(16) I am what I am

~Blair~

Another nightmare, this one far worse than the others had been. The only reason Bonnie didn’t appear, seconds after I woke up screaming, was the fact that she wasn’t home. She and her business partner have an on again, off again relationship and tonight it was on.

I waited until I’d stopped shaking enough that I could navigate my way to the bathroom, where I puked up my guts. After brushing my teeth and rinsing with mouthwash, I took a scalding hot shower in an attempt to wash away the horrors of my dream. When the water finally turned cold I stepped out, drying off with shivering hands before getting dressed.

There was no way I’d get to sleep unless I found a way to unwind. But not at a club. Right now that wasn’t something that even began to sound interesting. So I put on my jacket and headed out for a long walk through the dark streets of the city.

By the time I became aware of my surroundings again, I realized I was in an area I’d never seen before. Not that that was too surprising. I tended to stick to the neighborhood around the diner and the apartment as much as possible.

From what I could see I was in the backwaters of the city. The buildings were rundown and many of them looked vacant. Graffiti covered the walls and windows. Trash filled the alleys and to a lesser degree the streets. Stopping, I looked around, wondering which way would lead me back to something resembling civilization.

The sound of approaching footsteps had me moving fast to the nearest doorway where I tried to blend into the shadows. Two men, no I take that back, two punks came into view. They paused a few feet away, laughing the way people who are stoned or drunk do as they talked about the man they’d just robbed. Then the taller one looked around as if he sensed new prey—me to be exact.

He grinned when he spotted me. “You shoulda covered that mop if you didn’t want to be found,” he said as he came towards me.

I felt the fight-or-flight instinct assail me. Flight was the better option and I knew it but I had the feeling getting past both of them probably wasn’t happening as the other punk moved closer to his buddy.

“Come here cutie.” The taller one said as he reached for me. “Let’s see what we have to play with.”

With no recourse at the moment, I let him pull me out into the dim light on the street. Still gripping my arm he spun me around like one of those ballerinas on a music box.

“Nice bit of work, we can have fun with you.”

I so didn’t think that was going to be an option. Now I’m not stupid, even walking from the apartment to one of the clubs I make certain I have something to defend myself. It’s just knowing when to use things to their optimum advantage. In spinning me around he made it easier for me to get the pepper spray from my pocket without either of them being aware. As he stopped me I was facing him. Seconds later he was screaming as he clawed his eyes. His pal, being the dumber of the two, just stood there wondering what was going on. So I showed him.

(15) I am what I am

~ Quinn ~

While the ME and the CSI team finished processing the scene, Jack and I went over the information in the victim’s wallet, which had been found in the pocket of his slacks.

“Doctor Albert Freer, Therapist, according to his business card,” I told Jack. “His office is in this building. Who found him?”

“The first officer on the scene said it was a janitor who works for a cleaning company that services the building three times a week.”

I stepped back to the body to ask the ME if she had any idea of the time of death.

“It’s a very rough estimation at this point but I’d say sometime between late Friday afternoon and early Saturday morning.”

“That would mean just before or after Ward’s murder,” Jack pointed out, hearing her reply.

“Our killer’s been busy, if it's the same person. The cock in the ass says it probably is.”

“According to his driver’s license the victim has what I’m presuming is a condo, from the address. A pricey one if it’s the building I’m thinking of,” Jack told us.  

“Any indication if he was married or not?”

“Not so far but we’ll probably find that out when we search his office.”

“Which is next on the agenda,” I said as I watched the ME’s people put the victim into a body bag preparatory to taking him to the morgue to be autopsied.

Jack knelt to check the pockets of the man’s pants. They were still lying on the steps where the ME had put them. The responding officer said that when he’d first seen the body they were around the man’s ankles, commenting that it looked like someone might have been going to blow him before whatever happened.

“Keys,” Jack said, dangling them off one finger. “And that’s about it other than some loose change.”

“Then let’s go see what his office has to offer for starters.”

Guardian Angels - If It's Fated… (2)

"Domingo." Samuel acknowledged Dom's presence, nodding to the vacant low-backed chair across from him at his desk.

Dom sat, adjusted his wings then looked questioningly at the head guardian angel. "You have a task for me?"

"Yes. One that's very different from your last one." Samuel studied Dom. "In fact, quite different from most of the ones I've assigned you recently. This time you won't be protecting your charge from someone who wants to harm them."

"Really?" Dom replied slowly. "Then what?"

"You'll be saving him from himself."

"From getting into trouble he can't handle?"

Samuel seemed to search for the proper reply. "One could put it that way I suppose. His name is Timothy Chandler. For all intents and purposes, he's an orphan."

"Strange way to phrase it," Dom commented.

"His father vanished soon after he was born. He was taken from his mother when he was ten. She's institutionalized, due to"—Samuel smiled slightly—"I believe the term is she fried her brain on drugs and alcohol—something he's not aware of, to the best of my knowledge. He spent his formative years in a group home. Now he works as a librarian. He considers himself worthless and has been contemplating suicide, although not on a conscious level so far."

