Sunday, July 31, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 63

“Carrie was right; you’re several shades puce and yellow.”

Dean chuckled and sat up. “Gorgeous, huh?”

Kirby eyed him, taking in not just the bruises but the well defined chest they decorated. “Handsome would be a better word. Not the damage but the man, the face, the body.”

Dean ducked his head. He could almost feel himself turning red.

“You are you know,” Kirby told him with a smile. “Handsome and sexy.”

“Stop. I’m none of those. I’m just…me. Plain old ordinary me.” He raised his eyes to look at Kirby. “You’re the sexy one.”

“Not handsome?” Kirby asked with a look of mock disappointment.

“Well…your face is, but…” Dean patted the bed then began to unbutton Kirby’s shirt after he sat down beside him. When he was finished he pushed it back off Kirby’s shoulders. “You not too badly built, for a cop. No excess fat from too many doughnuts.”

“That’s a myth you know, cops and doughnuts.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow as he ran his hands over Kirby’s chest, exploring the well-defined lines of muscle. “In your case, I’d have to agree. At least from as much as I can see of you.”

“Subtle, not.” Kirby stood, his shirt sliding the rest of the way off to land in a heap on the floor. “I suppose you want to check out the rest?”

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. “I might.” He leaned back against the headboard, his hands behind his head. “Go for it.”

“Ohhh, you so shouldn’t have said that.” With a quick yank he pulled the covers down, taking an admiring look at Dean’s slim hips before he grasped his half-erect cock in one hand.

Dean gasped. Seconds later he groaned as Kirby knelt between his outstretched legs and bent to lick from the base up to the mushroom head, before engulfing it in his hot mouth. “Oh…my…god…” he managed to get out, gripping the headboard rails so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Kirby worked his cock expertly, swallowing him entirely, pulling back and doing it again, and again, until Dean was delirious with need. Then he sat back on his heels, looking at Dean, and winked. “You did say ‘go for it’.”

“And you took it literally. Damn. So what do I have to say to get you to fuck me?”

“‘Please’ works.” Kirby started to undo his slacks.

“Please,” Dean growled.

Suddenly Kirby found himself on his back as Dean finished the job of opening his slacks, taking his engorged member in one hand while trying to push the slacks down with the other. Kirby lifted his hips to make the job easier and kicked them off.

“Amazing,” Dean whispered, stroking his hand up the thick length of Kirby’s shaft.

Kirby chuckled. “It’s just a cock.”

“Just?” Dean slid down so he could lap at the leaking slit. “Ambrosia,” he murmured, sucking the object of his desire into his mouth. Kirby’s moans told him he was doing something right so he continued until Kirby gripped his head to stop him.

“Keep that up and I’ll be coming too soon.” Kirby pulled Dean up to take his lips in a hungry kiss that deepened as they plundered each other’s mouths.

Friday, July 29, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 62

“Take your meds,” Kirby said pointedly as soon as he closed the condo door behind them.

“Aw hell. Come on. It seems like I just did, at the hospital.”

Kirby shook his head. “You didn’t, and even if you had, it was a couple of hours ago.”

“Every four hours,” Dean replied, taking the bottle from his pocket to check. “See.” He handed the bottle to Kirby.

“Yeah, okay, you’re right. Just don’t forget to take them later then.”

“I gather you’re leaving.”

“I told you I had to get back to work.”

“So go then. I’ll just…see what movies you have that I can watch.” Dean crossed the entertainment center, running his finger along the spines of the movie cases.

Kirby smiled ruefully as he watched him. Then he walked up behind him to wrap his arms around his waist. “I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

Turning in Kirby’s arms, Dean shook his head. “You’ll catch some case and it’ll be morning or later.”

“So now you know my routine?” Kirby chuckled when Dean nodded. “If I do I’ll call so you don’t worry.”


“Promise.” Kirby traced the line of Dean’s jaw with one finger. “Try to get some sleep. You need it.”

“What I need is…” Dean paused, “a kiss?”

“You don’t know?”

“I know.” Sliding his arms around Kirby’s neck, Dean proceeded to demonstrate exactly the sort of kiss he wanted from Kirby.

And he got it, and then some, in return.

“Damn,” Kirby muttered when they broke apart. “Keep that up and I’m going nowhere.”

“Oh really?” Dean’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and desire.

With a sigh, Kirby shook his head. “Unfortunately staying is not an option. So watch movies, sleep, take your meds, and we’ll see what happens, and how you feel, when I get back.”

