Tame

by A. J. Llewellyn

  “Thanks.” He rushed to the locker room and returned to find the bomb unit officer waiting for him.

  “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” Cavan said, but the cop inclined his head and walked outside.

  Once again he found himself standing with an officer surveying Butler Avenue as if he owned it. He remembered Veo’s words and felt a little deflated. Did he really come off as goofy? Goofy wasn’t good, right? Goofy wasn’t sexy.

  “Got any place special in mind?” the bomb squad guy asked.

  “No. I’m new in town. I’ll let you lead the way.”

  The guy nodded. As they walked down the street, he held out his hand. “I’m Mitch Berman.”

  “Cavan Carmichael.” They shook hands.

  “So what’s it like being on the bomb squad?” Cavan asked.

  Mitch looked at him. “I wouldn’t have any idea. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re not with the bomb squad?”

  “No, where’d you get that idea?”

  “There was a similar type vehicle at the crime scene I worked last night. My partner said it was the bomb squad.”

  “They do have similar vehicles.” Mitch seemed to be cherry-picking his words. “And I do believe they were there last night. The guy you caught…well…the kidnapper had quite a cache of weapons hidden in the house and in the trunk of his car.”

  “He did?” This was news to Cavan.

  They crossed Santa Monica Boulevard. Cavan got a good, strong whiff of the other man. Speed Stick and day old laundry. Man, what Cavan wouldn’t give for some hot goddamn fucking. He and Vince might have split up two months ago but they hadn’t had sex for weeks before that. He frowned now, thinking about it. That should have been a giveaway. I should have seen the signs.

  Mitch held a screen door open as they entered a cafe called Cacao. As they walked in, Cavan was taken by the kitsch tiki decor, but felt like he and Mitch were the oldest guys in the cafe. The place was filled with kids working on computers and sipping gigantic cups of coffee. The women were all blonde, the guys kind of geeky looking. At the counter, Mitch treated him to a cappuccino. The smell of the coffee reminded Cavan that he was starving.

  “I can recommend the muffin tops,” Mitch said, buying a couple of them. “You want a banana?”

  “No, thanks.” Cavan would be very happy to never, ever see another banana again.

  They retreated to the quietest corner they could find. Cavan was about to sip his cappuccino when Mitch asked, “What pattern did he make for you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What pattern did he make? In your foam? I have a jack-o-lantern. He’s really quite an artist. What did you get?”

  Cavan stared at his cup. “A heart shape,” he said, feeling a blush coming on.

  “Maybe it’s going to be your lucky day,” Mitch said.

  “That would be…nice.”

  “You had quite a night.” Mitch sipped at his drink, the jack-o-lantern’s gap-toothed smile becoming distorted when he set his cup down again.

  Cavan wrapped his hands around his own cup. He wanted to hold his heart for as long as he could. It was a beautiful heart, a smiling heart. He thought of Ludo all alone in the hospital. Who was he? Did he have family? Was he gay? Straight?

  “Cavan?”

  He looked up. “Sorry. I keep thinking about him…you know, the man I found.”

  “It’s a weird-ass story, isn’t it?”

  “What have you heard?” Cavan was curious.

  “Probably no more than you’ve heard. The guy who held him hostage has more aliases than a porn star. I heard Veo say they found a load of guns.” He shrugged.

  “What do you do for the division if you’re not in the bomb squad?” Cavan asked.

  Mitch gave him a twisted sort of smile. “Not much with the crime being down and now that robbery and homicide took over your case, I’m driving that asshole Veo around.”

  “But that still doesn’t tell me what you do.”

  Mitch seemed hesitant. Cavan wondered what he’d said wrong and focused his mind on coffee instead of questions. He barely had time for a sip when his cell phone rang. He checked the readout.

  “Sergeant Veo wants me back at the station,” he said.

  “Bummer.” Mitch looked disappointed.

  Cavan sipped fast, taking the muffin and coffee to go.

  “I’m gonna hang for a while.”