"I see why…" Dom shuddered.

Samuel gave him a look of sympathy. "I though you might. He needs help and you're the best one for the job."

"I'm not so sure of that."

"Domingo, you, of all my available angels, know to some extent what he's going through. I have faith in your abilities in this respect."

Dom chuckled wryly. "I'm glad one of us does." Standing, he straightened his wings before asking, "Where am I going?"

Samuel told him and seconds later Dom vanished. "Good luck," Samuel said softly. "If you can't help him, Domingo, then the world will lose a man who could help make a major difference in its future."

* * * *

"Snow," Dom grumbled. "What's wrong with sending me someplace with heat and sunshine?" He knew the answer. He was sent where he was needed. This time it seemed to involve a raging snowstorm, but at least for the moment, he was indoors—invisible, but inside.

The library was old by today's standards. To one side of the check-out desk were rows of metal and wood shelves, holding all the fiction books by type and category. On the other side, more shelves for non-fiction. Interspersed between the shelves were tables and chairs. On the side wall of the non-fiction section were three doors marked, 'Employees Only', 'Restrooms', and 'Computer Room'. On a summer day, Dom suspected the sunlight coming through the large front and side windows would make the library seem cheerful. At the moment, though, the only real illumination came from the fluorescents overhead. 

The desk was being manned by two middle-aged women—one of whom was telling a child of about eight where she could find the books on horses. Other than those three—plus the child's mother, Dom presumed—and a couple of elderly people sitting at one of the tables on the fiction section, there was no one else around that Dom could see.

God help me, I hope I'm not too late.

He was almost certain that wasn't the case. Samuel wouldn't have sent him in after the fact. Only one way to find out. He stepped outside again, quickly checked to make certain no one was around, and became visible.

"Ma'am," he said moments later, as he approached the check-out desk, "is Tim around?"

The woman seemed a bit surprised that anyone would be asking, as she shook her head. "It's his day off. Knowing him, he's undoubtedly spending it at home."

Dom nodded. "Then I'll try there. Thank you."

Which isn't really going to help me. I can hardly knock on his door and introduce myself. Unless… He pondered the idea that was slowly forming and nodded.

He walked out into the storm, but this time he was thankful for it, as it covered his vanishing in a trice, only to reappear in front of Tim's apartment building.

"First things first," he murmured under his breath, pressing the button marked 'Manager'. A disembodied voice through the speaker by the door asked who was there. "I was wondering if you had an apartment available," Dom replied.

"That depends. I'll be there in a second to let you in." As good as his word, a man in his early fifties, Dom figured, came to the door and opened it. "Damned cold out there to be apartment hunting," he said when Dom stepped into the small lobby.

"Tell me about it," Dom replied with an ingratiating smile. "I just got into town and someone at the bus station said they heard you might have a vacancy."

The man introduced himself as Mr Paulson before saying, "I might have one. It depends."

"So you said. On what?"

"If you can afford it and have the proper ID. You know, the usual."

"I do. May I see it?"

"Depends."

Dom sighed and gave Mr Paulson a mental push to get it in gear. That was all it took—but he knew that when he did it. Half an hour later, he was letting himself into his new, small, and very vacant apartment. In some ways it reminded him of the last one he'd lived in before he'd died, even though that one had been three times as large and furnished—but still desolate in the end. That was something he'd rather not think about at the moment, as it brought back painful memories.

"Now to get to know my neighbors—or, one in particular," he said under his breath. "And I know just how to approach him."

He'd found out, by the simple expedient of reading the names on the mailboxes, that Tim lived one flight below in apartment three-zero-four, so he headed down there—entering the place invisibly for the moment.

Interesting décor—or lack thereof. The man however… He eyed Tim. He's far from handsome, but there's something about him that's appealing, or should be to the right person. He chuckled, but not out loud. He definitely could use a better haircut. Or more so, he needs to let it grow some. A smile would help too. Whatever he's reading…

Dom moved close enough to look over Tim's shoulder. His instant reaction was a desire to take the book away. Is that how you feel? That you're less than zero?  You're not. No one is. But how will I convince you of that? Not by standing here, that's for sure.

Seconds later, Dom was in the hallway outside of Tim's apartment—and visible.

(14) I am what I am

~ Quinn ~

I got to work the next morning to find Jack already there. He gave me a look when I asked how it had gone with Mrs. Ward.

“Just as expected. Her dear, and very straight husband would never have been caught dead in a gay bar unless he hadn’t known that was what it was. And he for sure wouldn’t have left with anyone, especially another man.”

“Figures. The wife is always the last to know. Well, I got at least a bit of an idea about what the guy he might have been with looked like, but no confirmation that they actually did leave together.”

“A start at least,” Jack said once I’d finished telling him what I’d found out about the man with Ward. “Any idea if he’s a regular there?”

