Foul Play

Thursday, 17 January 2019

It was a calm clear night in the city, and David drove home slowly, tired from a long day at work. The presentation was in four days and he had decided at the last minute to make some changes. It had been two long days of revisions, but he had finally finished. A quick glance at the clock showed it was once again nearly midnight.

Turning off Providence Road, he drove into his neighborhood, one of 1960’s ranch style houses that most retained their original facades, with low roofs and long single-story floor plans. He made the familiar turns, two lefts and one right, approaching the ranch house that was his home. The house sat up higher than the road, six steps from the sidewalk and six more to climb up to the front porch, and the drive rose along the right side to a detached garage in back. The front was lit up as usual, illuminating the front porch and some of the landscaping. Windows glowed for the living room and the study, and he assumed Landon was still up working in his office. It was not unusual for him to bring work home and work late into the night. He had gotten registered as an architect last October and worked tirelessly to prove he had earned it.

David eased into the drive and drove to the rear, and immediately became aware something was amiss. The garage door was up and the lights on, revealing Landon’s Audi. Then he noticed it was damaged, the rear window smashed in and the tires flat. Parking as quickly as possible, he jumped out and stared at the Audi, shocked to see all the windows smashed in. There were dents in the hood and top and one in the passenger door. All four tires were slashed. He tried to process what he was seeing, make some sense of it, and each time he circled around to some hate crime, some attack that was based on homophobia. He dropped his satchel and ran to the house.

The back door stood open, and glass was visible on the floor. David began to hyperventilate and shake as he saw blood on the floor and kitchen counter.

“Landon?!” he called out, “Landon!”

Rushing into the dining room, he saw some of Landon’s clothes and satchel scattered around it. Fear gripped him, as he ran down the hall to the study. Books were scattered on the floor and across the desk. The laptop was gone, with the cords laying across the place it would normally sit. “No, no, no,” he began to stammer as he ran down the hall to their bedroom, the last one on the back of the house. The one they spent four months renovating, putting in French doors to the garden area Landon had planted last fall, ready for it to bloom and become lush this spring. He pushed the door open to an empty room, the bed messed up, the blanket pulled to one side, Landon’s things scattered around the room and there was blood staining the blanket and drying on the floor. “Landon!” he cried out again, this time with a strangled voice.

In the bathroom, the mirror was smashed, a fractured pattern spiraling out from the point of impact right at eye level. There was blood on the vanity, in the sink and smeared on the floor. It looked like there had been a struggle, and someone injured. Hands shaking, David pulled out his cell phone and fumbled to dial the three digits, something he had never done before.

“911; what do you need: medical, fire or police?”

“I…I…I don’t know…he’s gone.”

“Sir, calm down and tell us: what is your situation?”

“My boyfriend…he’s gone, and the house is messed up…I need…police.”

Monday, 22 July 2019

Brandon Alexander Nichols was thirty-two years old and working in his second career. He had gone into the police department, following in his father’s footsteps. He worked a beat for seven years, showing time and time again his father’s nose for digging out the truth and the investigative skills it sometimes required. He made a detective and worked plain clothes for three years, where clashes with his own father made him miserable. They had tolerated each other, circling around each other but avoiding direct conflict. It had started when Brandon came out gay in high school, and only grew worse as Brandon pushed back at his father’s shenanigans in solving cases, and the good ole boy ways that were so distasteful to him. When he was on a beat, in the uniform, they ran in different circles, but once a detective too, their conflicts began to surface again, sometimes to the point of an argument.

Over the three years, he grew to hate his life and began to drink like his father, making him hate himself even more. After a particularly nasty argument, where his father hurled the faggot label at him, he went to his desk and typed up his resignation letter. It took a couple of months, but some back at the police department who felt he had been wronged, sent some work his way, and three months later, in a storefront space of a 1960’s strip shopping center, he opened Confidential Investigative Services. The space had been various things over the years, one wall boarded up with plywood to hide the plumbing from when it was a beauty parlor, but the previous tenant had been an insurance salesman, so Brandon was able to move in with just a fresh coat of paint and a new sign in the front window.

