Read Geography of Murder Online
Authors: P. A. Brown
Geography of Murder (6 page)
"I also drown kittens in gunny sacks. Will you shut up and listen?"
I was too confused to argue. I opened my mouth to fire off another retort. Shut it. Opened it again. "What—"
"Shut up and listen."
I shut up.
"George Blunt died of massive trauma and internal bleeding from being beaten to death. Someone took a hard, 53
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blunt object and literally pounded the shit out of him. But before they got the stick, they used their hands."
I tried to see the significance. Couldn't. Said so.
He sighed, like what he said should have been obvious to a child. "Skinned knuckles. Fists aren't iron. Pound them into someone's face, and the face isn't the only thing banged up.
They leave DNA behind, too."
I looked down at my hands, finally getting it. "You'll testify my hands weren't banged up?"
"Exactly. We've also had zero luck locating anyone named Roger from Bakersfield. No one with that name is listed on any California missing persons lists. No John Does even coming close to a youthful blond man. But it wasn't your DNA on Blunt. So you couldn't have done it."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Don't want to shock you, but my job is to find and catch the guilty guy. You're not him." He tilted his head, looking me up and down like a side of beef. I grew aroused. "This time."
"Fuck you."
"I'll let the DA know. Once he sees there's no case he'll drop the charges. We go back to looking for the real killer.
And maybe figure out who set you up."
"Good luck with that," I didn't care if they ever found out who killed the guy, but I did want to know what asshole landed my ass in jail, if only for a short time. "Hey, I owe you. You'll have to let me buy you a drink after I get out."
Something crossed his face, there and gone in an instance.
His smile was blinding. "Sure. I'll hold you to that. Mexicali is my drink of choice."
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"Not many places carry that."
"The Vault does."
I went still. My mouth was open again. "You belong to the Vault?"
"Charter member. Okay, maybe not that long, but yeah, I've been going for a couple of years."
I shook my head. "Just when you think you know someone..."
"You don't know me at all. But I'm going to give you a chance to find out."
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Jason was released the next afternoon. He went to
court in the morning and was discharged by the judge
who thanked everyone for their efforts, didn't
apologize, and moved on to the next case. Jason had to
return to county to be processed out and collect his
meager belongings. No one had brought him any
change of clothes; he still wore the skin-tight parade
pants. I found myself staring, only looking away when
he cleared his throat.
He wanted to take me out for drinks, but I was taking him to dinner. I knew he hadn't had a decent meal since he'd been incarcerated, so I planned something special. When I met him at the front doors of the county jail he scrambled into the cab beside me. I threw the truck into gear and peeled out of the parking lot.
"Where to?" I asked.
He stared down at himself and grimaced. "Home. I desperately need a shower and a change of clothes." He gave me the address.
I dropped him off with the promise to pick him up in two hours. I told him to dress fancy. I didn't tell him where we were going. Some things should be a surprise.
When I picked him up I was pleasantly surprised. He cleaned up just fine. A chocolate brown silk shirt that hugged his slender, but muscular, chest. No tie, but not everyone 56
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bothered. Tan linen pants cut to show off an impressive basket. I felt a corresponding swelling in my groin.
When I wheeled into the parking lot of Holdren's he looked on with childlike wonder. "I've never eaten here before. I've heard it's good."
"Trust me." I put the truck into park. "It's as good as you've heard, and better."
He followed me inside, smoothing his hands over his dress pants. We were shown a table by the window. The city had put up Christmas decorations and the palm trees outside the restaurant were covered in tiny white jewels. The host handed us menus and left, promising someone would return for our drink orders.
I'm not much of a fancy drinker. I ordered a beer and was relieved when Jason did the same.
He met my eyes over the menus. "What's good?"
"Steak," I said. "Or, if not that, there's always steak."
"I take it you're having steak."
"It's my second favorite kind of meat."
He ignored my innuendo, though I thought I saw his eyes darken. "Then I guess I'll have to have steak," he said.
The meal was as good or better than the first time I had eaten there. Maybe it was the company. The first time had been with my ex-wife when I told her I was leaving her, and why. I had figured she wouldn't cause a scene in such a public place. Shows you can't always trust your instincts.
To say she freaked out is the understatement of the year. I ended up wearing her Caesar salad and most of her linguine, which unfortunately had been crab. I smelled like fish the rest 57
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of the night because she also locked me out of our house. I had to wait until the next day to get clean clothes. When I drove by in the morning in hopes of catching her before work I found my things, including my classic movie collection piled on the front lawn. It had already been looted by the neighborhood brats. Most of it I never saw again.
To add insult to indignity, she waited until I was collecting my stuff and turned the sprinklers on. Never underestimate the fury of a woman thrown over for another man, or in my case, men.
She did her best to ruin me in the department, but this is the enlightened twenty-first century so no one would touch me. God knows the brass tried. But I weathered the storm and now they just think I'm their happy faggot with no more secrets. They don't tell me what turns them on in bed, so why do they need to know what flips my switch?
Jason and I didn't talk much over dinner. He was shy, something I like in my subs, so I didn't encourage much chatter. I kept trying to gauge how far he wanted me to go.
From what I could tell he was getting into the sub role in a big way. Made me wonder what was in his past to make him so eager to please. Was it just sex? Even if it was, we were going to have fun tonight. After I paid the check we made our way through the other after-dinner crowd that strolled under the phony cheer strung between spindly palms.
"Still buying that drink?" I asked after I unlocked the Toyota's doors. Wondering if he was going to back out of the coming game, or whether he wanted it as badly as I did.
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He nodded and without another word I put the truck in gear and headed west. The Vault's parking lot was packed.