“Not from what the people who work there remembered. But given how busy the Pelican is most nights it’s hard to say. If he is, he’s never done anything to make himself stand out.”

“Which, if he’s our killer, isn’t surprising.”

We settled down after that to fill out reports and update the murder book for Ward. I was almost finished when the phone rang. When Jack didn’t jump for it I answered. A minute later I was on my feet, grabbing my jacket off the back of my chair. “We have another one.”

“Murder?” Jack was pulling on his coat as he asked.

“Yep. Possibly like Ward’s. Found in the stairwell of a building not too far from where Ward was killed.”

“Aww, hell.”

“Yep.” I held the door for him and then we walked swiftly down the hall to the parking garage.

A few minutes later we were looking down at the partially nude body of a middle-aged man.

“What do we have so far,” I asked the ME.

“Not much,” she answered. “He died here, the result of a blow to the back of his skull, probably acquired when his assailant pushed him and his head hit the hand rail though I won’t know for certain until after the autopsy.”

“No knife wounds?”

“Depends on what you mean by a wound. He wasn’t stabbed, but…” She rolled him over just enough to show us what she meant. His cock was gone and I had a good idea where it had ended up. When I asked her to check she did. “Yes, it’s there.”

(13) I am what I am

~ Quinn ~

Even though I knew the help at the Pink Pelican had already been quizzed about who Ward might have left with, I asked again just in case. And got the same responses. None of them had been aware enough of him to notice. Hell, most of them didn’t even remember him, other than the waiter who’d taken his drink orders. But even as he was telling me Ward had been there alone something came to him.

“He was over there,” the waiter nodded to one of the tables, “most of the evening but the last time I got his drink he’d moved and was sitting with some young poser.”

“Can you describe him?” I asked; my pen poised over my notepad.

“Let me think. Early twenties I’d say, dark shirt and pants which worked real well with his hair.”

“How so?”

“It was real pale blonde, streaked and tousled. Sexy as hell if you ask me.”

“The hair or the guy?”

The waiter laughed. “Both.”

“Did he and Ward leave together?”

“Not that I saw, no, but then it was very busy here so I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Anything else you can remember about this guy?”

He thought about that for a long minute before answering. “I got the impression he wasn’t tall, well not for a man, and he was sort of delicate looking if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Fem or just delicate?”

“Not at all fem, from what little I saw of him. No wrist flicking or pouting, you know what I mean.” His tone of voice said he was asking gay to gay, not gay to cop.

So I nodded that I did, figuring his gaydar was working overtime. He must have caught something in my attitude because he chuckled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“It’s not really a secret, I just don’t flaunt it at work, for obvious reasons.”

“Yeah I bet.” He looked me over appraisingly before asking, “When do you get off work?”

“The twelfth of never it feels like, especially when I'm on a case.”

“I hear you. But if you ever do, and feel like hooking up for an evening…”

I smiled. “If that happens I drop by here again.”

Hell, he was cute and interested and didn’t sound like he was looking for more than a quick roll in the hay. But right now I had to start talking to customers, always a bit of a touchy thing since a lot gays were leery of cops. After thanking him for his help, and reiterating that I might come back at a later date when I was free, I put on my game face and set to work.

(12) I am what I am

~ Quinn ~

“Well we know the last place he was before he ended up in that apartment,” Jack said, resting a hip on the corner of my desk as he waited for me to get off the phone.

“We also know where he was staying,” I told him a minute later, “At a hotel half way across town from the murder scene. Which club?”

“The Pink Pelican. How the hell they came up with a name like that is beyond me.”

I knew the place, had even stopped in for a drink there a couple of times. It was a gay bar, one of the better ones actually if a bit too chichi for my taste.

“Did anyone see him leave with someone?”

Jack shook his head. “None of the help did. We need to get someone in there tonight to talk to the customers.” He looked at me with a slight smile. He knew I was gay, one of the few on the force that did. Not that I hid it, I just didn’t advertise it either. I like my job and don’t feel like dealing with the homophobic attitudes that unfortunately many cops still have.

“Meaning me. Sure, why not. I’ve got nothing better to occupy my off hours.”

“We have those?” Jack laughed in wry amusement. “At least you don’t have to deal with the grieving widow. I’m picking her up at the airport at eight thirty. God I hate that.”

“Better thee than me. You have that whole ‘fatherly’ thing going, so she’ll cry on your shoulder and tell you what a wonderful man he was and how he loved her and the kids and would never, ever have let someone pick him up at a bar.”

“Yeah I know.” He sighed. “Okay, I’m out of here. I want to check in with my own family before facing her.”

“Right. Unless I strike paydirt and call you, which is probably doubtful, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Once he’d left I did a bit of sighing of my own. If I had to visit a gay bar I’d have preferred one of my own choosing where I might just meet someone interesting enough to hook up with for the evening. The Pink Pelican was not that place. The men who hung out there tended to be too much on the flamboyant side for my tastes. I’m not into actors, designers or the wannabes. With that thought, I turned my attention back to the report I was working on for another case. A report the captain wanted on his desk in the morning.

