Burden
Page 3
He reached the ornate wrought iron gate that covered the entrance to his building on West 189th Street and climbed the steps. His mailbox was empty, so he went on up to the fourth floor. As he approached his apartment, his neighbor, Owen, from next door along the hallway, waved at him in greeting.
Owen beamed. “Hey. Just the man. I got a bottle of wine chilling in the refrigerator and my date just canceled. Wanna join me? You look like you could use a glass or three. Long day on the beat?”
Randy laughed. “It must be Friday. You’re inviting me for a drink.”
“Like I need an excuse.” Sharing a bottle of wine was a regular occurrence.
Randy considered the idea for all of two seconds. “Sure. Give me time to grab a shower and change. And hey.” He wagged a finger at Owen. “No putting any of your usual moves on me.”
Owen grinned, his teeth gleaming. “Okay, I promise.” As Randy opened his own front door, Owen muttered, “Besides. I got all new moves.”
Randy shook his head, chuckling. “You are such a slut.” He went into his apartment, suddenly in a much better mood. Owen had a habit of doing that, even if he was a terrible flirt. And God, did he flirt.
Half an hour later, refreshed and carrying two large bags of corn chips, Randy knocked on Owen’s door. He’d already grabbed a bite to eat when he left work, but the chips would help to soak up the alcohol. One bottle of wine, my ass. Randy knew from experience that usually meant two, but it was Friday night, for God’s sake, and the weekend beckoned.
Owen flung the door open, looking extremely casual in a pair of sweats and a white tank top that made his olive skin appear darker than usual. “Come on in.” He stood aside to let Randy enter, then led the way into his living room. His black leather couch took up most of one wall, and in front of it sat a squat coffee table with a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine in an ice bucket.
Randy placed the chips beside the glasses, then flopped down onto the couch. “Thank God this week is over.”
Owen snickered. “You say that every time. Liking the hair, by the way.” He fanned himself. “Hot look.” He went over to the kitchen cabinets on the other side of the room and extracted a bowl for the chips.
“According to you, I always look hot.”
Owen emptied one bag into the bowl, then opened the wine. “Duh. That’s because you always do.” He got on with the business of filling the glasses.
“So who was your date with tonight, and why did they cancel?” Randy took a sip of the cold white wine. “Chardonnay?”
Owen’s eyes lit up. “And they say cops are dumb. I’ve taught you well.” He preened.
Randy snorted. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I saw the label.”
“Aw, why’d ya have to say that and spoil it? You could’ve left me feeling good, especially since I got stood up.” Owen took a long drink from his glass. “And in answer to your question, my date was with Charles.”
“Oh my. Sounds kinda snooty.”
Owen nodded slowly. “You may be right. I asked him to join me here, and when he learned my apartment was in the vicinity of Washington Heights, he suddenly announced he had a prior engagement and called it off. You know what I say to that?” He raised his glass. “Fuck him.”
“Amen to that.”
Owen snorted. “I’m forty-three, for God’s sake. That’s too long in the tooth to be messed around by snobs.” His eyes gleamed. “So when are you gonna make me a happy camper and go on a date with me?”
Randy laughed. “Don’t you ever get tired of the constant rejection? It’s never gonna work, and for two irrefutable reasons.” He pointed at Owen. “You, gay. Me, straight as an arrow.” That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
Owen laughed. “No one is completely straight, my friend. I’ve had enough so-called straight guys in my bed to know that.”
“Maybe so.” Randy took refuge in his glass. The chilled wine helped to counteract the heat that etched its way across his chest and up his neck, and he chugged it back.
“Oh, it’s gonna be that kind of a night, is it?” Owen immediately filled his glass, and Randy arched his eyebrows. Owen smiled. “Relax, babe. I know better than to shit where I eat. Your precious bod is safe with me. Besides, we’ve gotten along so well all these years, I’m not about to spoil things now.”
Randy chuckled. “Glad to hear it.”
