The Return of the Man in Blue

by C. S Luis

  The Return Of The Man In Blue

  C. S Luis

  THE RETURN OF THE MAN IN BLUE

  THE CLAUDIA BELLE SERIES

  * * *

  FIRST PUBLISHED 2017

  * * *

  ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS PUBLICATION ARE FICTIOUS AND ANY RESEMBLANCE TO REAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, IS PURELY COINCIDENTIAL.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2017 by C.S LUIS

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission from the author.

  First Edition: April 2017

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN-13: 978-1544082967

  www.FACEBOOK.COM/THECLAUDIABELLESERIES

  TWITTER: @CSLUIS2

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  1. Milton High never looked so good

  2. The Return

  3. John Slater

  4. Claudia

  5. John Slater

  6. Claudia

  7. John Slater

  8. Claudia

  9. John Slater

  10. Claudia

  11. John Slater

  12. Claudia

  13. John Slater

  14. Claudia

  15. John Slater

  16. Birthday Surprise

  17. Birthday Surprise

  18. Claudia

  19. John Slater

  20. Claudia

  21. John Slater

  22. The Long Kiss Goodbye

  23. Claudia

  About the Author

  Also by C. S Luis

  Thanks to Stephen Anderson for the use of his music lyrics.

  Prologue

  John Slater

  A week later…

  * * *

  I disappeared into the New York City bars, buried my longing in glass after glass of whisky. John Slater never drinks hard liquor; at least he’s not supposed to. He doesn’t handle it well; someone always gets hurt when he drinks liquor.

  I was wearing the blue suit, all dolled up with nowhere to go but bar after bar. Sitting at the dark end of the bar, I tried to disappear in the shadows. I was not getting laid; something was keeping me from it.

  Claudia. What did we have? Who am I? Why am I now questioning everything? Delusional. Drunk and delusional…

  Her memory continued to tear me apart. Why did she do this to me? She’d been the only one to have this effect on John Slater. Goddamn it, why did it have to be her? What had she done to me? The aura, the connection was tearing a hole in me. It wouldn’t let me go, something was wrong, something was missing. Nothing made sense now. Not like it used to, even in that delusional haze.

  My favorite song was playing: Forever out to sea— I pressed my Sunday best and grabbed your address to your palace of sin. And like a screen test I watched you undress for him—Is it really that hard to believe—That I find you interesting from afar.

  * * *

  That I find you interesting from afar –The same band I had bought the CD from years ago was by chance playing in the same bar. I had given Claudia my only copy, and even though she had returned it, I left it in the rental house. I missed her too much to hear this song.

  You like her too much, The Man in Blue said.

  I didn’t want to, but what could I do to drown the feelings? I ordered another whisky.

  The singer was a tall fellow with very short black hair that was already graying. He was dressed in black and was slightly pale and awkward. I felt the same as he sang to a small young crowd. Among the crowd, I noticed a girl standing by the other end of the bar.

  She stood by the bar looking at the band. She caught my eye immediately because she reminded me of Claudia. It seemed that I found Claudia’s eyes in every girl.

  She was lovely with a small frame, and she looked over at me just briefly and smiled. Her hair was not as long as Claudia’s, just past the shoulders. She watched the band, enjoying the music as I had, until finally, the song ended and another faster one began: Love’s twisted trap.

  40 watt moon whiskey shooting spree I cower in the corner and hope you don’t see me picking up the pieces of love’s twisted trap—

  Do you wanna feel—Do you wanna feel—Do you wanna feel—Do you wanna steal my soul.

  My heart melted as she looked away, and in her face, I saw Claudia’s eyes. I was paralyzed. Claudia was safe; safe from me. I hated myself for what I did, for who I was.

  But there is no doubt I still thought of her. Good or not, I still thought of her. God, how I missed her, seeing her in the glass of that cup that I now held in my hand. I couldn’t make myself forget her.

  I put the glass down, and the bartender filled it once more.

  John, slow the fuck down, the voice inside my head repeated.

  I had stopped listening to that voice a long time ago. Now the only thing I was listening to was my cock. I needed to get laid. I needed to do what The Man in Blue usually did, get laid and forget Milton and forget her. But who was I kidding? I couldn’t forget her no matter how hard I tried. Even the drink didn’t allow her to leave my mind. But I drank anyway, feeling the warm liquid rolling down my throat.

  The connection…the link...She’s our link. The feeling was there again, the link I had sensed before with Project X and then with her.

  The band finished the song, and I saw her move past me. She headed to the back room and looked at me again. Claudia’s face startled me from her eyes.

  Claudia, my lips hissed, and the taste of that kiss was still fresh on my mouth.

  God, don’t do this, baby. Don’t do this to John; he’s a weak man. She was practically calling to me.

  “John,” she said, the first time she uttered my name. I drained the drink and followed her to the back room.

  As soon as I was close enough, I grabbed her. Claudia smiled and said, “John, kiss me.”