  Mitch must have known it wasn’t Cavan’s fault, that work came first, but he felt an invisible door closing between them. He thanked the man for the food and coffee and when he received a lukewarm response, walked out the door. He had the peculiar feeling of ships crossing each other and the faint bonds of attraction that had begun, snapping irretrievably.

  He hesitated outside the cafe. Did he dare go back inside and ask for a date? He turned around, retraced his steps, surprised at how nervous he felt.

  Mitch was on his cell phone texting. He looked up, but the expression on his face wasn’t welcoming.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “I just thought…I wondered…I—”

  Mitch’s cell phone rang. “Gotta take this.” He got up and walked to the back of the cafe.

  What the fuck?

  Cavan felt slapped. It was stupid, he knew it. He hardly knew the guy, but losing Vince had shorn him of all his confidence. He walked outside again, L’il Wayne coming over the sound system telling him How to Love.

  Chapter 4

  Veo seemed super-pissed when Cavan walked back into the station. Cavan had squaffed his coffee and muffin in the few short blocks from the cafe. Strangely, the foamy heart had stayed more or less the same even as the cup emptied. A pretty heart in an empty cup. Why did this feel like the story of his life? As he tossed the cup and paper bag into a trash bin at the entrance, he still couldn’t figure out why Mitch Berman had shut down on him the way he had but now Veo was gesturing to him. He led Cavan past a row of closed interview rooms into his own office.

  “This is Lieutenant Forsythe of the robbery-homicide unit and he has a few questions for you,” Veo said.

  Cavan noticed Veo was now wearing a black T-shirt under his uniform shirt. Whatever. He shook hands with Lieutenant Forsythe who said, “Call me John.”

  “John Forsythe? Like the actor?” Cavan couldn’t resist.

  “Yeah, I get that a lot and no, we’re not related.” Forsythe seemed to be cool though. He didn’t act irritated. He took a seat behind Veo’s desk, much to the latter’s chagrin, leaving Veo to sit beside Cavan on the other side.

  “How much have you learned about the case you worked last night?” John asked without any preamble.

  “Not much.”

  “But you figured out that what you thought were chain locks were actually antique medical instruments.”

  “No. My mother told me that.”

  “How’d she figure that out?”

  “From the footage she saw on TV.”

  John nodded. “Are you aware that Luke Masterson is turning out to be a real shady guy?”

  “I can’t deny that. Sergeant Veo told me you found all kinds of weapons on his property and in his vehicle. Plus…he was definitely evasive in my dealings with him.”

  “What made you search so hard for this alleged, suffering dog?”

  All of this was in Cavan’s report, he was certain. But he repeated his story. He’d acted on instinct when he’d noticed the sawdust.

  “He’s only been back in Los Angeles a few days. He drove down from Oregon. He had a big truck, according to the lumber yard that sold him the material for his shed.”

  “Have you found the truck?”

  Forsythe shook his head. “Is there anything else that struck you during your investigation?”

  “Nothing I can think of.”

  “We can’t get the victim to talk. Beyond his first name, he remains silent. We have no record of his fingerprints anywhere. I mean, he seems to have dropped out of the sky. The Depa
rtment of Homeland Security says they have nothing matching his prints on passengers coming into this country for the last three years.”

  Cavan said nothing. Should he reveal that Ludo told him he was from Argentina?

  The words slipped out before he could think about it.

  “How in the world did you find that out?” Forsythe looked shocked.

  Veo said nothing, watching the two men talk as if he were taking in match point at Wimbledon.

  “He told me.”

  “He told you? When?”

  “This morning. I went to see him.”

  “At the hospital?” Veo frowned. “You said you were taking a leak.”

  Cavan shrugged. “I was worried about him. I’ll never forget what I saw…how he smelled last night. I—” He shook his head.

  Forsythe swung in Veo’s chair.

  “That’s interesting. That’s very interesting. Masterson claims he’s known this guy for years and they entered into a Dominant/submissive relationship.”

  “I don’t believe it. That man was terrified,” Cavan said.