Owen nodded toward Randy’s glass. “Now drink up. There’s more where that came from.” He gave Randy a speculative glance. “You’re not usually this nervous. What’s up?”
“Who says anything’s up?” Randy gave him as innocent a stare as he could manage before grabbing a handful of chips.
“Mm-hmm. Of course, I could be imagining it, I suppose, but… I sort of got the impression you were a little uncomfortable just now. You know, when I gave my usual ‘straight men aren’t all that straight’ spiel.” Owen settled back against the couch, his gaze focused on Randy. “Then again, noticing people’s reactions is part of my job, right?”
Randy groaned inwardly. Sometimes he forgot Owen was Dr. Owen Cardenas, psychologist. “You gonna go all Freud on me?” he joked.
Owen laughed. “Of course not. Now, just make yourself comfortable on my couch while I go get my notebook.” He grinned. “Seriously, though, are you telling me you’ve never been attracted to a guy?”
Randy didn’t respond right away but took another drink. “Know why they assigned me to the Black Lounge case? Because I felt comfortable around gay guys. And yeah, I might have mentioned that I have this gay neighbor who has the hots for me, just to prove my point.”
Owen snickered. “Whereas we both know you’re not my type, and I just love pulling your chain.” He raised his glass again, and Randy clinked his against it.
“Ya know, some of my coworkers wouldn’t touch that job with a ten-foot cattle prod.” That still disgusted him. It was a job, for Christ’s sake. What the fuck did they think was going to happen in there? Then he reconsidered. Some of the detectives he worked alongside would have run a mile if they’d seen what he witnessed on a daily basis.
Owen nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me.” He cocked his head to one side. “How long were you in there?”
“Eighteen months.”
“Long time to be undercover.” Owen peered at him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What did you see in there?”
Randy gave him a mild stare. “What you’d expect to see in what was basically a brothel.”
“Nice deflection.” Owen shifted a little until he was facing Randy. “Did you ever see guys fucking? And no, I’m not being salacious here.”
Randy took another drink before replying. “Yes.” His pulse quickened as he recalled walking through the main area, where there were couches and chairs. Where he’d watched a guy in a suit unzip his fly, slip on a condom, and sit back while one of the hookers sat on it and rode it until he came all over the red carpet.
Jesse. Holy fucking hell, Jesse, bent over that same couch, while two guys spit-roasted him. Christ, the noises he’d made. The way he’d looked.
“Lots of times?”
Owen’s question yanked him back into the present. “Yes.” So many times that he’d lost count. Another drink.
“And?”
“And what?”
Owen locked gazes with him. “How did you feel about that?”
Fuck. There was the million-dollar question. Randy took a deep breath. “It turned me on,” he said quietly. And that right there was the fucking understatement of the year, pun most definitely intended.
“Did it make you curious?”
Randy frowned. “About what?”
Owen shrugged. “About what it might feel like. You know, in case you ever decided to do more than just… observe.” He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t have to spell it out, do I?”
“No, you certainly don’t.” Randy put down his glass. “And to answer your question… yeah.”
There was no going back now.
“Yes,” Randy whispered.
“More than once?”
Randy clasped his hands. “Jesus, I feel like I really am on your therapy couch.”
Owen put down his glass. “I’m sorry. I went too far. But… one final question, if I may? One that’s hopefully not too intrusive.”
Randy snickered. “Hell, you’ve gotten this far—you might as well finish the job.” His heart pounded.
“Have you ever wanted to see where that curiosity might lead you?”
Randy cleared his throat. “I like women.”
Owen snickered again. “That wasn’t what I asked. And so what if you like women? Nothing wrong with liking men and women, right?”
“If you say so.”
Owen laughed. “I think I’d better quit at this point. If we carry on this conversation much further, you’ll stop coming here for a drink on a Friday night, and I for one would hate that.”
Thank God for that. Randy picked up his glass and raised it. “Here’s to leaving the job where it belongs—at work.”
