Geography of Murder (18 page)

I straightened and stared him in the face. Treat them like wild dogs. Don't show fear. Fear turned guys like this on.

"You followed me?"

"Fucking pansy, driving a fucking pansy car. Why don't you go home where you belong?"

"Sure, anytime. Just on my way..."

"Why? Mommy waiting?"

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These guys were clearly spoiling to fight. "I'm not looking for trouble," I said, still backing away. The car door hit my ass.

"Maybe we are," the guy behind me, a fat blubbery man who probably outweighed me two to one said. He was a smoker, too. And he was carrying a tire iron.

In Hollywood movies these days only the bad guys smoked. Cliché come to life. I tried tough. "Give it a rest, guys. We all know you're meaner and tougher than me, so what are you going to prove by beating me up?"

"Makes me feel better. You, Davey?"

"A whole lot better. Kick some faggot ass."

"Assholes." I dove into the car, slamming the door and ramming the key to on. The engine roared in protest but didn't stall like I feared it would. I skidded out onto the main road, barely missing Neanderthal two with the tire iron. He took a swing at me and the window behind me on the passenger's side imploded in a shower of safety glass. Shards slapped the back of my head and something wet trickled down my cheek. My little car fishtailed as I slammed down on the gas pedal. I didn't dare look back and I didn't take my foot off the gas until I almost sideswiped a Volkswagen coming up the hill. When his angry horn forced me to pay attention I made my foot relax and got down to a speed that wasn't going to kill me or anyone else.

Still, it took me what seemed like hours before I pulled into the driveway of Alex's home. I kept looking behind me, expecting to see the monster grill of a big pickup with a rifle rack in my rear view. Talk about a Stephen King moment.

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I slammed and locked the door and went in to the bathroom where I stood over the sink hyperventilating. The vision in the mirror wasn't me. I was pale and glassy-eyed. A trickle of blood dripped down my face below my eye, leaving a bloody track all the way to my collar. I stood there taking deep gulps of air, and shaking.

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175

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

I presented the first draft of the proposed federal
search warrant to Lieutenant Garcia ten minutes before
end of shift. I spent the next twenty minutes telling the
bonehead why we needed the search warrant and what
we hoped to accomplish with it. Asshole finally
pretended he got it and said he'd take it 'under
consideration.' Which probably meant he wasn't going
to do anything. I'd have to bring Nancy in with me for a
second assault tomorrow. She had a way of sweet-talking even the biggest jerks into cooperating and
seeing things our way.

Without that warrant we were dead in the water. No way anyone was going to tell us anything about two dead Korean vets, even with their dishonorable discharges.

Plus, I needed to arrange to bring the raven to Geoffrey Lowe's shop to have a look-see at the bird. If he could point us toward someone who might have done the work it would give us a real person to talk to. Something this case had a shortage of. Or maybe I could shake his story that he'd never mounted a raven for anyone.

Everybody lies. Fact of police life.

Nancy was already gone by the time I got back to my desk and pulled my jacket on. It was full dark with a waxing gibbous moon. It would be full all too soon, then the real crazies would come out. I stopped at the Mediterra and picked up some salmon steaks and asparagus for dinner. I 176

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threw in a six-pack of beer. Jason would be drinking with me tonight. We'd be doing a lot more, but that was later. I let the anticipation work through me, leaving me with a low level hard-on that rubbed against my wool pants and made the promise of the night to come exquisite torture.

The sight of Jason's Honda in the drive brought a brightness to me. I tried to shove the feeling back down inside, but it persisted. The damn kid was getting to me.

But for once I wasn't interested in nipping it in the bud. I wanted to play it through and see where it went. Meanwhile I had every intention of making this night play out for me.

I pulled the groceries off the seat beside me and trotted up to the front door. It was locked. Pleased, I slid my key in and popped the door open. Immediately the smell of pine cleaner and laundry soap wafted over me. The kid had been busy.

I didn't hear the TV so I figured he was in the backyard again, though it was full dark and there couldn't be much to see. I was right. The backyard was dark and empty. Had he laid down for a rest? I don't imagine he got much sleep last night. I should feel bad for that, but he had brought it on himself, openly challenging me like he had. He was part of the game now, and knew the rules. Tonight would more than make up for that.

The bedroom was empty, too. Feeling the first twinge of alarm I hit the kitchen then threw open the bathroom door. I sighed with relief when I saw him standing in front of the mirror, no doubt getting spruced up for my return.

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Then I saw his face. He seemed barely aware of me as he stared blankly into the mirror. His skin was no longer golden but pale and tight. His eyes ... Was that blood?

I spun him around. "What the hell happened?"

For one brief second I saw terror in his eyes. He gave a startled squawk and tried to jerk away from me. Then sanity returned and he moved into my arms, clinging, unnerving me even more. "What the ... what is it, Jason?"

He shook his head. "N-nothing. It was nothing. I'm sure they didn't mean anything ... I just freaked out is all. Stupid."

"What's stupid? What happened?" I wanted to shake him, snap him out of it, but he seemed so fragile. Instead I folded him in my arms and soothed him. Eventually he relaxed and I was able to put him away from me. "You're going to tell me what happened."

I led him into the living room, which showed signs of recent cleaning. Every surface gleamed and the rich smell of furniture polish filled the room. He had been busy. Which sure as hell didn't explain what had turned him into this.

I went back to the kitchen and pulled two beers out of the fridge. Without a word I handed one to him and took a slug of mine. I urged him to drink and he obeyed. After almost emptying the bottle he met my gaze and tried a smile on for size. It looked ghastly.

"Ready to talk?" I asked.

"They must have followed me," he said so softly at first I had to lean in to hear him. "I don't know why, but they must have."

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"Who followed you?" I asked. "And where did they follow you to?"

