Don't Touch Me! - 31

 

Cody let Brent in when he arrived back at the house, asking, "Anything?"

"Maybe," Brent said. "Is there any coffee?"

Cody lifted an eyebrow, going into the kitchen. "When isn't there? I live on the stuff."

"Me too," Brent said, sitting at the table while Cody poured them each a cup. When Cody joined him, Brent said, "Do you remember seeing a tall, muscular man at the bar the night you were there? He has dirty blond hair, according to a guy I talked to."

Cody frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe. Well, there were a couple of guys who might fit that description, if I remember right. Why?"

"One of the men I talked with said the guy left the same time you did. You took the cut-through, the man says, and the blond stopped at the entrance, watching you."

"He did?"

"That's what I was told."

"I don't remember seeing him. I really must have been drunk."

"You weren't. You had one beer and it took you an hour or so to drink it. After that, you left."

"Then why…?" Cody's voice petered out.

"I think the guy followed you and something happened in the cut-through."

"If he…he attacked me…why don't I remember?"

"That, Cody, is what we need to figure out. Would you be willing to go back there with me to see if it jogs your memory?"

"Now?"

"No better time than the present, to be cliché."

Cody took a big gulp of coffee, put the cup down, and nodded.

They walked in silence until they got to the cut-through. It was fairly narrow, not like the alley it crossed, with brick walls on both sides.

"I don't remember this," Cody said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Let's walk down it."

Cody stepped forward, with Brent close behind him. Suddenly, Cody gasped.

"What?" Brent asked quietly.

"He…he pushed me against the wall, grabbed my arms." Cody wrapped one hand tightly around his bicep to demonstrate. "He…he said, 'We don't like fags like you coming around. Better not happen again. Got it?'" The second the words were out of his mouth, Cody's eyes rolled up and he passed out.

"Shit!" Brent knelt beside him, gently shaking him. When Cody remained unresponsive, Brent lifted him into his arms, muttering, "You don't weigh more than a kid." He was glad it was dark as he carried Cody back to the house, praying the young man wouldn't come to until after they got there.

Cody didn't. Setting him down carefully on the porch, Brent dug through Cody's pockets for the keys, unlocked the door, and took him inside, laying him on the sofa. Then he sat in the armchair to wait for Cody to regain consciousness.