First You Fall: A Kevin Connor Mystery (23 page)

“Somehow, when I heard the crashing and shouting, I knew you’d be in the middle of it,” he offered by way of support.

I explained to the manager that I was making out with a guy in the room when he got a little rough and playful y pushed me against the wal . “After that, I don’t know
what
happened,” I told him.

“That must have been some push,” the manager said.

“Wel , I like ‘em big,” I said.

The manager, pleased that I wasn’t going to sue them for a hazardous condition, wasn’t interested in pursuing the matter any further. He left me and Freddy to talk, tel ing me to take al the time I needed.

“Let me guess, Mr. I’m-So-In-Love-with-Tony,” Freddy said, the moment the manager left. “There was no guy who pushed you against the wal , was there? I bet you … climbed up the wal to get a look at the guys in the next cubby!”

I touched my finger to my nose. “Got it in one.”

“Damn,” Freddy sighed, “they must have been
hot
if you were scaling wal s to see them!”

“It wasn’t like that.” I explained about the shoes, which I recognized from the reading of Al en’s wil .

“I told you he seemed a little light in the loafers,” Freddy said.

“Actual y, they were Oxfords.”

“You know what I mean. I guess this makes both brothers suspects.”

“Both?” I asked. “Why? We know that Michael hates gay people and his father was gay. It makes sense that he’d want Al en dead. But Paul turns out to be gay himself—wel , at least we know he has sex with men. What’s his motive?”

“Paul has a secret,” Freddy leaned in.

“Sometimes, people with secrets wil do anything to keep them. Maybe daddy found out about him and threatened to tel his wife. Or his brother.”

“Al en wouldn’t do that.”

“No, probably not. Try this: Paul is gay but he hates himself for it. Marries a woman, talks homophobic shit, the whole works. When al he real y wants is to take it up the butt…”

“You make it sound so lovely.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, when he thinks of his father, it makes him mad. He sees in his father al the parts of himself he wishes he could … wait for it… throw over the railing. But, he decides to throw his father over, instead.”

I thought about it for a moment. “Possible.”

“Paul sounds like one of those poor slobs who went to his brother’s seminar,” Freddy observed.

“Only for him, ‘the cure’ didn’t take.”

“It doesn’t take for most of them,” I told him. “It makes them shameful and self-hating, but you can only keep your true nature suppressed for so long.”

“How’s your head?” Freddy pushed back my bangs.

“Not too bad,” I said. “How does it look?”

“A little black and blue, but your hair mostly covers it. Here, let me give it a little kiss.” Freddy leaned over, rested his hands on my thighs, and put his incredibly hot and soft lips against my forehead. Even though I’d done nothing but have sex al day, I stil got a little turned on remembering how good those lips had once made certain parts of my anatomy feel.

But those days with Freddy were past, and now I was with Tony.

Wasn’t I?

Freddy leaned back. “Better?”

I stood up. No dizziness, no nausea. “I think I’m fine.”

“OK, but why don’t I cab it home with you and make sure you get there safe and sound?”

“You’re the best,” I said. “Thanks.”

A Dangerous Date

I DIDN’T GET
home until after 2:00 A.M. I must have been exhausted because I slept though my mother’s departure for work. A phone cal woke me at 9:30.

Cal er ID told me it was Mrs. Cherry. “My darling,” she said when I picked up. “How is my most delicious boy?”

“Tired,” I told her.

“You sound it, dearest. Are you stil in bed?”

“Actual y, on the couch,” I said.

“Are you sleeping nude, pet? Or wearing tighty-whitey’s? Or are you letting it al hang loose in boxers and no shirt, or maybe … oh, I mustn’t, or your dear Auntie Cherry wil become too, too aroused!”

I smiled at her flirting. “You know I charge for a phone session,” I told her. “What’s up?”

“My angel, I was wondering if you might be available for a little morning thing. An out-of-towner from Boston. You were recommended by name.” I was so tired, but I opened up my calendar and saw the day was open. “I don’t know. What’s he looking for?”