Guardian Angels - If It's Fated… (1)

Tim sighed deeply as he shut down his computer for the day. Ms Gaines—who was working the library's checkout desk with him—smiled slightly, saying, "Sounds like you're ready to get out of here and have a relaxing day off."

He shrugged. "I guess." Then he waited for her to ask if he had any plans. He knew she wouldn't. She had just been making a polite comment.

Story of my life. Morosely, he gathered up his coffee mug and the two books he had stashed on the shelf under the desk to take home with him. No one gives a damn. Not really.

Hurrying away, he stopped just long enough at his locker in the employee's room to get his coat before exiting the library into the early evening gloom.

It'll be snowing before long. He grimaced. When it did, he might have to start taking the bus home to his lonely apartment. For now, though, he'd walk. It wasn't all that far from the library, just a mile and a bit. Pulling his coat tightly around him to ward off a sudden cold burst of wind, he set out.

Noise from one of the local bars assailed his ears when someone entered, just as he was walking past. For a moment he considered stopping in for a beer.

But why bother? I'll only end up sitting by myself watching everyone else having fun.

So he trudged the rest of the way home. When he got there, he tossed his coat on the sofa and went into the kitchen.

What do I feel like eating? Nothing, but I guess I should. After checking the contents of his refrigerator, he settled on chicken and mushrooms with couscous. Gathering together what he needed for the chicken—garlic, cumin, cinnamon, and ground pepper—he set to work. Ten minutes later, the chicken and mushrooms were baking in the oven. While they were cooking, he made the couscous with dried apricots. When the chicken was finished, he put it on a plate, tossed the mushrooms with lemon juice and dill, and added them and the couscous beside the chicken.

Taking his plate into the living room, he sat down at the round oak table in one corner to eat while watching the news and then some game show. Afterwards, he washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, and settled down on the sofa to read.

The book was a fantasy novel he'd seen great reviews about, so he was looking forward to seeing if it lived up to them. He soon realized that, while it was well written, he had little empathy for the beleaguered hero. He had been cast out into the world to make his own way, with only—Tim snorted softly—a penchant for magic and his great skill as a swordsman to help him save the kingdom. How successful would he be if he wasn't tall, dark and handsome? If he was like me?

Tim was the antithesis of the hero, being of average height and not at all handsome—in his own estimation—with short mousy-brown hair and pale blue eyes. The only thing they had in common was being forced to be on their own. Tim had never known his father. Although his mother did her best to take care of Tim at first, by the time he was five, she began abusing both alcohol and drugs. When he was ten, a social worker had stepped in and placed him in a group home. A shy, withdrawn child, he spent as much of his time as possible with his nose buried in books to escape the tormenting of his peers.

One of the workers at the group home had taken him under her wing, suggesting that with his love of books, he volunteer at the local library after school. He did. Later, since he was of above average intelligence, he was able to get a scholarship to the community college in the city and earned his library science degree. When there was an opening at the library where he had volunteered, he applied for the job and was hired. He'd been there ever since.

And look where it got me. He closed the book, staring moodily off into space. Five years of working at the library and I really know maybe five people there. I wouldn't call them friends. Just people I have to deal with on a day-to-day basis. They're no more interested in me as a person than… than the baristas at my local coffee shop are.

He knew it was his own fault. He wasn't outgoing. He didn't interact well with people. Not that I'm rude or anything. I just… why bother? I'm the weird guy who can't hold up my end of a conversation without making a fool of myself. Well, unless it has to do with books. He smiled slightly. Then I can talk a blue streak and bore the other guy out of his mind.

That thought brought him to the next problem in his life. Guys. He liked men, had known that since he'd reached puberty. Not that it did him any good.

"How do I meet someone who might be interested in me when I can't even strike up a conversation in a bar?" he asked out loud. "Not there, not… anywhere."

He buried his face in his hands, his depression deepening as it always did when he considered his life—or lack thereof. "I'm… useless. If I died tomorrow, the only person who'd care would be the head librarian and that would be because she'd have to find someone to replace me."

Raising his head again, he looked around the apartment. He realized, as he often had, that other than the shelves of books along one wall, it was devoid of anything personal. The only pieces of furniture were things he'd found at thrift shops when he'd first moved in. The one picture, hanging above the sofa, he had bought at a yard sale. It was a framed print of Picasso's 'Don Quixote', slightly yellowed with age. It had suited his lonely mood when he'd seen it and it still did.

Getting up, he turned off the light and went to look out the front window. He'd been right earlier that evening when he thought it would be snowing soon. Flakes drifted down, their shapes caught in the light from the streetlamps. He had to admit it was pretty, but he shivered at the idea that winter was arriving. Dark, lonely winter. It suited his mood.

Turning away, he headed to his bedroom, wondering how he was going to survive another day, to say the least of the rest of his life.

It's release day for 'The Man on the Balcony'!