Owen clinked his glass and sighed. “Okay, I got the message. I’ll take off my psychologist’s hat.” He held out the bowl. “Have some more chips.”
Randy took another handful, and the conversation slipped streams to end up being a discussion of weird people they’d seen lately on the subway. Sanity restored.
It wasn’t until later, when Randy got into bed, switched out the light, and lay there, trying to ignore the sound of traffic, that he realized something. When Owen had asked if he’d ever been attracted to a guy, only one face flitted through his mind.
Jesse’s.
And Randy wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Chapter Four
“SAME TIME next month?”
Jesse smiled. “Sure.”
“Jonathon” wasn’t exactly a demanding trick. If anything, Jesse felt more like a therapist than an escort. Their encounters always went the same way. Jesse would suck him off—which usually lasted less than five minutes—then they’d spend the rest of the hour cuddled up on the hotel bed while Jonathon talked about his lousy marriage, how his kids took advantage of him, how work was a ball-ache…. Jesse had learned not to offer advice, just to lie there, holding him and making soothing noises. Jonathon traveled to New York on business every month, and Jesse could count on getting a call the minute he checked into his hotel.
If only all my tricks were that easy. Jonathon was a walk in the park compared to some. And in a business where the customer was definitely king—at least, if he wanted them coming back on a regular basis—sometimes that meant putting up with whatever they threw at him.
“Whatever” covered a lot of ground.
Jonathon saw him to the door, and Jesse patted him on the shoulder. No kisses on the cheek for this guy. The first time Jesse had gone to give him a peck, Jonathon had visibly recoiled, and Jesse got the message real fast.
He walked along the hallway to the elevator, checking his phone. His next “appointment” wasn’t for a couple of hours. Jesse sighed. What has a guy got to do around this city to drum up more business? He already had his details on three online sites, and always asked the few regulars he had to spread the word, but that wasn’t working out all that well for him. Word-of-mouth was infinitely preferable to the johns who saw his ad. At least with the former, he had an idea what to expect. With the latter, he had no clue, and he couldn’t exactly afford to be fussy.
You take what you can get, right?
Jesse shook his head. Pretty Woman might have been a great movie, but it bore little resemblance to reality. He couldn’t picture Richard Gere manhandling Julia Roberts, for one thing, or wanting to fuck her straight for a solid hour. Jesse had caught on damn quick to the tools he could employ to make sure that didn’t happen too often. Offering a john a full-body massage meant minutes ticking away when he wasn’t getting fucked, and that was just fine.
Jonathon’s hotel was located in the East Village, which meant only one thing—the chance to meet up with a few friends at Nowhere on East Fourteenth Street. He could afford the time, right? It wasn’t as if he was inundated with calls. And besides, when was the last time I went for a drink? It was nine o’clock, his day wouldn’t end until after midnight, and he fucking deserved a beer.
His phone pinged, and Jesse smiled. Steve was already at Nowhere. Great minds think alike, he texted back. Be there in five. He called the elevator, still smiling. He hadn’t had the time or the opportunity to talk with Steve at Richards’s sentencing, and he hadn’t seen him during the intervening three weeks. Time to catch up on the latest gossip.
By the time he walked into Nowhere’s heavily red interior, Steve was already at the pool table with two beers on the shelf behind him. Jesse grinned as he approached. “Who’s winning? And is one of those mine?”
Steve nodded without taking his eyes off the ball at the end of his cue. “The one on the left. And shh, gotta concentrate.” His partner snickered, and Steve glared at him. “Hush, you. I’m just warmin’ up.”
Jesse walked behind him and grabbed the glass. He leaned against the wall, taking in the guys who were packing the place. Having a social beer was a rarity. Normally he bought a Coke and made it last all night while he kept his eyes peeled for possible hookups. Not that it was an easy task—Nowhere was a dark joint. Jesse loved it. The drinks were cheap, and the place had this whole dive-y vibe going for it. Better yet, the DJ played a great selection of music at a volume that didn’t deafen you. Nowhere was a gay bar, but not obviously so. It was the kind of bar you went to if you wanted a cheap drink before going out to somewhere else a helluva lot more expensive.
