"Fargo," I said with more patience than I felt, "Loughman is investigating Ashley's murder. This report might push whoever's been doing all this to us over the edge."
I saw the exact moment when Fargo and Skeeter realized what I was talking about; their grins melted off their faces, and they grew pale. "Yeah," I said. "You get it now, huh? I told you to keep your mouths shut and your heads low! What were you doing up at the house, anyway?"
Fargo and Skeeter exchanged a sheepish look. "We went to pick up the mail and to check on Outland. Thought maybe somebody might've done something while we were all gone," Fargo said. "Fuck, I'm sorry, Beaver."
"Me, too," Skeeter said, looking every bit as miserable as Fargo did.
Hank reached out for my hand. "Let 'em be, Beaver. They thought they were doing the right thing. The question now is: what do we do?"
"We don't do anything," I answered, trying to stay calm when all I wanted to do was tote Hank's ass out of the hospital and as far away from Meridian and Haggerty County as I could. "We go home, sit tight, and wait for Loughman to do his job. Hopefully, he'll find out who's doing this to us, and end it."
"And if he don't?" Hank asked, squeezing my hand.
I thought about the shotgun on the wall in the living room, and the .45 in my nightstand drawer. "Let's just hope he does."
Chapter Eighteen
The house felt eerily quiet and cold when I opened the door and ushered Hank inside. Fargo and Skeeter had gone back to Jethro's place to fetch their belongings and Leroy, and tell Jethro what'd happened. I told them I expected all three of them to be at our house within the hour. I wanted everyone together where I could keep my eye on them, and hopefully prevent them from doing anything else that might end up getting us killed.
I put Hank to bed and went into the kitchen, putting a kettle on for tea. I found the chamomile Hank favored, and set a bag inside his favorite cup, pouring the hot water over it. When I walked back into the bedroom, carrying a tray with the cup of tea and a couple of crackers on it, I found Hank sitting up on the edge of the bed, his head hanging low.
"What's wrong?" I asked, instantly alarmed, afraid he was taking sick again.
"Sit down, Beaver. I got to tell you a story I should've told you years ago."
I felt a frown crease my forehead and I set the tray down on the dresser before easing myself onto the mattress next to Hank. "What story? What are you talking about, Hank?"
His hands rested on his thighs, fingers curled into tight fists, and he was shaking. "Oh, Lord, Beaver! This is all my fault. All of it -- Jinx' burning down, Horton's closing, Fargo, the damned peacock, Ashley, everything! It's all my fault!"
"What? You're talking crazy, Hank! None of that was your fault!"
"It is!" He turned teary eyes toward me, his expression strained. "Remember how I told you Bellows and I went to high school together?"
I nodded, not understanding. "Yeah. So?"
"Going to classes wasn't the only thing we done together."
It took a good, full minute for what he was telling me to sink in. When it did, I tried to gasp, but my chest constricted, refusing to cooperate. I couldn't get any air in, and worried for a split second if I was next in line to have a heart attack. "What do you mean, Hank?" I managed to ask as soon as I could force air into my lungs. I knew damn well what he was saying, but I didn't want to believe it. I wanted to be wrong.
I wasn't.
"Both of us were loners in high school. I never really fit in because my family was so poor. I was always wearing hand-me-downs, and never had money to go for burgers, or even to the movies much, and... well, you know how cruel kids can be, Beaver. I spent a lot of time by myself.
"Bellows' folks were ultra-conservative, which for him meant no music, no dancing, no cars, no sports, no dates, no books except schoolbooks and the Bible. He was as alone as I was, and I guess it was only natural that we gravitated toward one another."
"Oh, Lord, Hank. Please tell me you two didn't..." I couldn't finish my sentence, but then again, I didn't have to -- Hank did it for me.