The Man on the Balcony

https://www.jms-books.com/romance-c-29_105/the-man-on-the-balcony-p-2300.html

 

Mark is a man on the horns of a dilemma. He's in the midst of a five-year affair with a married man and he wants out ... but isn’t sure he can give up his lover.

Austin, who lives in the apartment building across the street from Mark, has his own problems. Two years earlier, the man he loved died in a horrible auto accident. Austin is still trying to come to terms with seeing it happen, and dealing with the aftermath.

After watching Mark from his balcony, making up stories about what he sees, Austin decides to meet him. Will the meeting help the two come to grips with their problems? And if it does, can they move on to something more than possible friendship?

EXCERPT:

Mark looked at the Caller ID, debating whether to answer when he saw Todd's number. He hadn't the previous two times his lover had called -- once just before he left the shop for the day, the second while he was driving home.

"I can do this," he said under his breath, putting the phone down on the kitchen counter before going back to fixing supper. It finally went silent, after five rings -- the number Mark had programmed in before a call would go to his voicemail.

He waited until after he'd eaten before checking to see if Todd had left a message. He had. It said, 'Why aren't you answering, Mark? I'll be in town tomorrow for a two-day meeting, so I'll see you tomorrow night. Miss you.'

"I knew this would happen," Mark muttered. "He rarely asks, he always tells and expects me to be happy when he shows up. Now what do I do? Rent a motel room until he's gone home?"

He started pacing the living room, feeling like a trapped animal. Grow a pair. When he shows up, tell him it's over. Easier said than done and he knew it. He stopped by the window, staring out but not really seeing anything through the softly falling snow, until a movement on the balcony opposite him caught his eye. The man who lived in the apartment opposite his had come out. Seconds later, he was staring at Mark, or so it seemed, making Mark feel like a bug pinned to a display board.

What the hell is with him? I'm half tempted to go over there and find out.

The man stood there for a long moment, then, much to Mark's shock, he saluted before going back inside.

That was totally weird. Mark pulled the curtains closed. Then, deciding he had to get out of the apartment so he could think clearly, he grabbed his coat and gloves and left.

* * * *

"Why the hell did I do that?" Austin said under his breath as he closed the balcony door behind him. Maybe because I wanted him to know I'm aware of him?

The problem was, he didn't know why it mattered, but it did. Perhaps, he decided, just watching Mr. Cute (as he'd tagged him) and trying to figure out what was going on with him had made his own life more interesting. Against his better judgment he opened the door again to look across at Mr. Cute's apartment -- just in time to see the lights go out.

It's too early for him to be going to bed. He stepped onto the balcony, getting close enough to the railing to look down at the street without being seen. His nosiness, he supposed, was rewarded when he saw the man leave the apartment building and start walking down the block.

Going for coffee, or a late supper? Mr. Cute was heading in the direction of the small strip mall which had a couple of restaurants, as well as small shops. It was where Austin usually went when he didn't feel like cooking, so he thought it was possible.

"My chance to meet him?" he murmured, going inside again. "Why would I want to? On the other hand, why not? I'll probably find out he's totally not worth my time, but I would like to know if my presumption about his love life is correct." He chuckled as he went to get his jacket. "I've been editing too many damned romances. Dreaming up stories about people I see as a result. Maybe I should start writing some of them down." He snorted. "Not."

By the time Austin left his building, Mr. Cute was nowhere in sight. His footsteps are, though. He saw them in the fresh snow when he looked across the street. "Big time tracker is me," he said under his breath as he crossed the street and began following them. He almost lost them two blocks later when they mingled with those of other people who had braved the mid-evening snowfall. Then he saw the man a block ahead of him, going into the same coffee shop he favored in the mall.

* * * *

"I'd like a ..." Mark studied the list of coffees, glad there weren't many customers, so he wasn't holding up a line of people while he tried to make up his mind. "Is the maple latte good?"

The clerk nodded. "Different, and not my favorite, but people seem to like it."

"Maybe I should stick with my usual Americano."

"Try the mocha espresso," someone said from behind him. "That is if you like chocolate."

"Who doesn't," Mark replied as he turned to see who was speaking. "You," he said, more than a bit disconcerted. "Are you following me?"

The man shrugged. "Yes, and no."

"Hardly a definitive answer."

"I saw you heading this way and decided I wanted coffee to ward off the cold."

"Uh-huh. Try again." Mark paused to tell the clerk he wanted a large Americano. "I've seen you watching me," he told the man. "It's creepy."

"Sorry. I didn't mean it to be," the man replied. "I have a bad habit, I guess you could call it, of making up stories about people I see."

Mark scowled. "By window peeping?"

"Hey. That's not what I'm doing," the man protested.

 

(11) I am what I am

~Blair~

I woke with a raging headache. The problem was I had no clue why I had it. I remember going to one of the clubs in the area, needing to relieve the stress after dealing with the therapist. Even the pleasant supper with Bonnie hadn’t managed to do that. I also remember meeting someone at the club, his propositioning me and my leaving with him. And his wanting me to do something.  