“Aw, shit.”
Jesse bit back his smile. Apparently something had broken Steve’s concentration. Jesse grabbed an empty table in the corner, amazed to find one, and waited for Steve to join him.
Steve took the chair facing him and chugged back a third of his beer. “How’s tricks?”
Jesse snickered. “We talking specifically or generally?”
To his surprise Steve didn’t smile. “You heard what’s been happening?”
Okay, that killed his good mood. Jesse put down his glass. “Apparently not. Enlighten me.”
Steve frowned. “Something’s up. Another site has just closed down.”
“What do you mean, another?” Jesse was genuinely perplexed.
Steve cocked his head to one side. “How many escort sites are you listed on?”
“Three.”
He nodded. “And you haven’t heard any whispers? How maybe they’re gonna close down?”
Jesse blinked. “All right, what have I missed?”
Steve shrugged. “Maybe you’ve just been lucky so far, but I know of at least three sites that have closed in the last month.”
“They weren’t doing enough business?” Jesse couldn’t see that being the case. One couldn’t go anywhere in Manhattan without tripping over an escort. Business was brisk.
Well, for some escorts it was. He’d give anything to be one of those guys, the ones who were charging three hundred a time and got it, the ones who did cam work too. Maybe that’s something I need to consider doing. Because at this rate, he’d never have enough to finish his MBA. In fact, the way things were going, he’d be looking at finishing in his thirties.
That was a sobering thought.
Steve shook his head. “More like the owners are getting nervous. Something’s in the wind.”
“Like what?”
“The word on the street is that the current administration is cracking down on sex trafficking—”
“Which has nothing to do with us,” Jesse interjected.
Steve held up his hand. “Maybe so, but as a result, sex workers are being affected. Sites are being watched. I tell
ya, being online is getting riskier by the minute.”
Fuck. That was not good. Those three escorting sites might not bring Jesse a lot of business, but at least they brought something.
Steve stared gloomily into his glass. “If the site I’m on goes tits-up, that means it’ll be back to doing things the old-fashioned way. Word of mouth, on the streets, in the old spots. But what makes that really bad is the cops are getting more vigilant. I swear, everywhere I go nowadays, there’s a cop watching.”
That didn’t surprise Jesse. “If they’re cracking down on sex trafficking, it stands to reason they’ve got prostitution in their sights too.” God, it had been so much easier in the Black Lounge. Guys coming to them, facilities….
Except he couldn’t think like that. Because easy as it had been, behind the Black Lounge was all that shit that cost people their lives.
Steve cackled. “What you really need these days is a friendly cop in your corner. Y’know, one who’ll turn a blind eye, take backhanders to keep his mouth shut—hell, even take payment in kind. There are cops out there who’ll do that, right? You hear some guys talking about them all the time.”
Jesse’s mind went straight to Randy. “I do know a cop, but… I don’t think he’d do that.” Like Jesse was ever gonna let Randy get one whiff of what he was doing. He smirked. “You know him too.”
Steve’s eyes widened. “That undercover guy? Fuck no. He works Vice, for chrissakes. Stay away from that guy. No, I’m tellin’ ya, the way this is going? Your best bet is to have guys watching your back. Safety in numbers, an’ all that.” He peered at Jesse. “Where are you staying? Last I heard, you were at a friend’s place.”
Jesse gave a bitter laugh. “Which friend was that? I moved out of one place just after the trial finished, but where I am now? Not gonna work out. I have to find somewhere else.” Again.
His heart sank at the thought.
Steve gave him a thoughtful stare. “I got a place. Not huge, but it’s in a good location.” He grinned. “An abso-fucking-lutely perfect location.”