From this nondescript little space, he pursued employees misusing company trucks for side businesses, cheating spouses, lost relatives who did not want to be found and searches for property records to settle disputes among families. He worked alone, not even bothering to put a receptionist at the front desk, simply satisfied by its mere presence. It gave the front a formality, the look of a legitimate office, even though he was the only person in the 1,100 square feet.

After a weekend of hanging out with friends, discussing the way each viewed dating now that they were in their thirties, Brandon admitting to hating the chase. He disliked that initial ritual of flirting with the ‘will he or won’t he’. He found himself driving to work the next Monday, ready to start another week. There were no cases, having wrapped up two the week before, leaving him only a few follow up phone calls to make, so he had taken his time, stopped at the Greek diner on Wilkinson Boulevard for breakfast, swung by the post office to mail a birthday card to a first cousin he had been close to all his life. He pulled into the parking lot, a desolate field of asphalt interrupted only by the pole lighting and a pylon sign that was an icon of 1960’s architecture. He cut across the faded lines until parking his old Jeep Cherokee at the front of his space. A Honda Accord sat three spaces over, and as Brandon climbed out, the driver’s door swung open. A young woman stood up; her long hair pulled back in a ponytail making her appear even younger at first glance.

“Mr. Nichols?” she called out, making Brandon stop on the sidewalk, under the cantilevered canopy that ran the full length of the strip center.

“Yes.”

She approached, looking nervous, and Brandon did not know if it was about her reason for coming, or the place, with its run-down nature.

“I’m Shelley Carmichael. Do you have time to talk with me?”

“Yes, yes, come in. I’m running a little late this morning.”

“I know; I arrived at nine for when you normally open.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay; I didn’t make an appointment.”

Brandon pulled the key out after unlocking the door and pulled it open, standing to one side to let Shelley enter first.

“Come on back.” He led her to his office, the first through the doorway, where he had taken a wall out from between two offices to make one large one. He watched Shelley come in and slowly turn taking in each wall. The pin up wall with two large cork boards, with photos and newspaper clips from one of the last week’s cases. On the next wall, painted with chalkboard paint, it showed where he had erased layer after layer of writing. The next wall sat his desk facing out with bookcases along the wall behind it, filled to the point books were stacked on top of books. And the last wall, the one between the corridor and office, with its two doors, sat 5-drawer file cabinets along every available inch of wall. And on top of each one, more files.

“So, how can I help you?”

“Does the name Landon Carmichael ring a bell?”

“No, should it?”

“Six months ago, it was in the news about him…”

“Oh, yes, he disappeared, and it looked like foul play. They said it looked like he had been attacked by robbers or someone out to bash someone who was gay.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Shelley replied, her expression growing serious, eyes cast down.

“You’re his sister?” Brandon asked.

“Yes.”

“Why come to me? The case is still open, is it not?”

“Yes, but the police are not getting anywhere.”

“What makes you think I will?”

“I have a cousin here in town. A police officer and he has been keeping me informed. When I told him, progress was not good enough and I wanted to hire someone to investigate Landon’s disappearance, he recommended I call you.”

“I see.”

Brandon had seen these cases come in before. Family and loved ones seeking answers, ready to do whatever it took to get them, until he told him his rates. What it cost for an average case. He saw many flinch; find out that the answers were beyond their means. Shelley Carmichael had given him the impression she would be the same, so he told her his rates, and what she could expect on such a case. She did not flinch, taking out a checkbook.

“How much to get you started?”

The check laying in front of him, face up, the zeros prominent across the amount, Brandon sat back looking at her. He saw her determination, a resolve he had not paid attention to before.

“Okay, if you’re ready to get started, tell me about Landon and what you know of his disappearance,” said Brandon as he stood and moved to the chalkboard wall, picking up a new stick of chalk. He listened to Shelley talk, to the details of Landon’s life, making notes as she talked.

“We grew up in Greenville, South Carolina. Well, actually we lived in Easley to the west of the city. Dad was a mechanic, working at a Buick dealership and mom…mom was mom. Landon came first and I arrived three years later. Mom passed when we were fifteen and twelve. Cancer. It tore our family apart and dad…he…uh…began to drink. I found out later dad drink too much when he had been in service and when they first got married, but mom had made him stop. With her gone, he started again. Soon a dark side of him surfaced, one Landon protected me from…” Shelley’s voice began to quiver, and she struggled to maintain her composure. “Dad grew abusive. Violent. He beat Landon until he couldn’t take it anymore, calling the police one night. We ended up with our grandmother who lived in Greenville just north of downtown. Landon had a broken nose, a fractured arm and…dad lost custody of us and after a couple of years, disappeared.”