  John held up a hand. “I’m not saying we believe him, but we’ve got nothing to go on. He doesn’t say anything. I’m pretty sure it’s trauma. I’m no shrink, but I’m thinking, you know, you seem to have formed a bond with this guy. Maybe you could, you know…talk to him.”

  “I really don’t think—” Veo began.

  “This is out of your hands,” John said. “Since you have no partner for Officer Carmichael, I’d like to borrow him for forty-eight hours, if I may.”

  It didn’t seem to be a question, but Veo treated it as such. “Forty-eight hours. We need him. We’re short-handed.”

  “Forty-eight hours.” John stood. “First thing I need you to do, Officer Carmichael, is change back into civilian clothes.”

  Cavan stood and ignored the death ray stare he could feel coming from Veo.

  “God, that guy’s an ass,” John muttered as he walked Cavan to the locker room. The two men talked as Cavan changed.

  “I’m not going to debrief you too much, I don’t want you to sound rehearsed. I want you to go back and visit your friend, Ludo. Noodle around a little, see what you can find out.”

  Cavan nodded. When he’d changed, he followed Masterson to the other side of the building to robbery-homicide. He was curious why they had the case and not the violent crimes unit. He asked John, who smiled.

  “We think Ludo would have died and that seemed to be the objective. We got a warrant to dig up Masterson’s property to see if there are any other victims.”

  “You think there are?”

  “He’s into some weird shit. He’s a bit of a player in the S/M field online.”

  “He told you that?” Cavan was surprised. “I heard he was being uncooperative.”

  “No, he didn’t tell us. We have his cell phone and email messages.” John paused. “I haven’t said anything to Veo or the others…but Masterson has been spending a shitload of money. Shipments from Venezuela, one from Latvia of all places. We’re trying to figure out what the fuck he shipped here.”

  “And you think Ludo might know?”

  “I think…” John hesitated.

  Cavan’s body turned cold. “Oh, my God. You think he was shipped here?”

  John gave him an appreciative look. “You’re a chip off the old block. Listen, I wasn’t around when your mom was a homicide detective here, but there are guys who still wax lyrical about her. I hear she was one of the best.”

  Shit. And now she collects banana stickers.

  “I think you’re right, Cavan. I think your buddy Ludo may have been in one of those container ships. I know it’s crazy, but the question is, why? Why would Masterson pay a goddamn fortune to have some guy shipped here like a piece of cargo?”

  “If he was shipped here,” Cavan reminded him.

  “True. It’s pure speculation. He’s a collector…he might have shipped vases or whatever the fuck else he collects, but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” John clapped him on the shoulder. “I love a good mystery.”

  Outside the station, John walked him to his car, looking over his shoulder, as if to make sure they were alone. “Here’s my cell phone number and direct office line. Do not under any circumstances tell Veo anything. You are to report directly to me.” He paused, then said, “I know you’re new here, but trust me when I tell you a bigger jackass you will never find. I can’t believe he took your footage and gave it to the media.”

  He shook his head. “Idiot really hampered our investigation.”

  At his car, Cavan spoke finally. “I’m wondering…Masterson’s next door neighbor claimed he saw Ludo beating the alleged dog. Have you found this beaten dog?”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “What happened to Masterson’s dogs?”

  “They’re all at the West LA Animal Shelter.”

  “Don’t you think it’s weird the neighbor claims he saw Ludo beating a dog?”

  “I think the whole thing is fucking weird. Listen, any expenses you incur, keep receipts. I’ll make sure you’re reimbursed.”

  § § § §

  Cavan gathered his thoughts as he drove over to Cedars-Sinai again. He felt like John had hustled him out of the station before he could think properly. He called the nursing staff when he was close, asking if he could visit Ludo.

  “Sure,” the nurse on duty said. “He’s driving us nutty, wanting food. I don’t think he’s eaten for a while. He’s hungry, but he hates everything we’re giving him.”

  “You’re giving him solid food already?”

  “Soup,” she said.

  Cavan pulled over and spent some time on his cell phone looking for a restaurant, any restaurant that served shrimp soup. To his surprise, a place called the Red Door on Third Street that said they made a killer shrimp soup that involved two pounds of red shrimp and a spicy clam broth. He tried not to balk at the thirteen-dollar price tag and found his way there.

