Couldn't Cheat Death

by A. P. Eisen

  “That’s for sure.” Jerry had even tried to seduce Cliff once, something Cliff sat him down for and sternly told him that if he tried it again, he’d be out on his ass. “You ever…?”

  “Hell, yeah. Jerry was a great lay. And why shouldn’t I if he wanted to?”

  “No reason.” Cliff didn’t want Rod defensive. He didn’t care who Jerry had slept with. “Well, I’m going to hit the facilities and head back home. Not my night.” He slapped down some cash for his drinks and a tip. “If you hear anything about Jerry, let me know?”

  “Sure thing. He didn’t come here lately as much as he used to. Seemed he was getting as much at the hotel as he could. Said the tips were great, and since he knew when the conventions were coming to town, he was asking for those shifts in advance and getting them. Plus he got clients from personal training at the gym. Man was a beast.” Rod scooped the bills off the bar and left to put the sale in the cash register.

  Cliff’s lips tightened. Jade had been favoring Jerry by giving him the best shifts, something that as the manager, she knew better than to do. It was in their procedure manual. The bartenders were all on a rotating schedule meant to give them equal access to work weekends if they wanted, especially if a big convention hit town.

  Leaving the bar area, Cliff wove his way through the crowd to the back, where the restrooms were. A good-looking young guy opened the door and walked out, loose-limbed and flushed. His eyes drooped with a sleepy, satisfied expression.

  Looks like I might’ve missed some action.

  There was one stall in use, and Cliff could hear the person taking deep breaths. Wouldn’t be the first time something went down in a bathroom stall. Cliff used the urinal and was washing his hands when the door to the stall opened, and he looked up to meet the startled gaze of Paul Monroe in the mirror.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Paul had spoken to a number of employees at the hotel, and then he and Rob returned to the station. Forensics had Jerry’s computer and phone. After the last murder they worked on, the department had gotten a little funding and purchased software programs to help do more in-house work so they wouldn’t have to depend on bigger, and busier, police departments. One of these was a program that analyzed digital prints of shoe treads, and they were excited about using it for Jerry’s case. And though they hadn’t gotten far with the computer analysis, they’d discovered the Light Bulb popped up on his calendar frequently. It would be a good place to start and get the feel of who the victim had been.

  “I can handle this on my own. Go spend some quality time with Annabel and the kids.” Paul unhooked his jacket off the back of his chair and slipped it on.

  “You sure? I can go with you.” Rob sounded as if the prospect of going to the Light Bulb was akin to having a root canal.

  Paul suppressed a grin. “More than sure. Go home.”

  They’d spent a year investigating the murder of Ginny Sweeten, a teenage girl, and Rob had confessed it hurt to be away from his family, especially with the baby so young. Paul might not have a family, but he could understand and didn’t begrudge his friend the time.

  And after all that time on the investigation, which culminated in the arrest and conviction of the mother’s boyfriend for the murder, Paul also needed to blow off some steam.

  That came in the package of Lester, a lanky young guy with blowjob lips, whom he’d been asking casual questions about Jerry. When Paul showed him Jerry’s picture, Lester admitted he’d seen him a few times but hadn’t spoken to him.

  “Not my type,” he said with a grin.

  But Lester sure seemed to like Paul. After one drink, Lester took him by the hand and led him to the bathroom, to the larger end stall. Paul remained silent while Lester undid the buttons of his suit pants and kneeled before him. He gazed up at Paul with wide, hungry eyes.

  “Go on,” Paul said curtly with a wave of his hand.

  With a smile, Lester tugged down Paul’s pants and tight black briefs. His cock bobbed out, ruddy and thick.

  “Oh, man.” Lester sighed. “Fuck my mouth with that.”

  “Open up.” Paul took himself in hand and teased Lester’s full lips with the head of his cock.

  Obediently, Lester opened wide, and Paul fed the man his cock, inch by inch, until he was fully consumed by Lester’s hot, wet mouth.

  “Suck me. Hard.”