“You don’t know his whereabouts?”

“Honestly, after what he did to Landon, I don’t care. I heard from an aunt he was in York.”

“York? South Carolina?”

“I think so.”

Brandon noted that York was nearby, less than forty minutes away, and noted it was one of the first things to check out.

“Go on.”

“Landon was smart, much smarter than any of us realized. He got a scholarship and put himself through architecture.”

“Where did he go?”

“Clemson.”

“I think it was one of the happiest times of his life. He had his first boyfriend and one or two after that. When he graduated, he moved here, working with one large firm, then going to a smaller one. He passed his exam, finished his internship, got his license and…it seemed he had everything, including a partner.”

“Then he went missing?”

“Yes.”

“What do you know about his partner?”

“Not as much as I should. I was in Atlanta by this time, working as an accountant.  I went to South Carolina, much to my brother’s consternation,” chuckling softly at the memory of it, “… and just before I graduated our grandmother died. She left each of us money and some stock, but to me she left her house. I sold it to a cousin.”

Brandon noted the check on his desk, realizing where she got the money.

“So, you see, I was in my own place and Landon was in his. We talked on the phone regularly, nearly once a week, but we hadn’t seen each other in some time. He dated a few guys after college, how many I’m not sure, only hearing of those that seemed serious at first. He met David in May of 2017. I know for he called to wish me a happy birthday, then telling me of meeting David. They dated for over a year before Landon agreed to move in with him.”

“So, the house was David’s?”

“Yes,” Shelley replied, pulling out a large manila envelope and holding it out. “This is what I have on Landon’s disappearance. Clippings, some official letters to me from the police and notes I made, like David’s address.”

“Thanks; that will help a lot. What else can you tell me?”

“Not much. I get very little from the police on what they know about that night. January 17, 2019, a Thursday night. I just know it looked like foul play and there has been no sign of Landon since.”

“Okay, I get the overall picture. Now let me ask. If I find out Brandon is…”

“Dead? I want to know. I need closure on this.”

“How can I reach you?”

“My card is in the envelope with my cell phone number and email address. I wrote another email address for sensitive information. I have to go back to Atlanta today, but if you need anything else from me, do not hesitate to call me, any time, day or night.”

“I will do that.”

“If there is nothing else, I need to get on the road. How long do you think it’ll be before you have something?”

“Hard to say. I could have something by week’s end, or it could take months. I can give you weekly updates until I see how the case comes along.”

“That would be nice. I look to hear from you.”

Over the next five days, Brandon called his contact at the police station for the police report, getting what they would release, glad to find crime scene photos in it. He searched for the newspaper articles covering the event, always surprised at some detail that would be relevant later. He researched Landon, his sister Shelley and their parents, Robert and Nancy Carmichael. The chalkboard began to fill along the left side with a small family tree, and aspects of the case he wanted to look at closer. He became anxious, ready to get out in the field, meet with David Howard and any old boyfriends prior to their relationship. But he was most interested in meeting Robert Carmichael, who lived in Clover, South Carolina, not York, and worked at a Chevrolet dealership in Gastonia, just north across the state line. He would drive down on Saturday, a day no one expected someone who was investigating an event such as Landon Carmichael’s disappearance.

Saturday, 27 July 2019

Brandon had a late breakfast, did laundry and walked Mason, his American Bulldog. It was a few minutes after noon when he grabbed up his keys and headed out. He wanted to get a sense of Robert Carmichael, some idea of the man’s life, so he drove to Gastonia first, cruising by the Chevrolet dealership, which was east of town. Following 74 west, he drove into downtown then turned left on 321, heading south. He followed it all the way to Clover. The town was small and soon he found himself on the south side. The GPS indicated a right turn, then another, followed by a left into a small trailer park. He followed the road around to the address he was seeking, finding a Chevy truck parked by the small porch built over the front door. A man sat underneath, drinking a beer.