"Yeah, we did. Not at first, of course. In the beginning, it was just nice to have somebody to talk to at lunchtime and after school. He'd sneak off after classes and on the weekends, telling his folks he was studying at the library or such, and meet up with me. We'd toss a ball, or listen to the radio. Snuck into the movies a time or two, and went swimming out at Crow Lake when it was warm enough."
Hank looked uncomfortable, nervous. His fists started pounding on his thighs, and I had to force him to stop before he hurt himself. He wouldn't look at me as he continued telling his story. "Things between us changed during our senior year. Bellows wasn't a bad-looking kid. He was kind of short and skinny, not handsome or anything. He was just sort of average, the type of guy you'd see and forget about as soon as he was gone, but I developed a crush on him."
"He felt the same way about you?" I asked, then took the next logical step. "Bellows is gay?"
Hank shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it wasn't something he would've hankered after if'n he'd had more friends, and been allowed to date, or maybe he wanted me all along. We never talked about it.
"We were lonely, though, Beaver, him and me. One Saturday afternoon during our senior year, we went rabbit hunting down at Crow Lake. Nobody else was around -- there was a big football game on that day. We didn't catch nothing, and we got bored. I'd brought a couple of sandwiches my mama made, and we sat under a tree to eat. One minute we were laughing, and the next..." Hank trembled, his head hanging low again.
"Oh, Hank," I sighed, slipping my arm around him. "Go on, hon. Finish it."
He nodded, resting his head on my shoulder. "We started slipping away to meet whenever we could. At first, we just made out, nothing serious, just kissing and rubbing. You know how it is. Then one afternoon, we got to necking and didn't stop."
"Bellows was your first?" Disgust welled up, tasting like blood in my mouth. Then again, I reminded myself, I didn't know Bellows when he was young. Maybe he was different. He must've been, or Hank, lonely or not, wouldn't have given him the time of day.
"Yes," Hank said quietly. He fell silent for a few minutes, and I let him take all the time he needed, my hand gently rubbing his shoulder. "At first we were real careful, but after a while we got sloppy. One night we were going at it in the loft of his daddy's barn, and..."
"You got caught," I finished for him. A chill stippled the skin of my arms with gooseflesh. All the pieces suddenly began to fall into place, and I almost knew what he was going to say before he said it.
"By his father. Lord, Beaver! I've never seen anybody look as furious as Bellow's daddy did that day! He was hollering about sin and Hell and God knows what-all! I thought he'd kill us both, right there in the loft. I took off, ran stark naked out of the barn and didn't stop to put my clothes on until I was nearly a half-mile away.
"I lived in a sweat for weeks after, petrified Bellow's daddy would tell mine. He never did, though. I think he was too ashamed, too afraid of everybody knowin' what his son done with me to say anything."
"What happened to Bellows?" I asked, afraid of his answer.
"He didn't come back to school for almost a month. When he did, he was different, Beaver. Wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even look at me, avoided me like the plague. Once, when we were changing clothes for gym, I caught of glimpse of his back. It was covered in scars. His daddy must've beat him near to death."
"Oh, my God," I whispered. "That explains a lot, don't it?"
"Yeah, I expect it does. So you see? I'm the reason he hates us so much, Beaver."
"No, Hank! Don't you think that way! He's the way he is because of his daddy, because he was raised to hate us, to hate himself, maybe." I put both arms around Hank and hugged him, feeling him shaking. "It ain't your fault. Lord, you were both just kids, Hank!"
Hank didn't say anything else, but I knew he still blamed himself. "Hank, listen to me. We both know what i
t was like around here back then. Men got thrown in jail, or locked up in mental institutions for having sex with other men. Folks have always told stories about men being beaten, being murdered because they were queer. Between all that, and Bellow's own daddy whipping him, maybe hating him, it's no wonder he found himself a nice, deep corner of the closet to hide in. Or maybe he's straight, and hates himself for feeling what he did for you."
"Yeah, I suppose."
"That doesn't excuse him for what he's done to other folks over the years. Seems to me he's grown up to be his daddy."