  Lester groaned and obeyed. He began to slide those marvelous lips and equally perfect tongue up and down the rigid length of Paul’s cock, slurping and licking. The guy sucked like a vacuum hose, and Paul dug his hands into Lester’s thick waves and began to thrust his hips in earnest. The whimpers and moans from below added to his pleasure, and he trembled, feeling the beginning of his orgasm.

  “Let go,” He grunted and slid out of Lester’s mouth, but the man continued to jerk him off. His balls drew tight, and his ass clenched. It had been too long, and Paul knew he wouldn’t last. The surge hit hard, and he came on a strangled moan, shooting into Lester’s damp hand and onto the floor. With his dark-blond, long, wavy hair, big brown eyes and wide grin, Lester reminded Paul of a golden retriever puppy.

  “That was fucking amazing. How come I’ve never seen you here before?”

  “First time here.” Paul wiped himself off with some toilet paper and tucked himself inside his pants.

  “Gimme a minute.” Lester pushed down his pants and pulled out his pale cock from his briefs. He stuck his fingers in his mouth to wet them, and began to jerk himself off, never breaking eye contact with Paul. It was only a few moments before he groaned, shooting streams of come over his hand and onto the floor to mix with Paul’s. “Ahhhh,” he wheezed out.

  Relieved Lester hadn’t asked him to reciprocate, Paul was now anxious to be gone. Lester must’ve picked up on those vibes, because he pulled up his pants and stood, giving a huge yawn.

  “Well, bye. I’m goin’ home.”

  “So long.”

  Lester walked out of the restroom, but Paul remained in the stall. He flipped down the toilet lid and sat with his head in his hands. The initial buzz of pleasure and excitement died, leaving him tired and hollow. He hated this shit—sex with someone he’d never see again—but that wasn’t about to change.

  Taking several deep breaths, Paul scrubbed his face. He felt weary and drained, and it was time to go home. The only information he’d picked up tonight was that Jerry Gregoria was a slut, something that made the investigation more difficult. A jilted lover was always a prime suspect, and Jerry being bisexual widened the pool of potentials. Paul opened the door, and stood in shock—the very good-looking Cliff Baxter was at the sink, washing his hands.

  Fuck.

  Heart racing, Paul froze for a second, then pulled himself together. “Uh, hi. How are you?”

  “Good. You?”

  Unsure whether Cliff had heard him and—What the hell was his name again? Oh yeah, Lester—Paul played it cool, despite his heart banging like a fucking conga drum.

  “I’m good. Decided to come out here and question a few people. Seemed Jerry liked to hang out here best. The bartender wasn’t too forthcoming, so it makes it difficult.”

  Baxter dried his hands. “If you still have time, I can help you with some questions if you want. People don’t open up to a cop that easily.” He waited a few beats. “Especially a straight cop.”

  Paul knew Baxter wanted him to come out and say he was gay, but that wasn’t about to happen. Who he fucked was nobody’s business but his own.

  “Yeah, I have time. I’m off duty, so I can even have a drink.”

  “Let’s go.”

  He followed Cliff, once again admiring his firm ass and overall trim and powerful physique, now more on display in his dark jeans and tight blue polo. Man had some serious definition.

  “You work out?” They slid into a booth.

  “I get to use the hotel gym, and I run in the park. You must too. I remember you and your friends playing football and baseball all the time.”

  “Y
eah, I have a gym in my building, and I live right across from Thornwood Fields, so I run too.”

  “Guess we’re on different schedules,” Baxter said. “I’ve never seen you there.”

  Paul’s smile was without any humor. “Crime doesn’t go by a schedule. I have crazy hours, so I have to fit it all in when I can.”

  Cliff nodded, just as the waiter came over to take their order.

  “Whiskey and soda,” Paul said, then pointed to Baxter. “My round. What’re you having?”

  “Same, thanks, Marty.” To Paul, he said, “It must make it hard on your family, never knowing when you’ll be around.”

  “There’s no one, really. My mother passed away a few years ago, and my father moved to a retirement community in Florida.”

  “So no wife or girlfriend?”

  Paul met Cliff’s straightforward gaze. “No. No wife or girlfriend.”

  “Well, if you ever find yourself in the park between six and seven in the morning, look for me.”