  I obeyed. I forced my lips onto hers, and she put her hands through my hair. Oh, God. Yes; she tasted delicious. I pushed her against the wall and put my hand up her dress.

  She gasped, “John!”

  Yeah, say my name, baby. Oh yes! I’ve been patient!

  But I stopped. I couldn’t. I couldn’t even as the pain ripped through my soul. Even though that strange connection linked us in some peculiar way to each other. I fought it. I could not hurt her. And now as I looked at her, I realized it wasn’t Claudia but another girl’s eyes staring back at me. She looked frightened, and I pulled away from her suddenly.

  “Sorry,” I must have uttered, and then I stood there dazed and confused.

  The band began to play again, and then I heard someone say, “you son-of-bitch,” and I turned as a fist came flying in my direction and hit me square on the jaw.

  I stumbled back, feeling my nose moist; touching it, I realized I was bleeding. The guy came back at me and then he hit me again and again. I wanted him to do it. I had attacked his girl. I deserved it, but the Man in Blue wouldn’t allow it, so as his fist came a fourth time, I stopped him very easily by grabbing his arm and twisting it back.

  I hit and hit him repeatedly until the guy was on the ground coughing out blood. The Man in Blue staggered away and out into the crowded bar. The band was playing another favorite song, but it was time to go. Behind me, the girl kneeled by her boyfriend’s side

  I stumbled into the city street. My head spinning, and my nose a bloody mess. I cleaned myself off with a handkerchief from my pocket and hurried away before they called the cops. I didn’t want Nicholson to know my whereabouts.

  But why did I have a strange feeling he already did? As I saw a black SUV passing me by, I not
iced the man inside was wearing a pair of glasses I recognized. They were here. Why wasn’t I surprised?

  He usually let me wander because he knew I’d always return.

  I left the bar far behind after hearing sirens in the distance. They had called the police, so I had to disappear. I put on a pair of shades to hide the black eye. I found a tattoo place far enough away and ducked inside.

  I entered the tattoo place not knowing why I had gone there in first place. It was a good place to hide, but there was also something else to it. I knew what I wanted. I had been contemplating doing this for a while, and now I had made up my mind. Or had my drunken stupor made up my mind for me?

  The big bald guy at the register with too many tattoos and piercings wore a slayer t-shirt and jeans. He grinned at me.

  With the shades, I looked like I was making some kind of drug deal, as well as the way I stood in front of him trying to hide from the black SUV outside and the sirens that had dragged me in here in the first place. If he suspected something like that, the guy didn’t give me a clue; although he did look outside at one point.

  “Yeah, can I help you?” The guy said, and he gave me a slight frown of boredom and curiously folded a brow. But he didn’t ask about the shades. I guess he got that often, strangers coming in looking odd and out of place.

  “I need a tattoo,” I uttered from behind the shades; there was blood on my tie, but he remained very helpful.

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he jokingly commented. “That’s what we do here,” he sarcastically said. Perhaps he thought I was being a smartass.

  “Would you like to look at some drawings or photographs?” He politely asked, pulling out a book from behind the counter.

  “I already know what I want,” I merely said, ignoring his first comment.

  “Well, okay,” he answered, putting the book back behind the counter.

  I handed him my design of what I wanted. I had been carrying it around in my pocket contemplating whether to get it or not. I had finally decided; a drunken mind isn’t a good decision-maker I guess.

  He looked at me, made a few gestures, and then said, “That looks fairly easy. Any colors?” He asked.

  “Red and black,” I simply said.

  “On?” He asked, looking back up at me.

  “The heart and roses, but do the name and words in black,” I said.

  “Red roses, huh?” He grinned.

  “She likes red…roses,” I mumbled to myself.

  “Okay, walk this way.” He motioned me to follow him into the back of the establishment.

  I looked around and then followed; the place had a few people looking over design ideas and photograph books. The wall was crawling with designs and pictures of other clients with interesting detailed designs and creatures and cartoon characters. Bikers, goths, and hipsters mostly made up the clientele, as well as a handful of businessmen or women making a drunken decision of getting a tattoo in the moment of a night out. That wasn’t my excuse; hiding from my boss had brought me here, as the fight had also.

  “Take a seat,” the big bald guy said.

  “How long is this gonna take?” I asked, looking towards the door. I seriously doubted Nicholson’s henchmen would come inside looking for me, but there was a first for everything. They were probably wondering about my reasons for being here. Then again, I had the ADA tattoo, but there would be no victory slash beneath the skull this time.

  The big bald guy glared at me; he reminded me of Jake, the brothel bouncer, except for the piercing. “You can’t rush perfection,” he offered. “It’ll take about an hour tops on something like this.” He grinned, and I sort of smirked back at him. If I were to be in here too long, they’d probably wonder why.

  “So, who’s Claudia? A girlfriend? A wife? Although, you don’t look like the married kind.”

  I frowned at him.

  “Not much for conversation I see,” he said, getting his equipment ready.