  The tiny restaurant did indeed have a red door. He’d read somewhere that in years gone by, people painted their doors red to keep the devil away. He parked outside with five minutes on the meter. He ran in, impressed with the collection of wine bottles tucked behind the bar, paid for the soup that came in a gigantic container with crusty, garlic-scented warm bread rolls, and drove away.

  At the hospital, he parked in the lot, wondering if the nurses would be upset that he was bringing soup to Ludo. He was pleased to see the media had vanished, probably because no new information had been leaked to them.

  He suddenly understood why he’d been removed from Veo’s clutches as quickly as he had. John Forsythe knew that Veo was a media whore. When he arrived at the nurse’s station on Ludo’s floor, the nurse on duty was working on a game of Bookworm on her iPad and never noticed him. He stole past her in case she vetoed his food offering to Ludo.

  It took him a few minutes to find the right room since he’d forgotten to memorize the number, but he knew he had the right one when he saw a mess of dark curls and an expectant face looking at him through the glass center of the door.

  He opened it and walked inside, closing the door behind him.

  Ludo sat up in bed, a look of excitement on his face.

  “You brought me shrimp?” That unusual smile was on his face, but this time, Cavan felt completely touched by it.

  “Shrimp soup. Two pounds of red shrimp.”

  Ludo looked at him, his eyes bright. “Red shrimp in my country is called langostino. You really brought me langostino?”

  Cavan grinned. “I did.”

  Ludo took possession of the huge package. His smile spread. “It smells spicy.”

  For the first time, Cavan saw his even, attractive, white teeth.

  Cavan wheeled the portable food tray toward Ludo.

  “Here, you can have the bread. I don’t eat yeast.” Ludo pushed the bread over to Cavan, who happily took it. Ludo lifted the foil-covered plastic lid from the soup. It did smell wonde
rful.

  “You didn’t bring me a spoon,” Ludo said, his smile huge, making the apology Cavan was about to utter, die on his lips.

  “There is only one way to eat shrimp.” Ludo dipped two fingers into the red broth and lifted out a shrimp. It was a whole shrimp with head, eyes, antenna…the lot. He ate it whole. Cavan stared, forgetting his own hunger for a moment.

  “Oh…I taste clams…I taste the pepper…mmm…it has celery seed. Most important.” Ludo dipped his fingers in again, eyes closed as he sucked them. “Black pepper. Fresh. Very good.” He tilted his head to one side. “White wine. Good white wine. French, I think.”

  Cavan felt beads of perspiration breaking out on his upper lip and forehead. This was almost a sensual, deeply erotic experience watching this man eat. He had the insane urge to lick the soup from the Ludo’s lips.

  “Kiss me,” Ludo suddenly said.

  “Excuse me?”

  Ludo looked at him. “I didn’t say anything. Well, I might have been talking out loud. I like my soup.” He dipped his long, artistic-looking fingers in again, retrieving another shrimp. Cavan had never seen anybody eat shrimp that way before. His mind rambled over the notion that he hadn’t heard Ludo say, “Kiss me.”

  He tore off some bread.

  “Let me try that,” Ludo said. “I think the broth might really work with that.”

  Cavan handed it to him. Ludo dipped it into the soup and handed it to Cavan, holding it to his lips.

  “Tell me what you think.”

  Cavan swallowed the bread, Ludo’s fingers lingering on his chin for a moment.

  “It’s very good.” It really was. He was sorry he hadn’t bought some for himself now.

  “The garlic is present, light, very light.” Ludo swallowed another shrimp, his head going back and forth like a happy child who might have been enjoying a decadent ice cream sundae.

  “This is very kind of you,” Ludo said. “I hoped you would come back but I wasn’t sure once you knew about me.”

  Cavan wasn’t quite sure how to react to that. He had no idea what Ludo was talking about.

  “What specifically were you worried that I might not like?”

  “That I allowed that…buffoon to torture me without once fighting back.”