  The smile on Cliff’s face seemed genuine enough, but Paul, who trusted few people, simply nodded. The waiter reappeared with their drinks and set them on the table.

  “Cheers.” He raised his glass, as did Cliff, and they each took a hefty swallow. “So what can you tell me about Jerry that I didn’t know before I got here, other than he was bisexual?”

  “Well”—Cliff leaned forward, his brows scrunched together—“it seems my restaurant manager, the woman you met, Jade Kennedy?”

  Paul nodded. “Yeah, I remember her.”

  “She’s very pretty. Most men do.”

  Paul shot him a look, but Cliff remained infuriatingly placid, saying, “I discovered that Jade had been giving Jerry the best shifts—meaning Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights—whenever he wanted.”

  “And that’s not allowed?”

  Cliff shook his head. “No. I’ve told the managers that the staff is to be rotated so that no one person always gets the best tipping nights. Of course, if one person doesn’t want the night because it can get crazy, especially at convention time, then they don’t have to take it and can switch. But to give it to them every time?” His lips twisted in a frown, and his dark eyes blazed. “Not acceptable. I’m pissed off, and I intend to confront her tomorrow about this.”

  Paul studied Cliff’s face and felt a stirring in his groin. Damn, the man was fiery when he was passionate about something, and he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like in bed.

  “I’d like to be there when you talk to her. If you don’t mind.”

  Cliff took a sip of his drink before answering. “Why? I mean, sure, if you want, but what does my speaking to her about that have to do with your investigation?”

  Paul leaned back in his chair. “Part of investigating a case is seeing how people react to situations. You confronting Jade about a problem might spark her anger and—”

  “And you think she’s capable of murder? I could see anger, yes, but I can’t believe she murdered Jerry. No way.”

  “I once had a case where a man was murdered. He was beaten to death with a hammer and his eyes taken out.” Cliff’s face whitened in horror, but Paul kept going. “He was married for twenty-five years and had six children with his wife. She was the sweetest woman, and anytime I’d come to talk to her or ask her questions, she’d give me fresh-baked cookies and a cold iced tea.”

  “Th-that’s nice,” Cliff said faintly, his hand gripping his now-empty whiskey tumbler.

  “Turns out he’d been cheating on her with her best friend for years. She found out, took the hammer from his workshop, and killed him.” Paul tossed back his drink. “That case taught me to never underestimate people. Anyone provoked enough is capable of murder.”

  Cliff’s complexion had returned to normal, but he licked his lips, and Paul could see the sheen of sweat on his brow. Civilians might think it was a simple matter to investigate murders, or that they all looked like Law and Order on television, but the fact remained that murder was an ugly, dirty business that caused chaos. Paul became a police officer and then a detective because he liked order, and solving crimes and putting murderers away restored that order and balance to a chaotic society.

  “Do you think”—Cliff swallowed hard—“do you think I’m capable of murdering Jerry?”

  “Did you?”

  Cliff jerked his head. “No. Of course not.”

  Paul laughed. “I don’t think you did. You were the first person I checked out, but another thing we learn is to trust our gut instinct.”

  “Oh?” Cliff licked his lips again, his deep brown eyes darkening, and Paul felt an answering tug in the pit of his stomach. Cliff leaned forward, and Paul met him halfway across the narrow table. “What does your gut tell you about me?”

  The earlier blowjob in the bathroom had only been an appetizer for Paul. Cliff was a main course plus dessert, and Paul could almost taste his tongue and his kiss. His nostrils flared as he drank in the man’s cologne, a light scent of sandalwood with an undercurrent of musk. Their faces were close enough for him to hear Cliff’s unsteady breath.

  I think you might be trouble, but in a whole different way.

  “You’re not capable of murder,” he said shortly. “So what time will you be talking to Jade?”

  Cliff blinked. “She comes in around eleven o’clock tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there at ten forty-five. I’d better get going.” He pulled out a few bills from his wallet. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cliff.” It took a great force of will, something Paul had mastered years ago, to walk away from Cliff.

  How much did Cliff know? Did he hear what happened in the bathroom, or was he fishing? It wasn’t embarrassment that cramped Paul’s stomach but rather, holding in the desire that battered away at his insides.