I remembered cuffs and a gag—and shivered as I crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a hot shower and a dozen aspirin. Okay, maybe not that many but damn…

Half an hour later I was feeling marginally better. I sat at the kitchen table with a big glass of orange juice and some toast, glancing over when Bonnie came in. She took one look at me and shook her head.

“I heard you sneak out.” She gave me an amused smile. “From the look of it you probably crawled back home.”

“No, I walked. Just had a couple more than I should have.” I wasn’t willing to admit to her that I didn’t even remember the end of the night because I didn’t want her to worry about me. Hell, she’d probably insist I go back to the therapist if I told her that. And that creep was history as far as I was concerned.

She patted my shoulder then asked if I was feeling well enough to go to work. I assured her I was and went to get dressed.

By the time we got to the diner my headache was pretty much gone, which was a good thing because it was one of those days when it seemed everyone and their brother decided to come in for either breakfast or lunch, or both. By the time three o’clock hit, both of us and the cook, who was Bonnie’s business partner, were dead on our feet.

“Right now, if I never see another burger it’ll be too soon,” he grumbled as he cleaned the kitchen while Bonnie and I went through the normal closing procedures.

“I’m with you on that,” I agreed, reaching up to shut off the small TV in the corner. We kept it going all day for those regulars who liked to know what was happening in the world.

“Hang on a minute,” Bonnie said as one of those special bulletin things flashed on the screen. A very sober-faced reporter came on to announce that some man, who had apparently been murdered last night, had finally been identified as a business man from out of town who had been staying at a hotel a few blocks from the apartment building where his body had been found. And a few blocks from the diner, I realized, although of course that wasn’t on the news. A blurry picture behind the reporter showed a man of about thirty-five, I’d have guessed. He looked vaguely familiar though I wasn’t sure why, so I shrugged it off, figuring maybe he’d been in here at some point for lunch.

I asked Bonnie if he looked familiar to her and she shook her head. When I said I thought maybe he’d come in for a meal she nodded. “Hard to tell, but then he’s pretty average looking so if he did, he didn’t stick in my head.”

At that point the story was over and I shut off the TV. Whoever he was it wasn’t our problem. As Bonnie commented, he was just an unfortunate victim of the rising crime rate in the city.

(10) I am what I am

~Quinn Eddison~

Jack came into the squad room, heading straight for me. 'Me' being Detective Quinn Eddison. I looked up when he tossed a file in front of me.

“We’ve got a nasty one here, Quinn,” he muttered as he flopped down in the other chair by my desk and waited for me to read it.

I had to agree. A man’s body had been found in a vacant semi-furnished studio apartment. He had been cuffed hand and foot to the bed, gagged and then stabbed numerous times. That in itself was bad enough. The topper was what the killer had done afterwards. He, or she, no telling at this point, had cut the man’s cock off and stuffed it up his ass. Someone had a big hate on. Now we had to discover if it was specifically for him or just for men in general. Gay men if what had been done to him was any indication.

“John Marcum Ward,” I read aloud when I got the identification part of the report. “Not a local so was he here on a business trip?” I look over at Jack.

“No clue yet, I just got this an hour ago. I’ve got men calling all the hotels in the vicinity where he was found to see if he was registered at one. If not we’ll spread out the search. According to what was in his wallet, he’s forty-eight, married with two kids. I made a call to the police department in his home town. They’ll notify his wife and hopefully get some sort of positive ID from her once the ME has taken pictures of his face we can fax them. At least the killer left that undamaged.”

“Nothing indicating where he met the killer, I see.”

“Not so far. If he was gay, and the fact that he’s married says otherwise, it could have been at one of those clubs.”

I didn’t contradict him on that even though he should have known better. After all, just because a man was married didn’t mean a thing. He could have been deeply closeted. I should know; I was that way for years before I decided it wasn’t worth the damage to my psyche.

“So we check those clubs out just in case, though as you said it’s probably unlikely. We’ll get on them and the regular ones in the area as well. Who knows, we might get lucky and put this one to rest fast.” I glanced at the file again and added, “Let’s hope we do, I don’t want to think that we have some serial killer starting a spree.”

“Or continuing one,” Jack pointed out. “Maybe new to the city from somewhere else.”

“Good point. I’ll run a check through the Feds to see if anything like this has turned up anywhere else.” 

“Yeah, and if it has, they take over the case,” he growled.

“Better safe than sorry and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, you get on that. I’ll see what’s turned up on the hotels and get some men going on the clubs as soon as I get Ward’s picture from the ME.”

(9) I am what I am

“Aren’t you the cute little thing, mind if I join you?”

I looked up at the man and nodded.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“A ‘yes’. You can join me.” I moved my jacket off the chair beside me and waited for him to take a seat.