“I’ll feel frustrated and missing you,” Dean stated positively.

“And the feelings will be mutual.” Kirby unwound Dean’s arms from around his neck—after they shared one more kiss. “This one’s good,” he said, pulling out one of the movies to hand to Dean.

“Subtle.” Dean laughed. “Go. The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll be back.”

“Going already. Damn.” Kirby grinned as he walked to the door.

For a moment they both sobered as they looked at each other. Then Dean smiled. “Hurry home,” he said softly.

“With you here waiting, you know I will.”

Dean nodded. “I do.”

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 61

Dean had just finished getting dressed when Kirby showed up with Carrie right behind him.

“Aren’t both of you supposed to be working?” Dean asked them.

“We figured you might want some moral support, or whatever you want to call it,” Carrie told him.

“Uh-oh, now what?” Dean asked, his mouth tightening as he sat down on the edge of the hospital bed.

Kirby sat down beside him. “Nothing too dire, just a bajillion reporters waiting to interview you when you leave.”

Dean sighed. “Oh well. I guess I might as well face them and get it over with.”

“There’s one other thing,” Carrie added, handing him an envelope. “This came for you at the theater.”

Dean looked at the return address, and then the handwriting. Slowly he opened it, his face reflecting his emotions as he read it.

Kirby put one arm around his shoulder, waiting until he’d finished before asking, “From your father?”

“No, from Mom. She…” He shook his head. “A lot of it’s what I would have expected but at the end… She says she’s told my father he is not to do anything to me, or have anything done to me or she will…” Dean smiled slightly, “She’ll take matters into her own hands with him. And knowing her, she will and he’ll regret it. She’s a strong woman in her own right. She ended it by saying, ‘In spite of what you are, Dean, you are still my son and I love you’.” He folded the letter then put it in his pocket. “I guess perhaps in her own way she does.”

Kirby hugged him very gently for a moment. “A lot of people do,” he said softly.

Carrie nodded, waiting until Dean stood before giving him a light hug in deference to his ribs and bruised body. He smiled at her, ruffling her hair. “What would I have done without your support all these years?”

“Probably screwed up royally,” she replied with a grin. “Now I think it’s time for you to face your public, or at least the television part of it.”

“Can we sneak out the back door?”

“Unfortunately that’s a no-go,” Kirby told him. “They’re not as stupid as you might think. They have it covered too, just in case.”

“Ah well. Then let’s do it.”

* * * *

With Kirby and Carrie at his side, Dean managed to weather the reporters, answering their questions as best he could. All except one.

“Mr Travers, are you and Detective Lasiter a couple?” a female reporter called out.

Dean froze, totally nonplussed by the question.

Kirby took matters into his own hands, as he put an arm around Dean’s waist. “Let’s just say we’re exploring the options and leave it at that, shall we. And now, if you don’t mind, it’s time to get him home so he can rest. And those,” he grinned, “are the doctor’s orders, not mine.”

A few minutes later, having managed to get through the crowd of reporters and television cameras they made it to Kirby’s car. As they drove away Dean looked at Kirby, studying him.

Kirby glanced at him for a second, smiling. “What?”

“You do realize you just outed yourself to the world. It’s not just a secret between you and…well the few people who knew, anymore.”

“Well hell, I guess I did.” Kirby’s smile widened. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

Dean snorted. “Not hardly.”

“Good. So, your place or mine?”

“Umm, I’m supposed to be resting, doctor’s orders according to you.”

“Which you can do in either place. I’m just dropping you off. I do have a job and a partner who would really like it if I showed up for work on a regular basis now that all this is over.”

“Well, since you’re giving me an option...” Dean held out his hands, palms up, moving them up and down as if weighing something.   

Kirby pressed down on one palm. “My place it is.”

“Now what makes you think that hand wasn’t my apartment?”

“A good guess?”

Dean laughed. “Your place it was—and is.”

Monday, July 25, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 60

“Nothing’s broken, no internal injuries, a few bruised ribs is all, so can I get the hell out of here?” Dean asked Kirby petulantly.

“When the doctor signs the release papers and not a second sooner.”

“Come on. I’ll go crazy just sitting here.” Then he smiled. “I can sign myself out you know.”

“You can, but you won’t. I’m just glad they were only trying to hurt you, not maim or kill you. You were damned lucky, so don’t try to press your luck. Stay here until you can move without too much pain.”

“Define ‘too much’.”