“Excuse me, are you Robert Carmichael?” Brandon asked as he approached the porch, the man now standing at the top of the steps.

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m Brandon Nichols, a private investigator, looking into Landon Carmichael’s disappearance.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You’re his father, right?”

“I disowned that faggot years ago. Not seen him since…since…he left and took his sister.”

“You’ve not seen him since?”

“No.”

“Have you never drove up to Charlotte to see him, or just to see where he lives?”

“I didn’t know he was in Charlotte until it was in the papers he disappeared. Now, there is nothing else to say, so you can leave,” Robert Carmichael replied, who turned and went inside, leaving Brandon standing in the yard.

Feeling like his talk with Robert Carmichael was a waste of time, Brandon drove back to Charlotte, cutting over to I-77 and going north back into town. He checked his notes and headed into southeast Charlotte to where David Howard lived.

The ranch style house sat above the road allowing Brandon to see its front over the cars and SUV’s lining the curb and parked in the drive. He drove down the street until coming to a place he could park, then walked back to the house. Approaching the house, he could hear music coming from the backyard along with muffled voices. Walking past the steps that led to the front door, he moved down to the drive, climbing its initial steep grade, and following along the side of the house to the rear.

Smoke rose from a grill and music played over speakers hanging from the eaves of the house. A deck area was crowded with guys, and down in the yard, were more guys seated or standing in a large circle. Brandon saw David Howard at the grill, face serious, while others were laughing and smiling. Then he saw the looks his way, knowing they were curious if he was someone invited to the cookout. He scanned the faces, putting as many to memory as he could, for he never knew when he would cross paths with one of them.

He crossed the corner of the yard, angling over to the steps up to the deck, where he stood at the bottom seeing more faces turn toward him. So many more faces to try to remember.

“I’m really sorry to barge in, but I’m Brandon Nichols,” he said, cutting his eyes to David, “I would like to talk to you in private just for a minute or two…if that’s possible.”

David seemed to know why he was there, nodding his head. He handed the tongs to someone next to him and moved to the steps.

“Follow me,” said David as he walked past Brandon, leading back to the drive. Brandon followed him, till the two were standing on the far side of it, next to a row of shrubs that separated the drive from the neighbor’s yard. “I take it you’re the private investigator Shelley hired.”

“Yes; she tell you to expect me?”

“No, she just said she was hiring someone. I can figure out the rest. She’s not happy with where the investigation with Landon’s disappearance has gone. Quite frankly, neither am I. I offered to help pay, but she…

“What do you want to know?” asked David after regaining his composure.

“I’ve got the police reports and the notes on what you said about that night. Is there anything you have thought of since then that might not be in the report?”

“I’ve replayed that night a million times. I can’t think of anything, but honestly, when I got here and saw…I just don’t remember most of the evening.”

“Understandable. What about before that night? Anything unusual happen?”

“Nothing unusual. I’ve told this to the police. I’m not sure what I could be missing?”

“I don’t know. Like did anyone mess with Landon, or maybe even you? Did you have any attempts at a break in before that night? Something like that.”

“No, nothing. Landon was so private, and never pushed back against anyone who was trying to make a scene. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt him. And there had been no attempted break ins, or anything unusual, except for that father of his driving by all the time.”

“Robert Carmichael?”

“Yep. The asshole had been driving by for some time, but a couple of days before, the bastard drove by and Landon went out to confront him. I’ve never seen Landon so upset. But his father let Landon yell at him then just sped off.”

“That’s not in the reports I got. Did you tell the police?” asked Brandon, considering how incomplete the reports were that he had been given.

“Yes, that night, for I was convinced it was who had taken Landon.”

“The police say anything about their investigation?”

“Officially? No, but I have a friend on the force, and he said they questioned the old man and he had an alibi. It seems he worked late that evening, then hung out with one of the other mechanics till two in the morning at a bar in Gastonia.”

“What day did Landon confront his father?”

“It was the Saturday before. We were mowing grass and cleaning up around the house.”

“Well, it is something for me to check out.”

“You think the other guy lied to protect Robert?”

“Maybe…maybe not. Anything else? Any fights between friends, or even between the two of you?”