Hank nodded. "I guess you're right. Still feel guilty, Beaver."
"Well, don't." I pulled back so I could look him in the eye. "You're a good man, Hank. The finest I've ever known. Don't take this on your shoulders. You'd never do nothing to hurt anybody, not even Bellows."
His lips tilted in a sad sort of smile, the kind that barely turned up the corners of his mouth, and it tore at my heart. "I sure do love you, Beaver."
"Love you, too. Don't tell you near enough, either. Gonna say it everyday from now on," I said. I leaned in, letting our lips touch in a gentle kiss. One turned into another, soft and sweet. My body reacted; it had been so long since the last time that those few tender kisses had me hard and ready. "What did the docs say about... you know...?"
Hank chuckled. "Didn't say much except to take it easy."
"Easy it is," I said, unbuttoning his shirt. I let my hand slide over his bared chest, until I found a nipple. My thumb teased it until the button swelled, and I ducked in for another kiss.
He reached for my shirt, but I pushed his hands away. "Nope. You heard the doctor's orders." I stood up, pushed him backward on the bed, then bent and lifted his legs to the mattress.
"Hey, a man could get used to this kind of treatment," he teased. I removed his shoes and socks, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled them off. He lay dressed only in his jockeys, and tucked his arms behind his head as he watched me shuck my clothing.
I didn't even bother to hang our clothes up. Just left them where they fell, untidy little clumps of material, a shoe here, a sock there. Time enough to clean up later. Right now, all I could think about was Hank, and that nice-sized bulge under his tighty-whities.
I cupped him through the material, feeling his cock and balls making a warm and soft mound in my hand. He'll get there soon enough, I thought. Gotta take our time, anyway. Don't want him getting hot and bothered too quick.
"Mmm, boy, you feel good," I said, leaning over his crotch to mouth him through the thin cotton of his underwear. Smelled him, strong and musky, felt his scratchy pubic hair poking my cheek through the fabric. I slid my palms underneath his butt, taking time to get in a good squeeze or two before grabbing hold of his jockeys and pulling them down. He lifted his ass a little, making the going easier. "You make sure you tell me if we're going too fast, Hank," I warned, looking up at him.
His eyes were closed, his lips parted, but he nodded. Lord, wasn't he sexy, laying there, open and ready for anything I wanted to do to him? He hadn't shaved in the past few days, not since going into the hospital, and his beard was coming in a grizzled gray. I couldn't resist -- I crawled up the length of his body and rubbed my cheek across it, feeling it scrape my skin. It sent a shiver right through me, directly into my balls, and my dick swelled even more.
He turned his head for a kiss, open and wet, and I gladly obliged, before nipping my way down his chest and stomach. His cock was still flaccid, moving a little, as if it was struggling to wake up.
"Hey, Beaver," he whispered. "I'm not sure if I can, hon. Might be like if was after the last attack, remember? Damn drugs kept my pecker softer than a three-minute egg."
I looked up at him. "We don't have to do this, Hank. We can stop now." I didn't want to, of course. My cock was hard and achy, and my balls felt like a pair of marble paperweights, but if he so much as nodded, I was done. Wasn't going to push him for anything, not if he wasn't ready.
"Nah, I didn't say I wasn't enjoying it. Just said it might not be one of my best nights, is all," he said, smiling. He threaded his fingers in my hair, pushing my mouth toward his pelvis. "Can't hurt to try, now can it?"
"No, sir, not at all," I replied, taking his soft dick into my mouth. I sucked at it, rolled my tongue over it, and while it perked up a bit after a few minutes, it soon became obvious to both of us that it wasn't going to cooperate much more than that. I released him, rolling over to my side. "I think maybe you're right, Hank. Sorry, hon."
"I'm the one who's sorry," Hank said, frowning down at his cock as if it could see him and be ashamed. "Doesn't mean you can't finish up, though."