“You’re gonna love this … he just wants you to wear a bathing suit while he smel s your wet hair.

That’s it! Although he might be doing unspeakable things to himself during the process, it’s not a bad way to make a buck. If you’re up for it.” Truth was, it was about al I was up to today. Other than the guy who wanted to play “salesman,” it was probably the easiest money I’d earn al week.

“Fine,” I said, “where and when?”

She told me the guy’s first name and where to meet him. I told her to let him know I could be there at 11:00.

Seconds after I hung up with Mrs. Cherry, the phone rang again. This time, the cal er ID made me happy.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Hey you,” Tony answered. “You got a minute?”

“More than that. I’m stil in bed. Wel , the couch.

You know what I mean.”

“You are? Lucky dog.”

“Yeah, and it’s nice and cozy in here. A little lonely, though.”

“Mmmm … what are you wearing?” Tony whispered

I’d only been awake ten minutes. Was I going to keep having the same conversation al day?

Of course, this one could take a different direction.

“My favorite underwear. Black boxer briefs with a nice pouch. They’re real y comfortable, especial y when I get, wel , you know. They’re not too tight, so there’s room to grow.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony said quietly. “Go on.”

“And I love the way they hug my ass. The material’s real y smooth, so it feels good when I rub my hand over it. Mmmm … that’s nice.”

“Shit.”

“I’m rubbing my bel y now, right by the waistband of my shorts. It feels real y nice. I wish this were your hand, rubbing me, touching me. Want me to put my hand lower?”

Tony said something I couldn’t hear.

“What’s that?”

“Yeah,” Tony whispered.

“OK, I’m slipping my hand under the waistband.

Just touching the top of my pubes. Rubbing my hand in little circles above my—hey, why are you whispering? Are you at work?”

“Yeah. Keep talking.”

“You want me to talk dirty to you while you’re at your desk?”

Tony growled. “Yeah.”

“At police headquarters?”

“Yeah.”

“Do me a favor,” I said.

“What?”

“Stand up.”

Tony laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” I teased.

“Let’s just say I don’t carry a Bil y club in my pants, so that excuse wouldn’t work.”

This time it was my turn to laugh. “I miss your Bil y club,” I said.

“That’s what I was cal ing about. How about I drop by later?”

“How about now?” I asked. Then, I remembered the appointment I’d just made with Mrs. Cherry.

“Scratch that. How about you come around one? My mom wil stil be at work.”

Boy, did saying that make me feel like a teenager again. Then again, so did being with Tony.

“You got it. Now, go back to what you were tel ing me before.”

I checked the clock. I was going to have to hustle, pardon the expression, to make my meeting on time.

“I’l save it til I can show you.”

“You better.”

“I wil and—oh!” I said, remembering, “I have to tel you who I saw at Sexbar last night!”

“Who?”

“I’l save that too,” I said. “See you at one.” I took a quick shower, shaved everything that needed shaving, and washed down my medication with a protein shake. My client was a businessman staying at a nice hotel, so I got dressed in chinos and a white button-down shirt. I was just ready to leave my apartment when I remembered my client’s special request.

“Shit!” I rummaged through my drawers until I found an old blue Speedo. I took off the chinos, replaced my underwear with the bathing suit, and put the pants back on. I was just about to put on my shoes when I heard my instant messenger chime.

I looked at the computer screen and saw an IM

from Marc Wilgus. “U there?”

I ran over to the computer. “Just heading out.”

“Got the results of the data mining program I was tel ing u about,” Marc typed back.

I looked at the clock. “I wanna hear it, but I gotta run. I’l cal you later.”

“K” Marc signed off.

I arrived at 11:00 at The Astor, the same hotel where I’d been working the night of Al en’s death. I tried not to take that as a bad sign.

I checked my iPhone. I was going to room 813. I avoided the front desk. Nosy desk clerks sometimes enjoyed making me as uncomfortable as possible.

Occupational hazard.