The stuffy interior was wall-to-wall leather, rubber and denim.
The brass beat of something hard and grinding thrummed through my boots. Beside me, Jason listened intently. I touched his arm and pointed toward the far corner. We found a spot in a pool of shadow and I leaned down to speak in his ear.
"Get us a couple of Mexicalis."
He vanished into the crowd and returned minutes later with two ice-cold bottles of beer. I took mine with a brisk nod and upended it. When I caught him looking sideways at me I shouted. "Don't worry. You're driving."
"I am?"
I didn't answer him. If he wanted to play sub then he'd take the orders I gave without question. In the beginning there was always the game of seeing whether they were willing to go as far as they promised. Would they back out at the last minute? I thought this one might go the distance. I had two more beers and a couple of shooters of tequila while he sipped his single beer through to last call. When the lights flashed I took his arm and led him toward the front door, passing a trio of leather-clad Doms I knew from previous visits. They eyed Jason with appreciation. I made sure by my possessive hold on his arm that they knew he was taken property and no one did more than look. The older of the three, a gray-haired bear grinned, displaying a gold grill and grabbed his crotch as we passed.
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Then we were outside and I cleared my lungs of the stench of stale hops and poppers that always hung over those places. Jason seemed relieved to be outside, too. I tossed him my keys, he caught them underhanded and watched me approach.
"Where to?"
"My place. I'll give you directions."
"Goleta, huh?"
He remembered. I nodded.
"I've never been."
"Not much to look at. It's home."
Home was a tiny Spanish-tile stucco-sided bungalow tucked at the end of a dead end street on the north edge of town. My two nearest neighbors were shift workers at a nearby hospital and it was rare for them both to be home. It was quiet. Just the way I liked it.
I led Jason into the front room and pointed at a stool beside my butcher-block bar. I pulled a pair of Mexicalis out of the bar fridge and set one in front of him. He opened it and swung around to study my living room. It was small, like the rest of the house, small and sparse. I don't go for decorating much. I missed that part of the fabled gay gene. The focus of the room was a forty-two inch plasma TV and Blu-Ray system. Over the four years since the abrupt meltdown of my marriage, I had rebuilt and added to my movie collection. I mostly have old classics, a few hokey, old-style horror and sci-fi flicks like the original The Day the Earth Stood Still and Forbidden Planet. I stepped up behind him. He tensed briefly 60
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then relaxed again. I wanted to pull him into my arms and taste him. I resisted the urge. For now.
I waved my beer at the collection lining one whole wall.
"Want to watch something?"
Along with Hollywood classics I had a pretty hefty collection of porn. Mostly bondage stuff. Covers full of big leather men in chains and bonds. I saw him looking them over but he didn't pick anything. I swung the swivel stool around to face me and slipped my hand behind his neck. I squeezed. He shivered and leaned into my hand. I shifted to lessen the pressure in my groin.
"Is this a good idea, Alex?"
I liked the way my name sounded on his lips. But at the same time I didn't want him getting the idea he was calling the shots here. Not when he'd surrendered those rights to me by coming here.
"I know what I'm doing, Jason Aaron Zachary. Do your friends call you Zack?"
"Jason," he said. "My friends call me Jason."
I stroked the soft skin below his ear, lightly touching the Chinese tat I had noticed earlier. It was about the size of a silver dollar and looked like a figure standing beside a tree.
"What does this mean?"
"Fate," he murmured.
"Whose? Yours? What is your fate, Jason?"
"To be alone, I think."
"You're not alone." My fingers moved down to his collarbone and lingered over the grooves and bumps there.
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"You're a cop," he said. "I just got out of jail. Is this a good idea?"
I pushed his legs open and moved between them. My hand moved down his arm, fingers caressing the curve of his biceps under the fine silk shirt he wore. The silk felt cool, his skin underneath was furnace hot. I smoothed the heel of my hand over his nipple until it poked into my hand and his breath came hard and fast.
"It's the best idea I've had all day."
I pressed closer, touching, my face less than an inch from his. His eyes dilated and I smelled his desire, felt his warm breath on my cheek.
"Take your shirt off."
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My hands moved of their own volition. I skimmed my
raw silk shirt off and dropped it into a puddle on the
carpeted floor. Outside a dog barked. Or maybe it was
just my heart. I sat, hands resting lightly on my knees,
never taking my eyes off his face. The pores of his fair
skin, the light dusting of freckles across his nose, the
incipient beard that was the lightest down on his
cheeks and chin made him beautiful. He had full red
lips, parted slightly and a strong jaw I longed to touch.
He had taken his glasses off. I waited. Waited for him
to tell me what to do.
I didn't have to wait long. "Stand up."
I complied. He stepped back, studying me. I desperately hoped he would like what he saw. He must have. He raised both hands and slid stiff fingers through my tousled, newly washed hair. Then he moved over to the side of my head, fanning his fingers over my neck. He tugged at the gold studs in my ears.
"Those should be diamonds," he said. Fingertips skimmed down my back and circled around to the front. He pinched my right nipple and the gold ring in it between his thumb and forefinger, twisted it, then soothed the burn with a softer touch. I was pebble hard and wanting more. "Don't move," he said when I tried to step closer.
"You got anything else pierced?" he asked.
"No."
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"Too bad."
His fingers traced the outline of my tat, stroking my shivering skin. "What's that?" he murmured. "Some kind of fantasy? A phoenix? A gryphon?"
I closed my eyes, savoring his touch. "A bird of paradise."
He bent and touched his lips to my chest, his tongue sliding over the bird shape. "You mean it's real?"