Payback (19 page)

The night was balmy. A breeze wafted through the city streets, carrying with it the ocean smells from the bay. Chris’s hair was finally growing out. I wondered if he would give his niece a second crack at it when he needed another cut. Hopefully not. Our fingers lay intertwined atop the table, and to an outside observer, we might have appeared to be long-standing lovers. On this night, we had even dressed alike. Jeans, tees, tennies. I was beginning to appreciate Chris’s habit of dressing for comfort during those times when he was not at work.

And speaking of work….

“I have another month of freedom,” I was saying. I had just given Chris the latest news on the matter of my unemployment, which apparently was not to be a matter of unemployment very much longer. “Mrs. Margolis granted me that much. The bitch.”

Chris laughed. “What exactly did she say when you called to tell her you were ready to rejoin the human race and asked for your old job back? You told me you had been replaced.”

It was my turn to laugh. “I had been. By Joey Assmunch, my arch nemesis. But it seems Joey’s high opinion of himself, coupled with an astonishing lack of productivity, didn’t endear him to the
boss or to any of the poor sons of bitches who had to work under him. I don’t know why it took the CEO three months to figure out what a twit he is. Anyway, the minute she did figure it out, she knew she wanted me back. Apparently I called at the perfect time.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I finally did something right with my life.”

Chris slid a little closer to the table so his fingers could cover mine completely. He leaned in, beer in one hand, eyes focused on me alone. It was as if there were no milling crowds around us at all. The world had suddenly been reduced to a bubble containing Chris and me and two steins of craft beer. “And where do I fit into the assessment as to what you’ve done right and what you’ve done wrong with your life?” he asked. His mouth twitched into a smile, but there was some serious thinking going on behind those honey brown eyes of his. “Tell me, Mr. Head Accountant. In which color ink are you penciling me in? Black or red? Asset or liability? Am I a profit or a fucking loss all the way around?”

He took a long pull from his beer while he waited for my answer. I realized suddenly his smile had faltered. He was watching me like a cop, looking for a sign that I was about to lie, that I was about to tell him what he wanted to hear even if it wasn’t the truth.

He needn’t have worried. On this question, there was no lie inside me.

I squeezed his fingers. I offered myself completely to his scrutiny. And while I was offering that, I also offered up the smile he seemed to have lost. “It’s because of you that I’m not still hiding in my house and drinking myself into a stupor every night. It’s because of you that I don’t spend all my time thinking about everything I’ve lost. Now I think about–”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly. “What, Tyler? What do you think about?”

“You,” I said. “I think about you.” I wondered if it was time to say what I really felt, to give him what he really needed to hear—maybe what we both finally needed to hear.

“I know you think about me,” he said, studying me even more closely. “But that’s not what I asked. I asked if—”

“Asset,” I vehemently whispered. “
Asset
.” My gaze fell to his hand clenching mine. His hands were so beautiful. Large, strong, tanned. I loved that luscious sweep of dark hair sprinkled over the back of them and the way that hair then melted into the thicker pelt of hair on his wrists, his forearms. The hair stopped at the crook of the elbow. His biceps were paler and smoother than the rest of his arms. I could close my eyes and know exactly how they would feel against my lips—that’s how much I had fantasized about them.

When I raised my head to gaze into his eyes again, I found those eyes still boring into mine. He had an odd expression on his face. Odd, sweet, and romantic.

“I want to tell you something, Tyler. Don’t let it frighten you, please. Don’t let it scare you away.”

“Tell me,” I said, a little breathless at the way he was looking at me. A sudden hunger filled me. A hunger to hear the words he was about to speak. “Please tell me,” I said again.

I didn’t have to ask a third time. Clutching my hand tightly, he pulled me toward him until my hand, still in his, lay snug against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat on the skin of my knuckles. I could feel the pulse in his wrist tapping out the rhythm of his life against my own wrist. When he spoke, his voice was soft and urgent and as breathless as mine had been.