“When you don’t wince or groan just shifting to a more comfortable position, if you’re not on pain meds.”

“Well I am on them, right now, so get me out of here. I’m not in pain.”

“Dean…” Kirby said firmly, “you are staying right here.”

“You bet he is, if I have to sit on him,” Carrie said as she walked into the room with an armful of flowers. “What, no vases? What sort of joint is this anyway?”

Jim, who was right behind her, laughed and went in search of a nurse who might know where to find one. Meanwhile Carrie set the flowers down on the dresser before she pulled up a chair beside the bed.

“You look like hell, if you want my personal opinion. I can hardly wait to see you when all the bruising turns the lovely shades of puce and yellow that come next.” She took Dean's hand, squeezing it. “So when do they spring you for real?”

Dean sighed. “Tomorrow, if they think I’m healing all right.”

Carrie nodded then looked at Kirby. “What happens to the two bastards who did this?”

“They’ll be arraigned Monday morning. Until then they sit in jail. They lawyered up, of course, but with the tapes we have of what happened, plus Dean’s testimony, we can hope the judge will deny bail—if for no other reason than that they’re a flight risk since they’re both from Colorado.”

“I hope they rot there,” Carrie spat out in reply.

“Don’t we all,” Jim said as he returned with a vase and put the flowers into it. “Has anyone told you, you look like hell Dean?”

Dean laughed. “A couple of people have.”

Carrie eyed her brother thoughtfully. “So what’s on the agenda once you get out of here?”

“Nothing exciting, that’s for sure.”

“You’re not going to do anything but rest, and maybe work since it’s a sedentary job,” Kirby stated firmly.

Dean arched an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

When Kirby said, “Yeah, really,” Carrie gave Jim a knowing grin.

Jim grinned back. “Doomed.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

Kirby obviously caught their interplay and shook his head. At that point a nurse came in to tell everyone they had to leave as visiting hours were over. Carrie got up and leaned in to kiss Dean’s cheek. Kirby got a bit more personal, brushing a kiss across Dean’s lips before telling him he had better follow doctor’s orders, or else.

After the trio was gone the nurse smiled at Dean. “I think you’re a lucky man.”

“Because I’m alive?”

“No, because you have people who love and care about you.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Yeah I guess I do.”

Saturday, July 23, 2016

It's release day for 'Someone to Love Him'!

Someone to Love Him
Luke Ryder has been doing whatever it takes to survive on the streets for the last three years. Then he meets Jourdain Laurent, a man who offers to help him get off the streets. Although wary of Jourdain's motives, Luke slowly accepts his help.

Finn Macneil is aware of what is happening. He vows to save Luke from Jourdain's clutches, as he knows what will happen if he doesn't. After all, Finn's step-brother was destroyed by Jourdain.

Will Finn be able to save Luke, and end Jourdain's existence? He prays he can, or the attraction he and Luke begin to feel for each other is doomed.

    Luke brushed a hand through his dark brown hair to tame it as best as possible, and leaned against the wall, his sign at his feet. When people approached or left the restaurant he put on his best 'please help me' smile, holding out his cup. Tonight, some of them actually responded, dropping change into it, rather than moving as far as possible to the edge of the sidewalk to avoid him.

    A couple of hours later he'd made back what he'd spent on dinner and decided to call it a night. Folding his sign, he put it in his backpack and started down the street, heading toward the river. He'd gone two blocks when he heard footsteps behind him and a man said, "How much?"

    Turning, Luke saw a good-looking, dark-haired man in a business suit standing there, a smile playing over his lips.

    "For what?" Luke asked innocently, praying the guy wasn't an undercover cop.

    "For the pleasure of your company."

    "Boy, have you got the wrong person," Luke replied.

    "And you have the wrong idea," the man said, smiling again. "I've seen you, three times now, across the street from where I live. Do you at least make enough to be able to buy a decent meal now and then?"

    Luke shrugged, wondering where this was going. "I'm alive, so, yeah. What business is of yours, anyway?"

    "None, of course. I'm just concerned."

    "For my welfare? Don't be. I'm sure you have better things to worry about."

    The man eyed Luke with amusement. "For someone living on the streets, you're pretty quick to take offense, when all I want to do is help you."

    "What? You have a job for me? Like ... polishing your fancy shoes or walking your dog?"

    "No dog." The man glanced down. "And my shoes don't need a polish."

    "I was being factious."

    "Do you even know what that means?" the man asked.