"I took a drive. It was such a nice day." He twisted the beer bottle in his hand and stared down at it. "After I finished up in here I needed to get out. You can understand that, can't you?" He beseeched me. "It's hard, being cooped up in here all day, alone."

I could understand it. But he also had to understand that his life was changed now. I was going to take care of him. He couldn't do it on his own. "I know, Jason. But there are rules—"

"You were right." Jason hiccuped from the beer. He fumbled to finish the bottle, spilling golden liquid out of his mouth.

"What was I right about?" Under normal circumstances I would have told him of course I was, but this wasn't the time or the place for Dom games. I stroked Jason's rigid back. "Tell me."

"I shouldn't have gone out on my own. You warned me, but I didn't listen."

I thought about the warning I had given him. About gay-bashers. Was that what this was about? I lifted his face to mine, soothing the hard lines of his mouth. "What happened, Jason? Talk to me."

"Can I have another beer?"

I took the bottle from him and stood up. "Sure. Are you hungry? Do you want to eat anything?"

"No." He shook his head. "Just the beer, please."

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I came back with another two beers. Whatever he was going to say made me want another one too. I sat down, pressing my thigh against his. He seemed cold and withdrawn. "Start with who followed you?"

"Two guys in pickup trucks. I stopped at that lookout, way up the Pass there? I just wanted to look..."

I stared at his face. Looking for signs of what? That he'd been beaten? Or worse? But the trauma didn't seem that deep.

"They followed you and when you stopped they confronted you?" When he nodded I plowed ahead, all too aware I was starting to sound like an interrogator going after a suspect.

"How many of them were there? Were they armed? Did you get a good look at their faces?"

"There were two of them. At first I thought it was just the one guy, but then the other one was there. He had a tire iron.

There were rifle rack on the 150. But I couldn't see any rifles..."

"Did they threaten you?" I touched the blood on his face.

"Did they attack you? What did he hit you with? Are you injured—"

"No, nothing like that. I think maybe he would have. They wanted to, I don't know, teach me some kind of lesson. I don't know what they were about." He set his beer down and rubbed his shoulders. I covered his hands with mine. "I got into the car and took off, but one of them hit the car, broke out the back window. You didn't see it? That's when I got this." His hand went over top of mine. His fingers were trembling.

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His voice rose, and then as though he thought I didn't believe him, he grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet, dragging me toward the front door.

"Come and see it for yourself."

I stood beside the little Honda and stared down at the shattered glass. Thoughts poured through me, a dull fury that escalated into full-blown rage. If they had done that to the front window while Jason was driving he might have spun out and gone over those cliffs. I knew the spot he had stopped in.

In the summer it was a favored make out place for drunk and horny teenagers. Every so often one of them drove up there drunk and ended up over the side.

The rage burned bright and hot in me. I was vibrating with it. I wanted to kick ass, and if I couldn't kick the right ass I'd settle for any hillbilly stupid redneck who crossed my path. I almost forgot Jason in my wrath, until his warm hand crept into mine.

"What were they driving? Did you get plate numbers?"

"Two trucks. Ah, one was red I think. The other might have been black. It all happened so fast." His eyes were still glassy. He met mine. "Are you mad?"

"No, not at you." My cop mind was still in high gear. To give myself time to damp down my fury I led him back into the house, carefully shutting and locking the door behind us.

Once I had parked him back on the couch and sat beside him, our thighs touching, I asked, "Did you recognize either of them? Ever see them down in the clubs? On the stroll?"

He looked indignant. "I told you I don't do that."

"But you know the kids who do, right?"

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He wasn't willing to concede anything. "They weren't part of any scene I've been around. And if you saw these guys you'd know they'd be easy to remember."

"So you didn't know them? Did they seem to know you?

Did they talk to you?"

"Not very much." He squeezed his hands into his shoulders and leaned into my touch. He brightened. "One of them called the other one Davey. He was the one in the red shirt."

"The other one have a name?"

"Not that I heard. They seemed more intent on beating the crap out of me than carrying on a conversation."

"Either one of them call you names?" Our conversation had accomplished one thing. Jason was no longer shaking like an aspen leaf. On the other hand I was still thrumming with unspent anger. He looked up at me sheepishly.

"I really did screw up this time, didn't I?"

"Not completely," I said with a grin. I pulled him closer to me, until he was almost sitting in my lap. "You weren't in the wrong. All you wanted to do was go for a fucking drive. Who were those asswipes to go after you like that?"

He was pleased with my vehemence. With a secretive smile he lay his head on my chest. His fingers played with the buttons of my shirt. "So if you're not mad at me, do I have to sleep on the couch again?"

I ran my fingers through his thick hair. The clean scent of my shampoo wafted off his head. He had taken a shower sometime today. He smelled clean. And I knew he was as hard as I was under those tight jeans.

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"Not unless you want to," I answered him. "Do you want to?"

"No."

I tilted his face up. His cheeks felt smooth under my fingertips. I brushed my index finger over his lips. "Hear this again, Jason. I am not going to let anyone hurt you. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"No." I shook my head without breaking away from his eyes. "No Sir tonight. No orders. Just you and me. You ready for that?"

I leaned down and touched his lips with mine. I waited to see if he was ready to respond. I didn't have long to wait. He surged off my lap, twisting around and grabbing my shirt in both hands. He whimpered and rammed his open mouth over mine.

That was all the answer I needed.

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183

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It was like a switch was turned on. One minute I
was scared, remembering how close I had come to
being beaten up or even killed. What gay man doesn't
remember Matthew Shepherd at a time like that? The
next I was infused with a need so powerful I almost
climbed out of my skin. My only fear at that point was
that Alex was going to punish me for what had
happened. If he made me sleep on the couch again I
would scream.