  “A girlfriend,” I started to say. “Sort of.” Why was I getting this again? I don’t know, I just knew that I wanted to.

  “Oh, it’s one of those,” he said with a big grin, and I began to regret saying anything.

  “It’s complicated,” I said, taking a deep breath and adjusting my shades.

  “It always is with women,” he smirked. “Sit back and relax. So, where do you want it?” He asked.

  I pulled off my tie and took my suit coat off and then unbuttoned my shirt and pulled my arm out to indicate where I wanted the tattoo. I had a place on my left arm just above my shoulder, opposite of the ADA tattoo, which was on my right arm in the same area.

  “Maybe you should just lose the shirt; you may not want to get blood or ink on it. Is that Armani? Oh nice,” he said touching it. I glared at him as he moved around a few more things.

  Immediately, he noticed the skull. I had simply forgotten it entirely. I had never had a need to hide it before. I only took my shirt off in brothels with women that didn’t ask questions.

  “Nice. Who did this?” He asked, examining it like a surgeon examines a wound.

  I didn’t answer.

  “This is well done, very interesting,” he said again. “Is it military?”

  “Something like that; it’s a job thing,” I admitted.

  “Wow, what kind of job do you have, dude?”

  I glanced up at him.

  “Nevermind,” he again said, feeling he had overstepped his boundaries. “So why not get the same guy to do this one?” He tried to change the subject.

  “Are you gonna talk all day, or are you gonna do this?” I impatiently asked him. If Nicholson’s men were out there, I didn’t want to give them a reason to come in and get me. Besides, I wasn’t planning on showing this to Nicholson.

  I was getting it just because I wanted it, as if the simple tattoo would get me closer to her. I wanted her marked on my skin. The Man in Blue wondered if it was some kind of punishment.

  “Sorry, just making conversation, man,” he apologized and put the drawing on the table where he could easily see it.

  “The guy is dead,” I simply uttered, regarding the tattoo artist. It was a long story I didn’t want to get into.

  “Sorry, man. I didn’t…” He tried to apologize but then stopped and cleaned the top of my shoulder where I had motioned I wanted the tattoo to go.

  “I know,” I whispered as he picked up one of his instruments

  “So, here?” He asked, and he pointed to my other arm. I nodded. “Ok.” He cleaned the area and looked at the design, then he traced the design over tracing paper and put it against my arm and made sure it stuck so the design was now visible on my arm. But it looked like a portion of it didn’t trace completely.

  “Relax, pal. I'm a professional. This will just be my base. I’ll definitely draw a better design. No offense.” He smirked, noticing the look on my face.

  Then after all that, he began the tattoo; it felt like a million needles going into my skin at once, but through it, I remained very still, watching the door from the other end of the place.

  I grinned. “I’m not an artist,” I admitted. “I just know what I like.”

  Two older women walked in. They were maybe in their early forties, and they looked in my direction and smiled. I had almost forgotten my chest was exposed, and I felt naked for the first time.

  I never thought it would have bothered me, but for some reason it did now. And just as the guy made progress on the design, I realized I would never be able to show this tattoo to her or anyone she knew. But when would I ever see her again? That’s what hurt more than anything, the thought of never seeing her again. No matter how many women I fucked, I’d never be able to get her out of my mind. There was something very special about her. Something that said we belong…I shook my head. How foolish was that? I was losing it!

  The women continued to check me out as they flipped through photograph book after book; I, on the other hand, was trying to block them from my vi
ew. It seemed only one of the women planned to get a tattoo, and another artist, a short, petite girl with blue hair, led her to the other end of the place where her eyes could no longer find me. Her friend remained, standing and looking at the photographs and designs on the wall.

  “Checking the ladies out?” My tattoo artist suddenly asked as he dipped his pen into the red ink. “I thought you said you were married?”

  “I never said that,” I answered.

  “Oh, that’s right; you said it was complicated. So, what does that exactly mean?” He asked, curiously making conversation. “Did you ask her to marry you and she turned you down or what?”

  Of course I didn’t mean to answer, and I wouldn’t have, but I think John was looking for a sympathetic ear. “She doesn’t know,” I merely offered.

  “What? Wait. Are you telling me she doesn’t know you exist?” He asked.

  “No,” I firmly answered, and he seemed to back off. “Of course she knows I exist. She just doesn’t know—”

  I hesitated. Why was I telling this guy?

  “She doesn’t know how I feel about her,” I simply said in a breath. I didn’t even know what I felt, what thoughts or ideas of why I had such a strange connection to her. Even to make me hurt, in my soul.

  “Oh, that’s got to suck,” he offered, and I nodded.

  “Yes, it does,” I said with a sigh.

  “So why not tell her?” He asked, and I had to restrain from rolling my eyes.

  “That is the complicated part,” I offered, and he didn’t ask anything else. He went back to working on the tattoo; perhaps he felt bad for asking that, seeing how hard it hit me.