"Well, that ain't very fair," I said, although I didn't sound very convincing, not even to me.
Hank chuckled soft and low. "My poor Beaver. Got yourself a problem, but don't you worry. Papa Hank's going to take care of it for you."
"No, he ain't," I growled, pushing his hands away when he reached for me. "I'll do it, myself. You're just going to lay there and relax." I paused, looking at him. "I mean, if'n you insist, and all."
"Oh, I insist," Hank replied, grinning at me. "Come on, Beaver, give me a show."
I cracked a smile of my own, and straddled his chest, slowly stroking my cock. "Like this?" I asked, watching him watch me. Despite his stubborn body, there was fire flickering in his eyes as they followed my hand sliding up and down the length of my dick.
"Mmm, just like that," he said. He licked his lips, then looked up at me. "Sure would like a taste, Beaver."
"Doc said--"
"I'm not going to do jumping jacks, for fuck's sake. I just want to suck you a bit."
It was my turn to chuckle a little, and I scooted close enough to feed my dick through his open lips. I braced my arms against the headboard, and pumped my hips as my cock slid in and out of his mouth, fucking it with a slow, sensuous rhythm. "Oh, Lord, Hank! Ain't that just like fucking Heaven?"
He said something, but his voice just thrummed around my cock, making me gasp. I had to fight from pumping myself in faster, to keep the pace slow and steady.
His hands slipped around my hips, kneading my ass, and when a finger ducked between my cheeks, I lost the fight. I pulled away, my eyes half-hooded, my fist jerking over my cock. "Oh, sweet fuck!" I cried as I came, watching my come splatter his face, his lips, and his tongue.
When I was finished, I collapsed next to him on the bed, sticky and messy and feeling more relaxed than I had in days. "Thank you, Hank," I managed to whisper in between gasping for air.
"Oh, don't you worry, Beaver. I plan on getting mine just as soon as I'm able," Hank said. He reached over the side of the bed for his shirt, using it to clean off his face before handing it off to me. "'Course, by that time, it'll probably only take you looking at my cock to get me to come."
I laughed, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "How about some lunch, Hank? Or do you want to take a nap first?"
"What am I? A kindergartener? I don't need a nap. What's for lunch?"
"Got a salad, some sliced chicken, and that wheat pita bread you like," I said, reaching for my underwear. I thrust my feet into the holes, and stood up, pulling them up along the way.
"Sounds good. I'll come help."
"You'll lay there and do nothing. Don't piss me off, now, Hank," I warned. I reached for the tray I'd brought in earlier, settling it over his lap. "Drink your tea, and watch TV. I'll be back with lunch in a couple of minutes."
Once I'd extracted his solemn word not to move off the bed except to use the bathroom, I went back into the kitchen. My mood sobered as I thought about the story he'd told me about him and Bellows, and I wondered why he'd never mentioned it before. He must've been carrying that guilt around with him all these years, and it bothered me that he hadn't ever said anything.
That was just like Hank, I realized. He never wanted to burden me with anything unless he absolutely had to, just like the last time he had his heart attack. He'd
been having pains for two days, but never said anything until it was almost too late.
Well, I thought as I began to pull the fixings for lunch out of the fridge, that's going to change as of right now. I don't care if he has a fucking hangnail, I want to know about it right away, and if he has any more secrets, he'd better spill them, or I'll rip him a new ass.
By the time I piled the sandwiches on a plate, filled a small bowl with salad, and brought it into the bedroom, I'd worked myself up into a fine state. I had my speech all mapped out in my head. I was going to let Hank know exactly what I was thinking, and threaten him with grave bodily injury if'n he ever kept anything from me again, but I never got the chance.
When I walked into the bedroom, I found him sleeping, snoring almost loudly enough to rattle the windows in their frames. I sighed, placed the plate on my nightstand, picked up the TV remote and began to surf the channels, looking for whichever one was coming in clear that day.
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