    "No. I just heard someone say it. Yes, I know what it means. I may be homeless, but I'm not stupid." Luke turned, starting to walk away.

    "Wait," the man said, putting one hand on Luke's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

    "You didn't. I'm used to people thinking I'm uneducated because I'm out here." Luke waved his hand to encompass the area. "And I look like I've been wearing the same clothes for the last month."

    "Have you?"

    Luke waggled a hand. "I got them from a drop-in spot a few days ago, so for me they're pretty new."

    "Don't you ever buy clothes?"

    Luke snorted. "Nope. The only thing I spend cash on is shoes and food -- when I can afford it." He cocked his head, looking at the man. "Why do you care, and why the hell am I standing here answering your questions?"

    "Good question. We could be sitting in a restaurant, eating a late supper."

    "Uh-huh. Like you'd be willing to be seen with me in some nice place. Besides, I already ate."

    "As have I," the man admitted. "Perhaps coffee?"


    "You ... interest me."

    Luke backed away quickly. "Okay, I get the picture. This is your way of propositioning me. Next thing you'll be suggesting we go into the nearest alley so I can blow you."

    The man looked at him in shock. "I wouldn't do that." He frowned. "Is that how you make money?"

    "When I have to. It comes with the territory. Begging, giving blowjobs, selling drugs, which, by the way, I don't. I have no use for drugs and I'm not about to get involved with them, using or selling."

    "That's good to know. Now, back to my question. Would you join me in a cup of coffee?"

    Luke laughed. "Old joke, but I don't think we'd both fit in the cup."

    The man looked puzzled, then smiled. "Probably not. Would you care to go get coffee with me?"

    "Maybe, but only if you tell me who you are. That way I can tell the cops, if you try to drug me so you can carry me off to your den of iniquity."

    "My what? Why would I do that?"

    "Sorry," Luke said. "I was kidding." I hope. This is too weird. What's he after and why me?

    "My name is Jourdain. Jourdain Laurent."


    "Yes. Although it's been a long time since I've lived in France. As long as we're trading names, you are?"

    "Luke Ryder."

    "A strong name. So, coffee?"

    "Sure. Why not? It's not like I have anything else to do."

The Colors of Hate - 59

When Kirby reached the top of the stairs, there was a door standing partly open. The voices and the accompanying sounds of fists hitting flesh were clear now. The men were swearing, calling Dean every disgusting word in their limited vocabulary, mixed with threats about what more they would do to him should he tell anyone who they were, or attempt to make whatever announcement it was he’d planned on.

Kirby took a deep, steadying breath, glanced back to see Reid was now three steps below him, and then stepped into the booth.

The two men, Jones and his cohort, were so intent on what they were doing it took them a few seconds to realize they had company. Those seconds were their undoing. Kirby moved swiftly, pressing his gun to Jones’s back as he said, “One move and you are dead. Hands behind your head. Now!”

Reid was right behind him, his gun pointed at the second man as he repeated Kirby’s orders.

Both of Dean’s attackers frozen and then slowly did as they were ordered. While Kirby kept them covered Reid cuffed them.

Only then did Kirby drop his guard to kneel down beside Dean, who was curled in a fetal position on the floor. Carefully, Kirby cut the rope binding Dean’s hands and then he removed the gag. “Don’t even try to move,” he cautioned. “Not until I get the EMTs here.”

Dean closed his eyes, opening them immediately.

“That better be your way of saying you’ll do as you’re told,” Kirby said with a thin smile.

Dean closed and opened his eyes again.

“You are allowed to talk,” Kirby told him.

Hoarsely, Dean told him, “It hurts.”

While Kirby was talking, Reid had been on the phone, calling for medical assistance for Dean. After he hung up he ordered the two prisoners to go down the stairs, where police officers waited, guns drawn. When the men were gone Reid joined Kirby beside Dean.

“Is anything broken that you can tell,” Reid asked.

Dean frowned for a second then shook his head. “I don’t… think so… But damn…”

“Hurting a bit?” Kirby stroked his forehead gently.

“You could say… that.”

Kirby nodded. “Just did.”

Dean started to life his arm, the middle finger of his hand pointing straight up. Kirby took hold of it, telling him with a small chuckle, “Message received, and I told you not to move.”

At that point there were footsteps on the stairs and two EMTs came into the booth. Kirby and Reid stood and moved out of the way while the men began to examine Dean.

