Fire and Flint

by Andrew Grey

  “Was that fun?” Pierre asked as he pulled into the lot once again.

  Jeremiah jumped up the moment they pulled to a stop. “Yes.” He bounced up and down on the floor until Pierre let him out, and then he lunged at him, hugging Pierre as though he’d done the greatest thing in the world. “The police car was cool. I want to be a policeman when I grow up so I can make the siren go.”

  “You can be whatever you want.” Pierre closed the car doors and took the keys back inside to drop them off with Briggs. Then he rejoined the other two and put the booster seat in the back of his car once again. Jordan was much more relaxed now that the seat was installed and Jeremiah was safely buckled in.

  “Ready for dinner?”

  “I’m hungry,” Jeremiah pronounced.

  “Good. Because you said you wanted chicken and french fries, so I made a reservation at Café Belgie. I even called to be sure they had chicken nuggets for you, and they promised to have special french fries.”

  “Yay!”

  Pierre was happy that met with Jeremiah’s approval. “They will have something without dairy,” he told Jordan. “I’m looking out for both my guys.” Pierre pulled out of the lot and drove back toward town. He managed to find a parking space just up the block. They walked to the restaurant and went inside. Instantly Jordan stiffened, and Pierre followed his gaze. Judge Crawford sat at one of the back tables with three other men in suits.

  “Is that the mayor?” Jordan asked.

  “Yes, and the head of the borough council,” Pierre added. “Why?”

  “We have a case that involves the borough on the docket for next week,” Jordan said quietly. “I’ve heard that he’s well-connected and has friends on council, but I wonder how ethical it is for him to be having dinner with people who have a stake in the outcome of a case.” Jordan bit his lower lip the way Pierre noticed he did when he was nervous about something.

  “It isn’t like this isn’t a public place and there aren’t plenty of people who can see them.” They certainly weren’t trying to hide their meeting in any way. But it did seem suspicious to him. Pierre made a note to ask a few questions tomorrow and then caught the host’s attention. “Billy, I have a reservation.”

  “Hey, Pierre.” Billy smiled as he led the three of them to a table along the wall. “Who is this?”

  “Jeremiah and his dad, Jordan,” Pierre said, making introductions.

  “So, is this a date?” Billy asked gleefully. Pierre had known him and his partner, Darryl, for a few years now. The gay community in town wasn’t so huge that it was difficult to meet people. Billy had threatened to fix him up more than once.

  “Yes,” Pierre answered without hesitation. “It’s definitely a date.” He caught Jordan’s gaze as his lips curled upward.

  “It’s about time.” Billy sighed dramatically. He handed them menus and excused himself, letting them look them over.

  “Have you been here before?”

  “Once. But it was a few years ago.” Jordan got Jeremiah settled and verified what he wanted before looking at the menu himself. Billy returned with a coloring page and crayons, then left them to talk once again. “What do you recommend?”

  “I love the mussels frites. But I know the steak frites and the schnitzel are amazing, as is the Veal Milanese. I swear there isn’t anything that isn’t really good.” Pierre had chosen this place because he wanted to do something special for Jordan. But it wasn’t turning out as he’d hoped, with the way Jordan kept glancing toward the back of the restaurant. “We can go somewhere else if you’d rather,” Pierre offered. “I’m sure it can be a little off-putting when your boss is right over there.”

  Jordan bit his lower lip. “It’s just that….” He glanced at Jeremiah, and Pierre knew what he meant. He had been out in town a few times and run into people he’d escorted to court or met in the course of his work. Usually they took one look at him and made themselves scarce. But Crawford wasn’t going to do that, and given what he and Jordan suspected about the judge, his presence had a dampening effect on both of them. “Oh, thank God, they’re getting up to leave.” Jordan turned back to Jeremiah and made himself busy helping him color. It was clear he wanted to pretend he hadn’t seen the judge when they’d come in.

  “Jordan,” Judge Crawford said as he approached the table, the others in his party continuing out through the front door. “Deputy.” He stood near Jordan’s chair, half looming over him. “You’ve become friends?” He phrased it as a question, but clearly no answer was required. A chill raced up Pierre’s spine as the judge’s eyes darkened. “Is this the boy you’re adopting?”