  He left the Light Bulb, and through the windows, he saw Cliff still sitting at the table. A man like Cliff wouldn’t be alone for long, and even as Paul watched, someone slid into his vacated seat. Paul deactivated the alarm for his car, got in, and drove away.

  * * *

  At ten thirty the next morning, Paul walked into the Starrywood Hotel, coffee cup in hand. The hotel was bustling with groups of men and women in suits walking by with lanyards around their necks. Signs sat on holders, indicating what rooms the different conventions occupied. Bellhops pushed luggage carts piled high with suitcases and garment bags, and people waited at the front desk to check in or out. Preston wasn’t on duty this morning; instead, a young black man and an older white woman worked together and handled the crush of customers quickly and effectively. Paul’s gaze swept the lobby, taking in the multitude of people. He sighed at the enormity of his task, but his pulse raced.

  Murder had been committed and justice must win.

  He approached the front desk and flashed his badge. Neither clerk batted an eye, and the young man nodded to him.

  “Mr. Baxter is expecting you. He said to tell you to come to his office.”

  Paul noted the young man’s name. “Thank you, Mr. King.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  Paul walked behind the desk and, retracing his steps from the day before, found Cliff’s office with no trouble. He knocked once.

  “Come in.”

  Cliff Baxter sat behind his desk, looking quite different from the man he’d had dreams of tongue-fucking. His dark-gray suit fit smoothly across his broad shoulders, and he wore a crisp white shirt with thin black lines. A shimmering blue-and-green silk tie rounded out his outfit. He looked sleek, professional, and expensive, and Paul felt like a bit of a slob in his three-year-old suit. But hey, he didn’t make what a hotel manager made. He did the best he could.

  “Good morning.”

  He took a seat off to the side of Cliff’s desk. The chair in front was reserved for Jade Kennedy.

  “Good morning, Detective.”

  Up close, Paul noticed the shadows under his red-rimmed eyes. “Late night?”

  A faint pi
nk tinged Cliff’s cheeks. “Not really.”

  Cliff didn’t need to feel embarrassed. Paul had no intention of indulging in the forbidden fruit, no matter how sweet it might taste. Yeah, Cliff was smart, funny, and Paul enjoyed talking to him. He could see them running together in the park and maybe hanging out in the evenings, having a drink. The things normal people probably did.

  But Paul could predict the cracks and when they would happen. Sooner or later, Cliff would want to be together all the time. He’d begin to resent the time Paul spent on the job. They’d fight and make up, only to start fighting again. Eventually they’d have one final blowup and part ways. Plus, there was something even more critical—Cliff wasn’t in the closet; he was out and proud.

  When Paul was younger, the few times he’d thought about maybe coming out at work, he’d heard enough casually homophobic remarks to ensure that it wouldn’t ever happen. He knew Cliff would never be satisfied with a man who couldn’t acknowledge him in public, and he shouldn’t.

  Paul dug out his pad and pen from his jacket pocket. “Ms. Kennedy coming in at eleven?”

  “Yes. I sent her a text, and she responded that she’ll be here. Paul, I have to say…I know what you said yesterday, that anyone could be a murderer, but I really can’t imagine Jade hurting anyone.”

  “When people feel threatened or are pushed to the limit, they will do anything to survive.”

  “Still…”

  A knock sounded at the door. Cliff rose from his chair, but Paul remained seated with his pad on his thigh.

  “Come in.”

  Jade Kennedy hurried into the room, her face flushed and eyes bright. “Cliff, what’s going on? You made this meeting sound like a life-or-death thing. Oh.” Seeing Paul, she broke off, and Paul chose to stand then.

  “Good morning, Ms. Kennedy. Detective Paul Monroe. From yesterday?”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “I remember.” There was none of the flirty charm she’d exuded at their meeting the day before. Her icy tone wasn’t unexpected. She whirled back to face Cliff. “Well, Cliff?”

  “Sit down, please.” Cliff returned to his chair and waited. Jade sat, crossed her slim ankles, and laced her fingers on her knees. He regarded her for a moment before bracing his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands together. “Why were you showing Jerry favoritism in the scheduling?”