A few minutes later one of them said, “It doesn’t look like any major damage was done but we won’t know for certain until we get him to the hospital for X-rays.” He stood and left the booth, returning with a vacuum mattress. Once they prepared it and moved Dean onto it, they were able to carry him down the narrow stairs and out to the ambulance.

Kirby was followed right behind them, insisting he was going with Dean to the hospital. After a nod from one of them, he climbed into the back of the ambulance.

Thursday, July 21, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 58

“Spread out and find him,” Reid ordered while putting a hand on Kirby’s arm to keep him from leaving, too. As the police officers moved away to start searching, Reid said, “We will find him, Kirby. He’s here somewhere.”

“We don’t know that,” Kirby replied tensely.

“Yes we do. As soon as we heard them talking to him, the patrol cars moved in. There wasn’t time for them to get him out of here.”

“Then why hasn’t he said where they have him.”

“Kirby, stop! Think, damn it. If he says anything specific they’ll know what’s going on. They aren’t stupid. Just be glad they haven’t found out he’s wired.”

Releasing his grip on Kirby’s arm, Reid started toward the business office where they’d last heard Dean, talking to the women, before he was taken. While Reid interviewed the women, Kirby walked cautiously into the auditorium, his hand resting on the butt of his gun. The overhead lights were on, giving him a decent visual of the rows of seats as he walked past them. Halfway down, he stopped. There was a dark stain on the blue carpeting at the end of one row. He moved closer and saw an empty coffee mug lying on its side in front of the first seat.

But where from here? Talk to me Dean. Show me somehow. He searched the area for any sort of clue to which way the men had taken Dean. Good boy. Part way down the row was another damp spot, what looked like a partial shoe print, and at the far end of the row yet another one, the toe of the shoe, or he hoped it was the toe, pointing to the back of the auditorium.

As he searched the carpet for more prints, he called Reid to let him know what he’d found. By the time he’d hung up he saw another, barely visible, print. It was by the same door he’d used to get to the lighting booth when he’d interviewed the lighting director, while investigating Ms Westcott’s murder.

Reid joined him moments later. Kirby pointed to the door, starting toward it, only to have Reid stop him and motion for Kirby to follow him. With a frown, Kirby did.

Once they were a few yards from the door Reid whispered, “I got a call from the man monitoring the wire. We’re getting more than enough to arrest those two for intimidation.”

“But?” Kirby asked, knowing there was more.

“They’re not just talking, and from the sound of it, or the lack of sound, they must have tied and gagged Dean before they started in on him.”

Kirby’s face registered the rage he felt at Reid’s words, but he kept quiet except to say, his words barely audible, “I think they have him up there.” He pointed to the door to the lighting booth again.

Reid nodded, drawing his gun. He held it at his side as he waited for Kirby to open the door, hoping against hope it wasn’t locked. He gave a small sigh of relief when the handle turned and Kirby opened it a crack.

From above him, coming from the room at the top of the narrow flight of stairs, Kirby heard muffled voices. He signaled for Reid to wait before he began inching his way up. Every instinct made him want to race up to confront the men and stop them from doing anything more to Dean. But his common sense told him such an action might cause them to react drastically in an attempt to escape.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 57

Thursday afternoon, with only a little over twenty-four hours until he was supposed to be making the ‘announcement’ after Friday night’s show, Dean was a tense bundle of nerves. Every sound, every footstep he heard in the hall outside of the costume shop, had him jumping.

Finally one of his seamstresses came up to him, putting her hands on his shoulders as she said, “Go get some coffee, or better yet some tea. You’ve redrawn that sleeve three times and it hasn’t changed one iota, other than the hole you’ve made in the paper with your erasures.”

He looked at the sketch on his desk, realized she was correct and sighed. “I thought doing this would take my mind off of things, Ellie.”

“Apparently not,” she replied with a smile. “So get some tea and work off some energy pacing the hall, or something.”

With a nod, he crumpled up the sketch, tossed it into the waste basket and left the room. His hand went to his chest, touching the wire under his shirt, a movement he couldn’t resist despite Kirby’s warning not to. He just needed the sense of security he felt knowing it was there, even though he was aware it might be tomorrow before the men showed up—if they even did. "They’d better," he whispered as he headed towards the front of the building. The women in the business office made the best coffee of anyone here and right now he wanted some, strong and black.

He arrived there to find everyone on the phones. One woman looked up long enough to mouth ‘This is your fault’, but she was smiling so he wasn’t too worried. Heading over to the coffeepot he filled a mug with coffee then leaned back against the wall to drink some of it while he watched everyone trying to find available seats for customers for Friday night’s performance.