  “Yes. This is Jeremiah.” Jordan’s voice didn’t squeak, but it was close. Pierre reached under the table to take Jordan’s hand, grateful for the tablecloth that hid it. He wasn’t going to leave Jordan hanging in the emotional wind. “I heard today that the final adoption hearing is next month.”

  “That’s great,” Pierre said. “Isn’t it, Your Honor?”

  “It certainly is. That will be a cause for celebration if everything goes all right.” Crawford patted Jordan’s shoulder, then left his hand resting there. It could have been a fatherly gesture, but the chill in the judge’s eyes cast plenty of doubt. Pierre squeezed Jordan’s hand a little, just to try to reassure him.

  “I’m told it’s largely a formality now. All of the social worker reports have been glowing. The home visits have gone well.” Jordan smiled. “I’ll be very happy when he’s officially my son.” He turned to Jeremiah. “He feels like my son already, and I can’t imagine my life without him.”

  Judge Crawford nodded. “I understand. I’d do anything for either of my daughters. Being a parent is the most gratifying thing in my life, and it is also one of the most important.” His fingers moved, gripping Jordan’s shoulder. “My only advice is to make sure you don’t do anything to cast any doubt now that you’re this close.” He turned to Pierre, taking in the scene at the table. “Changes in your social and private life can have an effect.” He pulled his hand away and turned toward the door. “Have a nice evening, and I’ll see you tomorrow in the office.” Crawford turned and exited the restaurant, leaving Jordan nearly as pale as the white table linens.

  “Shit,” Pierre swore under his breath.

  Jordan grew paler by the second. “You know what he can do….”

  Pierre nodded. “But you’re allowed to have dinner out with friends. Jeremiah is with you and he’s enjoying himself.” He wondered if it was time for them to bring their suspicions to someone who could help them. The problem was that Pierre wasn’t sure who that was, and he was sure Jordan wouldn’t be happy. Pierre had promised to keep things to himself, and he’d abide by that promise as long as he could, but each incident only increased the conflict within him.

  “But I wonder if he knows… something….” Sweat broke out on Jordan’s brow.

  “About what?” Jeremiah asked, looking up from his coloring.

  “The food here,” Jordan lied, and Pierre squeezed his hand one more time.

  Pierre ruffled Jeremiah’s hair. “What are you drawing?”

  “That’s me, and Daddy, and you,” he said with a grin. “I gave you a beard.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think you should have one.” Well, that was a straightforward answer. “And sometimes you do at bedtime.”

  Pierre chuckled. “Yeah. I get five-o’clock shadow in a big way.”

  Jeremiah studied him for a second. “You should have a beard.” He returned to his drawing after his pronouncement. Pierre thought that maybe Jeremiah should be an artist rather than a police officer. He seemed to have an imagination all his own, and his drawing was very good. He even had shading and depth in his drawing that kids his age didn’t normally do.

  “Don’t worry about anything,” Pierre told Jordan. “I have no idea what the judge was getting at. He could have been offering simple advice, in his own Lurch-esque way.” Or the meeting he’d had hadn’t gone well.
That might account for the creep factor Pierre had gotten. “He can’t know, and you’ve done nothing suspicious.”

  Jordan nodded and sighed. “True. But that was a warning of some sort.”

  “Oh, most definitely. He needed to assert some power, and you were a target.” Pierre made a further note to check into the dealings of the judge, mayor, and council president to see exactly what kind of history they had. But he was going to have to be careful… damn careful. He groaned under his breath. The more avenues of inquiry he discovered, the harder it was going to be to keep things quiet. But he was a man of his word.

  “Do you know what you’d like to eat?” Billy smiled at them.

  “I think so,” Pierre said and motioned Billy closer. “Do the judge and mayor come in here often together?”

  Billy nodded. “Oh yeah. The three of them are old cronies of some sort. They jabber away the entire time they’re here, and every time anyone approaches the table, they clam up and wait for us to leave.” He leaned closer. “They’re a bunch of sneaky bastards. Always talking about deals of some sort. Like I said, I don’t hear much, but you pick up a few things if you listen closely enough.”