“I told you about seeing you for the first time that night the paramedics brought you into the hospital. The night Spence… was killed. I told you how the sight of you tore at me that night.” Chris tugged me even closer. “Nothing’s changed, Tyler. You still tear at me. If you suddenly decided to step back and pull away, to find another path down which to pursue your life, one that didn’t include me, I honestly don’t know what I would do. I’m nuts about you, Tyler. And with every new day that passes between us, hell, every
hour
, every fucking
instant
, I’m even more nuts about you.” He gazed off into the crowd for a second before turning back to me. There was a jubilation on his face I had never seen there before. He still looked worried, but he looked determined too. And he looked empowered that he had finally dredged up the courage to say what he was saying. “I’ve been biting back those words long enough, Tyler. Tonight I had to let them out. Please tell me you understand.”

“You know I do,” I said softly.

He suddenly sat up and glanced around at the other tables. No one was watching us, and he quickly recentered his attention on me. He watched me closely, his eyes wide and eager. I smiled and he smiled a tentative smile back. My breath caught at the beauty of that innocent, hopeful smile.

“I want to meet Waldo,” I said. “Take me home.” I didn’t care about his cat. His cat was the last thing on my mind.

“What about dinner?” he asked softly.

“Fuck dinner,” I said.

He immediately groped into his pocket and extracted a fistful of one-dollar bills. He dropped them on the table for a tip and tugged me to my feet.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

We walked hand in hand through the milling throngs of revelers. I don’t know what they were reveling about. It was just a Saturday night. Third Saturday of the month. What reason was there to celebrate
that
? People were packed so tightly together it was all they could do to keep their footing, let alone be worried about two guys holding hands as they walked down the street. Still I worried for Chris’s sake.

“What if you see someone from the force?” I asked, trying to pull my hand away.

Chris kept a firm grip on my fingers. He wasn’t letting me go anywhere. “I’ve never hidden the fact I’m gay,” he said. “Not since I made detective anyway. I was a little more circumspect when I was patrolling the streets, but those days are over.”

“How did you get to be a detective so young?” It was a question I had been wanting to ask.

He spat up a chuckle. “The chief of police’s daughter was assaulted in her dorm room on campus at San Diego University. I worked the clues on my own time and found the culprit in less than a day. The chief was impressed enough to stick me in homicide, the place where every beat cop wants to end up.”

“And you love it,” I said with a smile.

He glanced at me as he tugged me through traffic to cross the street. “Does it show?”

I laughed. “Oh, yeah. It shows.”

A flash of sadness crossed his face as we passed beneath the light of a theater marquee. “
You
haven’t loved it,” he said. “I haven’t played my part in your drama like you were hoping I would, have I, Tyler? I’ve failed you from the very beginning.”

I had to look away from the torment on his face, but even as I did, I gripped his hand all the tighter. “You said yourself the clues don’t always come together. The hatred still burns in me for the people who did what they did to Spence, Chris, but don’t ever think that discontent extends to you. I would kill them in a red-hot minute if the opportunity presented itself, but I’d never do anything to hurt you. I hope you know that.”

As we walked, Chris sidled closer to me until our shoulders brushed. “Thank you for saying that,” he said. “I don’t want anything to come between us. Not even my failure as a cop. And I still think we’ll nab them sooner or later. They’re bound to slip up. Somebody is bound to come forward. Oh, hell, I don’t know.
Something’s
bound to lead us to them. I still believe that. You’ve got to believe it too.”

“I do,” I said. “Don’t worry. I do.” But did I really? Could it be possible I was beginning to give up on ever finding Spence’s killers? It had been five months, after all. If Lady Justice was going to get around to solving this one, she’d better get her law books out of her ass and get on with it.

And it was at that precise moment, with that asinine thought still echoing through my head, that I gazed through the crowd ahead. We were seeking a path through the milling mob of people going this way and that along the sidewalk. The mob was so thick they were even spilling out onto the street to get where they were going. At that moment—at that
precise
moment—
I saw him.
Dead ahead.

“My God,” I muttered, stumbling to a halt, dragging Chris to a stop with me.

