The Meeting
By noon, the rain had thinned to a mist that softened the edges of the world. The storefronts along Main Street blurred behind a sheen of water, their reflections trembling in the puddles. Inside the café, warmth gathered like breath on glass, mingling with the scents of coffee and damp wool, and the faint sweetness of baked bread.
Marshall sat near the window, a half-finished cup cooling beside him. A folded newspaper lay open to the business section he hadn’t read a word of. Every few minutes, the bell over the door jingled, and he looked up, too quickly, then forced himself to glance back down, pretending patience. The man was late. Shit, thought Marshall, he’s not going to show.
The hum of conversation filled the room, low and steady. The hiss of milk steaming behind the counter. The rain whispering against the glass.
At 12:07, the bell chimed twice.
A man stepped inside. He kept his head low, a dark knit cap pulled down to his eyebrows, the hood of his jacket still damp from the mist. His hands stayed in his pockets as his eyes swept the room, quick, deliberate, taking in exits, faces, sight lines. He moved with the practiced wariness of someone who had learned not to be seen.
When his gaze met Marshall’s, something flickered: recognition, fear, resolve, and then he crossed the floor.
He slid into the booth opposite without removing his cap. Up close, Marshall saw that he was younger than he’d expected, maybe mid-thirties. The stubble along his jaw shadowed skin that hadn’t seen much sleep.
“You’re him,” the man said quietly.
Marshall folded the paper and set it aside. “I am.” His voice was calm, meant to ground them both. He offered his hand. “You can relax. I’m not here to judge you.”
The man hesitated before shaking it, his palm cold, his grip careful. “I’m… Adrian,” he said finally. His eyes darted toward the window, where mist streaked the glass, then back again. “I shouldn’t even be here. My boyfriend thinks I’m at a client meeting.”
Marshall gave a small nod. “You’re safe. No one’s watching.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it was what the moment required. “Kyle said your name was Carl.”
Adrian let out a soft, nervous laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s his name. My boyfriend’s. I used it because it felt easier. Safer.” He looked down at the table, fingers tightening around the cup the waitress had just set in front of him. Steam drifted upward, blurring his face in the glass reflection. “I shouldn’t have cheated. It’s just that, when I was at that car place, he was so handsome and sexy, and I could see loneliness on his face. I just wanted to be with him. It’s hard to explain, but it’s the truth. Now, I’ve risked my relationship and put him in danger. When I saw the news,” Adrian continued, “the photo, and they said Kyle was arrested for murder. I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking, he didn’t do that. I know he didn’t.”
Marshall leaned forward, keeping his tone low. “Then tell me what happened.”
For a long moment, Adrian didn’t answer. His thumb moved in circles around the rim of his cup, tracing the condensation there. He looked like a man standing at the edge of a confession that might undo him.
“I paid him,” he said finally. The words came out flat, like an old truth spoken too many times. “I told him it was for sex and there would be more money if he did more, I wasn’t looking for anything rough or dangerous. Just… company, to touch him, but once he was there, I wanted more. More than the comfort of someone being near. I’d seen him online before, thought it would be simple. One night, no names, no promises.”
He hesitated. His voice softened. “But it wasn’t simple. Not with him.”
Marshall said nothing, letting the silence make room.
Adrian’s gaze unfocused, the memory drawing him somewhere far from the booth. “He was quiet when he came in. Polite. Careful. He called me sir. There was something in his eyes, like he’d forgotten how to expect kindness. We talked for a while. About nothing, really. The weather. The truck he drove. He smiled once, and it… it changed the whole room.” He swallowed. “When he touched me, it wasn’t about money anymore. It felt, human. Steady. Like he was giving something he didn’t think he still had. I could feel it, sense, even with his stoic manner.”
The steam from his cup curled between them, and for a moment Marshall could almost see it, the thin motel light, the uneasy tenderness of two men both pretending not to need what they needed most.
Adrian’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He wasn’t cold, or cruel. Just sad. Gentle. When it was over, I remember feeling… lighter. Then guilty for it. Overwhelming guilt. I felt dirty for having used him. I told him he should go. He did. Around eleven, maybe a little after.”
He paused, jaw tightening. “I watched him leave. He turned left down the walkway, the woman’s room was two doors to the right. I heard something from that direction a minute later, but Kyle was already getting into his truck. He looked back. He even waved.”
Marshall’s pen was in his hand before he realized it. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” Adrian said. “I saw his taillights disappear into the rain.”
Marshall exhaled slowly. “Then you can clear him.”
Adrian looked up, eyes tired and rimmed with the kind of fear that lived beneath the skin. “If I testify, I lose everything. My job. My boyfriend. My family doesn’t even know who I really am. My work will see this as a scandal; the gay part won’t even play a part, my supervisor is openly gay. It’ll come out that I paid for sex in a seedy motel.” His fingers pressed against the cup until his knuckles whitened. “I can’t. Oh, fuck.” He looked up at Marshall; tears filled his eyes, "but I have to.” His teeth clenched. “Fuck.”
Marshall studied him, the tightness in his shoulders, the tremor of guilt and shame he was trying to swallow. He softened his voice. “You already did the hardest thing, Adrian. You came here. That means something.”
Adrian’s eyes still glistened. His voice steadied. “I just don’t want to be the reason an innocent man loses his life.”
Marshall reached into his briefcase and drew out a document, sliding it across the table. “Then let’s start here. A confidential statement. Your name stays sealed unless the court demands it. It might be enough to keep this case from going to trial.”
Adrian hesitated, staring at the paper as if it might burn him. Then he picked up the pen. His hand shook so hard the ink blotted at the corner of the page, a dark, uneven mark that looked like an ending, or the start of one.
When he slid the document back, he looked up, eyes hollow but calm. “Will you tell him I’m sorry?” he asked. “For all of it. For getting him caught in something that should’ve never touched him.”
Marshall met his gaze. “I’ll tell him.”
Outside, the mist had thickened again, erasing the outlines of the street. The bell above the door jingled once as Adrian slipped away, cap low, shoulders hunched, disappearing into the gray as quietly as he’d arrived.
Marshall stayed where he was, staring at the empty seat across from him. The coffee had gone cold again. But for the first time in weeks, the ache behind his ribs eased, not from relief, exactly, but from the faint, dangerous spark of hope.
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