  “Thanks.” Pierre didn’t want to ask too many questions to raise Billy’s suspicions.

  “You want me to see if I can find out more?”

  “No. It’s fine. Thanks. I was just curious.” Pierre turned to his menu. “I’d like the mussels frites with the standard preparation. And Jeremiah here will have chicken nuggets. He can share my fries.” The orders were huge enough, after all.

  “And I’m going to have the steak frites, medium.” Jordan set down his menu.

  “Would either of you like a salad?” Billy asked.

  “Sure. With that amazing vinaigrette Darryl makes,” Pierre answered, and Jordan asked for the same. Billy took their menus and left.

  “Another avenue of inquiry?” Jordan said, and Pierre nodded. He pulled out his phone and brought up the notebook function to quickly jot things down so he wouldn’t forget. Pierre didn’t want to think about work stuff right now. Being with Jordan and Jeremiah, having dinner, doing something normal, made him feel like he could be part of a family, and he liked it.

  Jordan’s phone buzzed where it rested on the table. He glanced at it, and Pierre motioned for him to answer it. “Hey, Mom. … No, everything is fine. Why?” Jordan’s hand shook. “I suppose that’s to be expected. They need to do the final checks before they can give a last report to the judge, and I named you as a caregiver for Jeremiah.”

  Pierre placed his hand on Jordan’s. So much was happening with the adoption, and now the crap with his boss. Maybe a relationship was more than Jordan could handle at the moment. Pierre wasn’t sure where that thought came from, but he was the most expendable portion of Jordan’s life right now.

  “Daddy,” Jeremiah called as he slipped off the chair to go pat him on the shoulder.

  “Things will be fine, Mom. Just answer their questions and let them look around to make sure your house is safe for Jeremiah. This will be over soon. It has to be. … I’m having dinner with Pierre. He took me and Jeremiah out.” Now that smile was back, and Pierre was a little relieved and honored that it was for him. “I’ll talk to you soon. … I love you too, and I’ll give a hug to Jeremiah for you.” He put the phone down. “Grammy sends you a hug,” he told Jeremiah with a smile. “We keep checking things off the list.”

  “What was your mother concerned about?” Pierre asked.

  “Another home visit.” Jordan groaned softly. “All of this has got to come to an end soon. It’s like they want to find something wrong.”

  Pierre pulled out his phone and made another note to speak to Donald and see if he could give him any inside information. This seemed a little excessive to him. Jordan was a good dad who treated Jeremiah very well. There was no need for this kind of attitude, especially if they had already done this before.

  “They’re probably just doing their jobs. You said Jeremiah was a ward of the state before you took him in,” Pierre clarified, just to make sure he understood.

  “Yes. His parents are gone. They let me take him and said I needed to become a foster parent, but I told them I wanted to adopt Jeremiah, so they let me skip that step and moved right to adoption.”

  Billy brought their salads, and Jordan offered Jeremiah a small bite. He scrunched up his nose at the sharpness in the dressing and went back to coloring.

  Pierre ate his salad slowly, watching Jordan, something he could do all day. “You must be hungry,” Pierre observed as Jordan finished his last bite of salad in record time.

  “I guess I was,” Jordan chuckled. “I didn’t have much for lunch today. I was too busy and didn’t feel like eating.” He leaned over the table. “I was a little too excited to be hungry.”

  “I’m hungry!” Jeremiah looked around. “When will my nuggets get here?”

  “Soon,” Jordan told him, and Pierre forked a piece of cucumber that didn’t have dressing on it and handed the fork to Jeremiah. He tested it with his tongue and then ate the piece of cucumber, looking at Pierre expectantly. He didn’t have any more, but thankfully Billy brought their food just then. The nuggets were too hot, but Pierre gave Jeremiah some of his fries, setting them on his plate to cool.

  “Take your time,” Pierre cautioned, and Jeremiah picked up a nugget, blew on it, and then started eating it cautiously. He was a fascinating kid, almost as intriguing as his dad. “How is your steak?”