He stared at me. “What the hell is wrong? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

I raised my arm and with a trembling hand pointed to the man twenty feet away eating a hot dog. He was wearing a red bandana around his neck, blue jeans with a silver chain hanging at his waist to secure himself to his wallet, and boots with chains dripping off them. The
same
boots that had been visiting me in my dreams for months.

Chris looked to where I was pointing. “It’s him,” I said, crushing Chris’s hand in mine. “The man with the iron bar. He’s right there.
Right fucking there!
”

Before the last word was out of my mouth, two things happened. The man in the red bandana glanced up and saw me pointing at him. He flung his hot dog into the street and, with a curse, took off running. At the same moment, Chris took off after him, pushing pedestrians out of his way as he went. As he disappeared in the crowd, I saw him groping at his side as if reaching for his shoulder holster. I heard him scream “Fuck!” when he realized he was unarmed.

When the shock released me and I began to take stock of what was going on, I took off running after Chris. I knew immediately it was hopeless. I was less than a dozen yards into the crowd when I realized he was no longer in sight. Neither of them were. Neither Chris nor the murdering fuck who’d slaughtered Spence.

I ran anyway, as hard as I could run. People cursed me for shoving them out of the way and seemed to take delight in blocking me every step of the way. I stumbled to a stop less than three blocks from where I’d started. I was out of breath and dripping with sweat. People were staring at me as they passed, wondering if I was on drugs, maybe. Or drunk. Or crazy.

I ignored them as best I could and stood at the curb bouncing up and down on my toes, trying to see over the heads around me, trying to get a glimpse of either Chris or the man in the red bandana. It wasn’t until five minutes later that I remembered my cell phone. I pulled it from my pocket and punched 8 on my speed dial.

A moment later Chris answered. He was as out of breath as I was. And furious.

He was so angry he was spitting his words. “I’m sorry, baby. The fucker got away! I called dispatch and put out a BOLO. But I doubt they’ll spot him. I saw him fling the red bandana away as soon as he knew I was chasing him. He knew it was like hanging a flag on himself. The fucker ran like a rabbit.
Son of a bitch.
”

I pressed the phone to my ear and listened to Chris mutter more curses. Finally, he asked, “Where are you?”

I looked around, trying to pinpoint my location. I had to push my way through the crowd still filing back and forth along the street until I could read a street sign. “Corner of Eighth and K. Where are you?”

Chris was still breathing hard and sputtering angry curses. “I’m in the East Village, by the ballpark. It’s right around here that I lost the fucker. Go on home, Tyler. I’m going to keep looking for a while. He may show up again.”

“It was him,” I said again. “The man with the iron bar. The man who killed Spence.” I still couldn’t believe I had been so close to him, and still he got away.

Chris shushed me, trying to keep me calm. “I know, baby. I know. And we’ll get him. I swear we will. At least now we know he’s still in the city. Just go on home, Tyler. I’ll call you later.”

Defeated, I began retracing my steps back toward my car. “All right,” I said. “I’m….” My voice faltered.

“You’re what, Tyler? What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just sorry about tonight.”

“There’ll be other nights,” he said quietly.

“I know. Good night, Chris.”

“Good night.”

“And good luck.”

“Yeah,” he groused as if speaking to himself. “I’m going to need it.”

I snapped the phone closed and stuffed it in my pocket. Heartsick, I weaved my way up the crowded sidewalk. Spence’s murderer had been right there.
Right there.

And still, the overriding thought in my head had been to tell Chris I loved him.

Jesus. Were my priorities fucked up, or what?

A
FLURRY
of gang killings hijacked Chris’s spare time for almost two weeks after the foot chase in the Gaslamp. We spoke on the phone, but each time we did, Chris seemed more distant. More… preoccupied. I saw him twice, but each time he only stopped by the house for a quick hello before hurrying back to the streets to work the crimes he had been assigned.

The third time I saw him, he said he would bring some homework with him to the house if I didn’t mind. I was so anxious to see him by then, I told him he could bring a corpse with him if he wanted. He laughed at that, but the laugh sounded forced.