After Bonnie and I had had supper, at a nice restaurant in the neighborhood close to the apartment, we’d gone back home. She was tired and soon gave up trying to watch TV as she was already dozing off. Once she was in bed I changed clothes and headed out. I was still in a high state of tension after my bout with the therapist. I hadn’t told Bonnie what had happened, I didn’t want her worrying. After all he was her friend. I just said that he’d decided we’d gotten to the root of my problem and since the nightmares seemed to have disappeared he had pronounced me ‘cured’. I made the whole thing into an amusing story that had her laughing by the time I was finished.

“Not drinking?” the middle-aged man asked, looking at my glass of water as he sat down.

I smiled, telling him I didn’t. That I went to clubs for the music and the dancing not to get smashed out of my mind on liquor. He said that was a very wise idea even as he finished off his drink and waved the waiter over to order another.

We chatted for a while, him telling me all about his thriving business in a city somewhere across the country from here. Me telling him about my imaginary modeling career, or more my attempts to break into the field. By that time his hand was resting on my leg, inching its way up as his thumb traced small circles on the inside of my thigh. I stopped that by covering his hand with mine, suggesting this was neither the time nor the place.

He leaned close, whispering in my ear as he nibbled it lightly, “When and where would work?”

“Soon,” I murmured back, shivering as he nipped my throat. “If you’re really interested.”

I swear the man’s prick stood up like a dog begging for a treat, or as much as it could under his slacks. “I’m interested,” he said fervently.

I made him wait through one more song before standing up, reaching for my jacket. Ten minutes later we were inside a studio apartment. I looked around and shook my head. “Just move in?” I asked, noting the singular lack of furnishings other than the bed and bedside table, a sofa, and a couple of kitchen chairs.

“Argument with my now ex boyfriend,” he told me as he began slowly unbuttoning my shirt. Soon I was naked and moments later so was he. Then he opened the drawer of the table. “I like to be restrained,” he said shyly as he took out some handcuffs and a ball gag, laying them on the table, and then stretched out on the bed.

That’s not my thing but still I crawled onto the bed, leaning over him, pressing my mouth to his in a heated kiss. Seconds later I had one of his hands cuffed to the back leg of the bed. He grinned in anticipation as I cuffed his other hand and then his feet. When I pushed the gag into his mouth his eyes glittered with arousal.

(8) I am what I am

I went through two weeks and a second therapy session without having another nightmare. Bonnie was elated. “See, I knew he could help,” she said in all seriousness. “You just needed someone to talk to who knows…things.”

I nodded, watching her in the mirror as she stood in the doorway to my bedroom, while I checked my make-up. Today was my third, and last, appointment with the therapist. Last because I had no intention of going back again after this session. We’d spent the last one with my telling him all about my childhood and my travels across the country until I’d ended up here. I let him think I was a good Christian girl who believed that I shouldn’t sleep with a man until we were married. My leaving home was because I wanted to see a bit of the world before going back to marry the man my parents approved of. He bought that hook, line and sinker.

I wasn’t sure what he planned on for today but whatever it was, I was certain I could come up with interesting answers that would make him feel like he was on his way to curing me of my nightmares once and for all.

Deeming myself ready to face him I slipped on my coat, picked up my purse, and headed out, telling Bonnie I’d see her in a couple of hours. We’d planned on going out to supper together, a break from cooking at the apartment that we both decided we needed.

I arrived at the therapist’s to find him there alone. He said his secretary hadn’t been feeling well so he’d sent her home as I was his last appointment. When he put his hand at the small of my back a bit too casually to steer me into his office, I resisted pulling away despite how creepy it felt. It would be the last time he did that.

“Now just lie down and get comfortable,” he said as he picked up his pad and pen from the desk.

Something in his voice put me even more on edge but I did as he’d asked. He took his usual place in the chair behind me and began with his questions. I immediately felt the creep factor get stronger as he started to pry into my thoughts about what my first sexual experience with my future husband should be like. I wasn’t about to feed into his fantasies so I came right out and told him that was really none of his business.

He kept pushing for an answer anyway and I heard him shift in his chair. When he leaned forward to lightly stroke my arm, while saying that I should talk about it so that he could relate my thoughts and fears to the nightmares, I saw red. Jumping to my feet I let him have it with both barrels.

I arrived back at the apartment building an hour later still shaking. I stopped in the front lobby to try to calm down. One glance in the mirror beside the elevator told me I looked like hell. How I’d made it here without someone stopping me was anyone’s guess. But then people rarely actually look at who they pass on the street. I ran my hand through my hair to try to get it back in some semblance of order and tightened my coat around me before stepping into the waiting elevator.

I was glad Bonnie was in the kitchen fiddling around when I got to the apartment. I hurried by her with just a wave on my way to my bedroom. I closed and locked the door before taking off my coat, tossing it on the bed. Then I stripped out of my skirt and blouse. Deciding the blouse was beyond hope I threw it in the trash. The skirt ended up in the laundry hamper. Then I took a long, hot shower.