I took the elevator to the eighth floor. I knocked on the door of 813, but there was no answer. Strange.

Usual y, my clients wait anxiously by the door.

I knocked again. This time, the door swung open.

I stepped inside. “Hel o,” I cal ed out. “Hel o!” No answer. Weird. I was just about to look in the bedroom when I was grabbed from behind. “What the …” I started to say, and then a hand gloved in smooth leather was covering my mouth. One finger slid briefly into my mouth before I closed it. It tasted like a new car smel s.

My first reaction was to panic and start screaming. But I’d taken enough self-defense classes to know that was exactly the wrong thing to do.

Focus Kevin, focus.

What do you know?

I could tel the guy was big, at least bigger than me. The chest against which he was holding me felt muscular. His arms were thick, too. He was strong enough to hold both my arms with one of his.

A weird client on an S&M kick. He wasn’t the first one I’ve come across, but he was the most aggressive.

Thing was, there was no way to know how this was going to go down. He might just be playing with me, or he might be genuinely dangerous.

Unfortunately, with his hand over my mouth, I wasn’t in a position to inquire.

Sorry, but there was no time to be subtle. If he was just playing, this wasn’t going to earn me much of a tip, but I couldn’t take the chance.

When your opponent is anticipating a right, my Krav Maga teacher used to say, throw a left. With that in mind, I let my body go limp, as if I fainted.

My client, expecting me to struggle, loosened his grip. That was al I needed.

I drove my elbows back with al my might. Hit him right in the solar plexus.

“Ooof,” he exhaled. Thinking that I was trying to push away, he took his hand off my mouth so that he could hold me with both arms.

Big mistake. In Krav Maga, we learn to hit with the hardest parts of our bodies. That’s why I led with my elbows. Now that my head was free, I had another weapon. I screamed, “Ah-yah!” threw my head back, and hit him on the chin.

A skul is very hard.

That sent him stepping backwards, giving me enough room to slip out of his grasp.

I spun around to confront him, ready to use another hard body part, my knee, where it would do the most good. We little guys fight dirty.

But by the time I pivoted, he was ready, too. He threw a punch that connected with my cheek. The pain was blinding. I tasted coppery blood in my mouth.

I stumbled back and got my first look at him. It was al going down so fast, I couldn’t take in much detail, except for the fact that he was wearing al black, including a black leather slave hood that had zippers over the eyes and the mouth.

The zippers over the eyes were open, but the zipper over his mouth was closed.

OK, I thought, this guy is weirder than I thought.

He advanced again, and I stepped back. He was big enough that I didn’t have a chance if he got too close. Unfortunately, he was blocking the door, and if I ran further into the room, he’d have me cornered.

He reached into his pocket and pul ed out a knife, OK, he was now official y the world’s worst client.

“Don fuffin moo,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask.

I cocked my head. “What?” I asked.

“Doan fuffin moof!”

“I don’t understand what you’re …” oh wait, I got it!

“Don’t fucking move?”

“Rie!” he answered.

If I weren’t so creeped out, it’d be laughable.

But this was no laughing matter. That punch he gave me hurt. And now he had a knife.

“Hey,” I said to him, “if this is just a joke, or some freaky SM thing, you better let me know right now.” This time, the muffled sound that came from his mask was laughter. He started to head towards me.

Time for the oldest trick in the book.

“Fire!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “There’s a fire in here!”

The Masked Marvel turned around to look at the door. I knew he was trying to remember: In his haste to grab me, had he remembered to close it?

He had. But in the moment he turned away, I had time to reach into my pocket, too. When he turned back to face me, I took a step closer and raised my arm.

A stream of Mace squirted from the smal canister I always carried with me and hit him in the face. Told you we little guys fight dirty.

He jumped back quickly. I imagined the mask he was wearing protected him from the worst of it, but enough got into his eyes to get his attention.

“Fuffer,” he said through his mask. Then he turned and ran out of the room. By the time I fol owed him into the hal way, he had disappeared down the stairs.