After a few minutes, feeling somewhat calmer, Dean topped off his coffee before he left to go back to the costume shop. He heard voices coming from around the corner of the hall and decided he wasn’t in the mood for people. Veering right, he walked into the auditorium. It was dark, the only illumination coming from exit lights and the trouble lights on the stage ahead of him. That would soon change as crew members started prepping for tonight’s show, but for the moment it was pleasantly empty and quiet.

Dean moved halfway down the center aisle and slid into a seat, kicking his feet up on the one in front of him, and sipped his coffee.    

Sunday, July 17, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 56

Vince clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Why would these men come here to threaten you, Dean? Why not somewhere where there’s less potential for anyone to see them?”

“For the next few days I’ll only be at one of two places, here and at a safe-house, and I’ll have a police escort coming and going. This whole idea is police sanctioned to catch these men in the act of threatening me.” Which was not quite the truth but Dean wasn’t going to play with the semantics of the statement. “I wanted your input on how best to handle the announcement. And of course,” he looked at Frank and Vince since they were the powers-that-be, “your approval to do this.”

“And if we don’t give it to you?” Frank asked.

“Then I guess I’m back to square one.”

“Well you have mine,” Vince told him.

“And mine,” Frank stated.

“Thank you,” Dean said with a sigh of relief. “So…”

“So,” Carrie glanced at the others, “how about some of us hit the bars tonight and gossip about what’s going on at the theater. See if we can get the word out even more, and hope these men hear about how Dean’s now holed up at the theater until it happens. Or…” she glanced at Dean, “would that sound like a set-up?”

Jim shook his head, saying before Dean could reply, “With this group, gossiping is a way of life when we’re at a bar or the club. I think people would be shocked if we didn’t.”

“Hey,” one of the actors called out, “I resemble that remark.” Everyone laughed, easing the feeling of tension in the room.

“Does anyone see in major flaws in this plan,” Dean asked, regaining their attention.

“One,” Carrie said. “What happens when the men do show up? I really don’t want to find your beaten, bloody body behind one of the backdrops.”

Dean smiled tightly. “It’s not going to happen. That part we have covered. And now, thanks to all of you, the men will have to come here to get to me. So, unless anyone objects, we can bring this meeting to an end.”

No one did. Most of the people left, a couple of them stopping to tell Dean they were proud of him for having the guts to do the television interview in the first place.

When everyone else was gone Frank came over to Dean. “One question, and maybe I should be asking Detective Lasiter but he’s not here. He told me to beef up the security on the theater. Do you know if he still wants it? It could make it harder for these men to get to you.”

“We hadn’t thought of that. I’ll make a unilateral decision and say go back to what it normally is and I’ll let him know.”

Frank nodded sharply and walked quickly from the room.

Dean took a deep breath of relief. Well it’s done, and please God it works.

Friday, July 15, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 55

“All right, here’s the gist of what’s going on.” Dean paced the rehearsal room. The assembled people—about half the company, including Carrie and Jim—listened intently. “The TV interview I did a couple of days ago did not sit well with my father and his followers.”

“Big surprise there,” one of the actors muttered.

“Exactly. My father paid me a visit then returned home. That much I know for certain, thanks to the police. However there are two CVA members still lurking around. One is the man some of you saw dancing with Angela at the club the night she was murdered. That part’s neither here nor there at the moment. What is, is the fact that I’ve received threats from him because of my interview.”

“What can we do to help?” Tayla asked in concern.

“Do you need a safe place to stay?” another actor asked.

Dean shook his head. “At the moment I’m all right as far a housing goes. The thing is, I have to get these men to come after me, and it has to be here in the theater. Anything else, according to the police, would smack of a set up.”

“Why don’t the cops just arrest them, if you know they’re the ones who are threatening you?” someone called out.

Dean chuckled. “Apparently there’s this small thing called proving it. It’s one thing to know it’s them, but they’re smart enough not to leave any real evidence behind.”

“Do you have a plan, or is that why we’re here?” Jim asked.

“I’ve got a vague plan. I want to make a very public announcement about an organization that wants me to be their ‘face’ as they counter all the lies the CVA and other such groups are propagating. And before anyone asks, this isn’t for real but I need to make it sound as if it is.”

“You can make the announcement after the show tonight,” Tayla suggested.

One of the actors shook his head. “Too soon. They’d hear about it and then just go after him somewhere else. We need to let it out that the announcement is coming up. Play it up to get as much publicity as possible.”

