep blue, shining with such hope, slammed into me like a boxer’s fist.

  “It’d be the end of my being a cop,” I said to him. “Not just the FBI. I’d be frozen out of every agency.” He nodded succinctly, remaining stoic. “What is it with this kid?”

  “I owe him,” Peter stated solemnly.

  “Owe him what?”

  “Everything. I owe Cai everything.” He didn’t explain that statement. I wasn’t expecting him to, not with Angelica watching us with an intensity that bordered on rude. The devil inside me questioned if she wasn’t suggesting this whole scenario in order to ruin my career in retaliation for my sins. “And he’s my brother,” Peter added to my stare.