Guardian Angels – An Interesting Life (27)

Mid-Sunday morning, Vic and Evan were standing on the front porch of Frank Marshall's home in a middle class neighborhood on the eastside of the city. Vic had phoned ahead, and once he'd explained who he was, Marshall had agreed to meet with him.

The door opened, revealing a pleasant-looking, very pregnant woman who introduced herself as Felicity Marshall. "Frank will be down in a moment." She ushered them into the living room just as her husband came into the room.

"One more fight averted," Frank Marshall said, shaking his head. "Kids."

Vic introduced Evan and then handed Frank the envelope he was carrying.

Frank opened it then asked, "As far as you know, these are the only copies?"

"Yes."

"Who had them?"

"Arthur Margolin. Unfortunately… All right, maybe I shouldn't be telling you this."

Frank smiled. "You got them back somewhat illegally."

"Now I didn't say that but…" Vic shrugged.

"Frankly," Felicity Marshal said, wrapping her arm around her husband's waist, "we don't give a damn how you got them. What's important is that you did and this nightmare can end. Before you ask, yes, I know what's in the photos. Frank was very open with me about his life before we met. All of it."

Vic nodded, asking, "Do you have any idea how Margolin got his hands on them?"

"I can hazard a guess. We had a break-in here about two months ago. At the time, we thought it was just druggies looking for whatever they could find to sell, since several small electronics were taken, plus a few other items of value."

"Where were the pictures?"

"In the safe in my office. It didn't appear to have been touched and the police officers who took my call agreed. Stupidly, I'll admit, I didn't actually open it to see." 

"You don't have a security system?" Evan asked.

"Of course we do. The moment it was breached, the security company sent someone out and called me. Their man got here just in time to see the perps driving off. They got a license number but, of course, the car had been stolen. If Margolin set it up—and I'd say he did given that he was the blackmailer—he was very smart about it and hired someone who knew how to get into a safe fast and without leaving a trace."

"Time to upgrade to a better one," Evan told him.

"I have." Frank smiled wryly. "Locking the barn door and all that."

"May I ask, just out of curiosity, why you kept those pictures?" Vic said.

Frank looked at his wife, smiling at her when she nodded. "Memories of my past and the man who helped me find a new life. They're the only pictures I have of Hal. That was his name, Hal. We broke up two days after they were taken, but we remained friends until… until he died saving my life."

Vic nodded. "I remember reading about that a couple of years ago."

"He was a good man," Felicity said, "and a good friend."

"I would say so." Vic held out his hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you in person, Frank. I hope you win the primary—and the election."

Frank shook his hand. "Thank you for all you did."

Vic shrugged. "All in a day's work."

"From the look of you, it must be rough work, unless you got those bruises playing football," Frank replied as he escorted Vic and Evan to the front door.

"Not a chance." 

"Didn't think so. Again, thank you."

"You're quite welcome. Just remember me when you become… President?"

Frank laughed. "I don't think I'll be aiming that high."

"You never know what the future holds."

A few moments later, as they got into Evan's car, Vic said, "I do know what my immediate future holds. Dinner out with someone I'd like to get to know better, now that this is all behind us."

Evan smiled. "Presuming that someone is me, I think the feeling is mutual."

"Good, because I have plans that extend beyond tonight and they all involve you. I hope."

"Time will tell, but I suspect they will."

The End

(7) I am what I am

After the third nightmare Bonnie suggested I see a therapist friend of hers. “It can’t hurt,” she said when I protested, “and it might help.” She chuckled, reaching out to push my bangs back off my face to look at me. “Either you’re going emo on me or you need more sleep, your eyes have dark circles around them that match the ones I have today. So please, Blair, at least consider it.”

I was pretty sure it wouldn’t do any good but she’d done a lot for me and I at least owed her the courtesy of taking her suggestion. So I made an appointment for the next day.

The therapist’s office was all dark wood and leather. The man was older and, frankly, just a bit creepy as far as I was concerned. Very fatherly in how he talked and acted but there was something in his eyes as he looked me over that made me wish I hadn’t come. However I had and I wasn’t going to walk out now. After all he was Bonnie’s friend.

That first time, while I lay on the proverbial psychiatrist’s couch and he sat in a chair just far enough behind me that I couldn’t see him, he asked me about the nightmares. I laid them out in great detail, each one different but with same recurring theme of being chased by some demented killer. I have a wicked imagination thanks to the horror films I’d seen. Apparently he wasn’t into that kind of movies because he never caught on, just lapped up what I was telling him as he tried to verbally analyze what they were about.

“I think you have a deep seated fear of loosing your virginity,” he said at one point, when I’d answered a question about how many men I’d ‘known’ sexually by telling him none. He believed that. I had to bite hard on my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Damn, I’m almost twenty-three. How many people get to be my age without having sex?

The session ended with him telling me I needed to make an appointment to see him again. I shrugged and agreed. Hell, it was a way to kill an hour and it was fun seeing how much crap I could feed him that he believed was the truth.