“Good point,” Jim said. “Okay, what about a slash banner across the posters out front. Something like, ‘Dean Travers will make a major announcement about the CVA and his plans for the future after the performance on Friday evening’.”

Frank nodded. “We can do that. Plus, we’ve got a new ad for the show that's going into the newspaper Friday morning. I’ll see to it the information about your ‘announcement’ is added to it Dean. If these men haven’t done anything before then, it could give them the final push.”

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 54

Kirby wished he knew what was going through Dean’s mind. Was he just tired, unwinding from what had been a very stressful day, or was it something else? He had promised Dean he would put whatever feelings might be developing between them on hold until everything had settled down. Maybe he shouldn’t have. He tapped a thumb against his lips, took another drink of coffee, and then turned to set the cup down.

He could feel Dean’s eyes on him still and looked back now, a slight smile playing across he lips. “Come here,” he said softly.

Dean flinched away as if Kirby had shouted the words.

Reaching out, Kirby placed one hand on Dean’s shoulder, tugging gently.

For a brief moment Dean resisted. “I thought…”

“Don’t think. Do.” Sliding his hand up, he cupped the nape of Dean’s neck, urging him to come closer.

Dean did, his eyes searching Kirby’s face as if looking for confirmation of what he thought was happening.

Kirby traced a finger over the shape of Dean’s mouth, moving it away seconds later to replace it with his lips, brushing them lightly over Dean’s. When Dean didn’t try to move away Kirby increased the pressure. He felt Dean respond, kissing him back hesitantly.

“I won’t take it any further than this,” Kirby whispered. “Not tonight. I just wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss you.”

“It felt good. I mean… Oh hell.”

Kirby laughed. “Yeah it did, at least I thought so.”

“I did too.” Dean’s gaze locked on Kirby’s mouth before he leaned close enough to kiss him again.

Kirby returned the kiss as it was given, slowly and gently, not asking for more than what Dean was willing to allow.

When they broke apart Dean sighed. Kirby pulled him against his chest, just holding him.

“That was…” Dean whispered.

“Wonderful, awful, the first time you’ve ever kissed a man?”

“Wonderful, I think. And,” Dean paused before admitting, “yes, the first time, for kissing that is.”

“Not big on kissing?” Kirby asked.

“I never wanted to. It seemed. Damn it.” He turned his head to look up at Kirby. “I’m not a total innocent, but somehow…”

Kirby nodded, understanding. “You’ve had sex with a man, but never gone to bed with one, or even gone home with one.”

Dean nodded. “I couldn’t allow myself to do that.”

“I get the picture.” Kirby cupped Dean’s chin in one hand. “When this is over and you feel ready, if you want to that is, I’ll show you what it’s like to make love, not just have down and dirty backroom sex.”

“I want to. Just not…tonight.” Dean shook his head. “I feel like… Damn you wouldn’t think I was almost as old as you. I’m acting like a high school kid, or worse.”

“Not at all. You’ve had to keep everything inside and hidden. I suppose the best description would be, it’s as if you’ve lived your whole life in a cave and now you’re out in the world and free to explore what it has to offer.”

“That was very poetic,” Dean told him, smiling. “And very true. I want to explore it all.”

“Just not tonight. That’s fine. We’ll take things one step at a time.”

“Thank you,” Dean whispered. Then, probably to the surprise of both of them, he kissed Kirby again and it wasn’t tentative this time. It wasn’t probing, but it definitely was a kiss that said he wanted to do it. And somehow, it managed to promise there would be more, in time.

Monday, July 11, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 53

Dean nodded. “I know a bit. A few names of people who support my father behind the scenes, or who did back when I lived at home. The money men.”

Reid shook his head. “That could put you in more danger than you are now. We don’t really want them to try to kill you.”

“All right, we won’t go in that direction. But,” he smiled, “maybe something even better. I’ve got some real prestige now because of the TV interview. So, I let it out there are some powerful people who have come to me, asking me to be the front-man, the face of an organization being formed to counter the CVA lies and distortions.”

The two detectives considered his idea. Finally they both nodded. “That could do it,” Kirby said. “That could definitely bring them out of the woodwork. They won’t kill you. It would be counter-productive. But I’d be willing to bet they’ll want to threaten you in person. All we need is to record them when they do and we’ll be able to arrest them for criminal threatening or intimidation. If their threats are based on your sexuality it also becomes a hate-crime.”