  “Perfect.” Jordan took a small bite, chewing slowly. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Pierre set down his fork. “What do you want to know?”

  “Are you for real?” Jordan asked. “I mean, how many guys… cops—big, hot guys,” he said, keeping his voice down, “are interested in a guy like me with a kid? I mean, half the people in here keep looking at you. The women are drooling in their drinks, and the men either want to be you or the gay ones are wondering if they have a shot.”

  Pierre was coming to hate when Jordan bit his lower lip. Hell, he wanted to be the one biting it, sucking on it, tasting him. He wanted to be the one to make what made him nervous disappear.

  “What do you really think? Have I given you any reason to doubt me?” He didn’t want to go into everything he’d done already to try to earn Jordan’s trust.

  “Not yet,” Jordan whispered, and Pierre wondered who had hurt him so badly. This wasn’t the hurt of a lover or a breakup. He’d seen those. This was deeper, more painful… rooted much earlier in his life. This was basic and primal, coming from Jordan’s core.

  “Trust is important to me too. I spend my days working with people who lie, cheat, and steal for a living. They don’t care what they do to others, and I have to try to determine the truth from the lies. I spend enough time with lies in my job—I don’t want them in my personal life.” Pierre took Jordan’s hand, and when Jeremiah looked at him, Pierre took his too. “I promise to treat both of you the way you should be treated. I am for real.”

  “Of course you are.” Jeremiah turned to Jordan. “Is he going to turn into a bunny, like the Velveteen Rabbit, only backwards?” He giggled and gave them a “grown-ups are so silly” look before returning to his dinner.

  “That’s his favorite story.”

  “It was mine too. My mom used to read that to me all the time.” Pierre met Jordan’s gaze. He expected a smile but got just the opposite.

  “Daddy does really good voices, especially for the rabbit.” Jeremiah took a bite of chicken and chewed happily.

  “Don’t you like the story?” Pierre asked.

  Jordan chewed another bite of steak and didn’t answer right away. Pierre waited, but Jeremiah interrupted.

  “Grammy reads it to me now. Daddy got tired of it. Now he’s reading me a story about Willy Wonka. I like that one. It’s about candy.”

  “Why don’t you like the rabbit story?” Pierre asked.

  Jordan shrugged. “You get tired of the same t
hing over and over. So I decided to read Jeremiah longer stories to try to develop his ability to pay attention.”

  Pierre knew that might be partially true, but the answer seemed like a cop-out to him. He knew when someone was being evasive, and suddenly the walls were more interesting than he was.

  “That sounds really good.” He wasn’t going to press Jordan, not here. “I like stories, always have. My dad used to make them up himself. He told us stories about Amelia Aardvark and Roger Raccoon. He made them up, and we used to ask him to tell us the stories again and again. The problem was that he couldn’t remember them the same way each time.” Pierre grinned.

  “My dad read to me, that I remember.” Jordan went back to his dinner, becoming enamored of his plate.

  Pierre turned back to his mussels, pulling the meat out of the shells. The butter and shallot sauce with wine was amazing—savory and rich. “Is he allergic?” Pierre asked, and Jordan shook his head. “Do you want to try one?” he asked Jeremiah. Jordan shook his head again, clearly not thinking Jeremiah would be interested. Pierre put a small piece of mussel on his fork and dipped it in the sauce.

  Jeremiah took the bite. His eyes widened and then he smiled. “Good.” He licked his lips, and Pierre gave him another bite.

  “Eat your nuggets,” Jordan told him gently. “Let Pierre eat his dinner.”

  “Next time you can have mussels. Okay?” Pierre said, and Jeremiah nodded, grinning like he was being let in on a big secret. Pierre ate the last one and set the pot aside, then finished off the fries that Jeremiah didn’t eat.

  “I’m really full,” Jeremiah said as he sat back in his seat, patting his slightly protruding belly.

  “Me too.” Pierre turned to Jordan. “How about you? Have you had all the food you can eat? Maybe after a little while, we could indulge in dessert.”

  “As long as I get to pick the flavor,” Jordan said, and Pierre was certain they were no longer talking about food. The instant rise in temperature told him his body knew it too.