“Then we have a plan. I’ll try to figure out how to implement the publicity part, and I bet some of the people I work with can come up with some ideas. After all it is a theater.”

“All right. Anything else we need to talk about?” Reid asked. “If not I’m going home and get some sleep.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you in the morning.” Kirby walked him to the door, locking and bolting it, as well as setting the alarm, once he’d left. When he returned to the living room he found it empty and most of the table cleared. Smiling slightly he went into the kitchen to find Dean rinsing off the plates before putting them in the dishwasher. “You don’t have to do that,” he told him.

“You ever try to scrape dried-on food off in the morning? It sucks. Besides if I’m staying here I want to pull my own weight.”

“Okay. I wasn’t really complaining, just commenting.”

Dean finished up while Kirby went back to clear the rest of the table, putting the small amounts of leftover food into the refrigerator. When they finished Kirby asked, “Are you heading to bed or would you like some coffee?”

“Coffee sounds good to me. I’m tired, but not, if you know what I mean.”

“I totally do.” Kirby set the coffee to brewing.

“So…are you rich, or just on the take?” Dean asked in a teasing tone of voice.

Kirby laughed. “Neither. This place belonged to one of my brothers before he decided to get married and move out of state. It was half paid for, he let me take over the mortgage, I refinanced it down to payments I could afford and now it belongs to me.”

“Nice. Maybe someday I’ll have a place to call my own. Oh, did I tell you my landlord isn’t planning on kicking me out.”

“Great. That must be a relief.” Kirby poured them each some coffee and they went back out to the living room, settling down on either end of the sofa.

“It is. If there’s one thing I hate it’s apartment hunting.”

“I’m with you on that one.” Kirby smiled at him over the rim of his mug.

Dean liked how Kirby’s eyes sort of crinkled up when he smiled. It made him seem more human, less cop, although he couldn’t have said why he felt that way. He studied his face, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.

Kirby cocked an eyebrow. “Yes?”


“You what?”

“I don’t know.”

Saturday, July 9, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 52

Dean came into the living room in time to see Reid enter carrying several take-out bags from a local deli. “I gather this is a working supper,” Dean said as Reid put them down on the table and Kirby disappeared into the kitchen.

“Of course. What else?” Reid asked.

“Nothing.” Dean shrugged.

Kirby reappeared with bottles of beer balanced on three plates. He set them on the table, went back for silverware, then they sat down to eat.

“Tell Reid about your father’s visit,” Kirby said after they’d made some inroads into the meal.

Dean gave him a brief version of what had happened, ending with, “He’s all bluster.”

Reid shook his head. “Don’t count on it. Mr Jones is still in town, along with another cohort. We finally located his whereabouts. Unfortunately we have no reason to roust either of them.”

“I see,” Dean said slowly. “Where are they?”

“Southtown Motel, using aliases. But we’ve confirmed the one man is Jones.”

“So now what?”

“That’s a good question. We could wait them out, but if they leave there’s no guarantee your father wouldn’t just send someone else, presuming they’re here on his orders.”

“Which they might not be,” Kirby pointed out. “Jones might have decided to deal with you on his own.”

“Then why hasn’t he tried to?”

“Excuse me? Who do you think slipped the message under your hotel room door, and spray painted the front of your building? Mickey Mouse?”

“Okay, point made.” Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair as he looked at Kirby. “I could start wandering the streets at two a.m.” he said with a slight smile. “That should draw them out.”

“Not happening,” Kirby growled in reply. “Besides, they’d think it was a set-up, all things considered.”

“It would be better to draw them to the theater,” Reid said pensively. “If we could come up with a way to do it. It is Dean’s venue, so to speak. The place he spends the majority of his time.”

Dean nodded, began to say something and stopped as he looked at the two detectives. “Question. Is this something homicide cops usually do? I don’t want the two of you getting in trouble because of me.”

“We’re on our own time right now, so the department really has no say in it,” Reid told him.

“And I threatened to take a leave of absence if he didn’t help out here,” Kirby added.

Reid chuckled. “The one threat that really works. I don’t want to be stuck with someone else, trust me.”

“Back to the problem at hand,” Kirby said. “What can we do to get them to the theater? We need something which doesn’t smack of a set-up.”

All three men thought about it as they finished the last of their meal. Then Dean snapped his fingers. “Got it. I publically threaten to go to the newspapers with the full story of the CVA. The truth behind the lies of who and what they are.”

“Do you actually know that?”