“A fight between us? You think…”

“No, but someone could be acting out for you.”

“No, no one I know would do that, and no, there had been no fights.”

“Is there anyone you think I should talk to? Someone who might know something?”

“Landon was so introverted; he just didn’t have that many close friends. And he was such a nice person…it doesn’t make sense.”

“What about someone taking revenge on you?”

“I thought about that too. I’ve got a few guys in town who don’t like me, but…to do this? No. I can’t see it.”

“You care to give me some names?”

“Names? You really think it is necessary?”

“At this point, I need to look at every possibility.”

“Yeah…I get it. Let’s see…Alex Jasinski. He cheated on me and I humiliated him when I broke up with him. I was a bit nasty about it, but I really thought he was the one. He works at this greenhouse in town. The one down on Stonehaven Road. Leo is another still mad at me. Leonardo Mendez. He works with the city in planning or zoning or something like that.”

“What happened with him?”

“We…just didn’t work well together and he got upset when I wanted more from him.”

Brandon noted how vague David was being about the cause of their breakup, flagging it as something to ask Leo about. “Anyone else?”

“Yes. One more. Ben Edmond. Benjamin Edmond.”

“And?”

“Look, this was a few years ago, back when…I had been hanging out with these guys who like to party. You know, sexually. Well, I met Ben and after we had been dating for a couple of months, I got him to agree to go to one of the parties, and he got cold feet.”

“So, you left?”

“No, not exactly. I had sex with the guys while Ben watched from the side of the room and afterward, he flipped out. Said it was not something he could deal with.”

“I see.”

“But I don’t think any of the three of them would do anything, especially to Landon.”

“Did you ever take Landon to one of these parties?”

David flinched, turned away for a second, then he looked at Brandon, and lied. “No.” Brandon knew it was a lie as soon as he said it, and it was one more thing to check out.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to your cookout. Thanks for talking with me.”

“Anytime, if it helps,” David replied, looking over to the deck area at his friends milling around. “They think this is going to cheer me up,” he added, then walked away, head down.

Brandon headed down the drive and turned on the sidewalk, making his way to his Jeep. He was just past David’s house when he heard someone calling out for him to stop. Turning he saw one of the guys from the party jogging up toward him.

“Yes?”

“Are you here about Landon?”

“Yes, and you are?”

“Henry Walker. Look, I consider David a friend, but I was closer to Landon, and…and there was something wrong between them. I don’t think it was serious, but it could involve someone else.”

“Like who?”

“You did not hear this from me, okay?”

“I can keep my source confidential.”

“I’m not sure of his real name but everyone calls him Butch. His last name is Jacobs or Jacobson or something like that.”

“And what would he have to do with Landon and David?”

Henry looked back down the sidewalk to make sure no one was there, and up toward the house then back at Brandon. “He was the one hosting these parties David liked to go to. I’m not sure if he ever took Landon, but…if he did, Landon would not like it.”

“David hinted at this with someone from his past.”

“Ben.”

Brandon smiled at the confirmation by Henry. “Anything else I should know?”

“Yes, I think so. I was out of the country when Landon went missing and by the time I got back, the police didn’t seem interested in talking to me. I’ve listened to the other guys talk about what they told the police and…”

“And?”

“There was no mention of one of Landon’s friends. I don’t know much about her, but she was evidently important to him. He mentioned her often to me when we met up for coffee or drinks.”

“Who?”

“I know is her first name. Emily.”

“Did David know her?”

“In hindsight; I don’t think so.”

“Without the last name, do you have any other information that will help me find her?”

“Not really. She wasn’t someone he worked with and none of the other guys ever mentioned her.”

“Any idea when they met?”

“I’ve known Brandon since March…April of 2016 and he never mentioned her at first. Landon and I lost track of each other sometime the next year and when we hooked back up, he began to mention her.”

“You guys didn’t see each other for a period of time?”

“I was traveling a lot for work and I had two projects that took me overseas for a few months and Landon had started dating someone which ended sometime in early 2017. Charles…no Charlie was his name.”

“What happened between them?”

“Charlie’s job took him to the west coast and Landon didn’t want to move. I don’t think they were serious.”

“But Emily showed up sometime afterward?”

“Yes, but I don’t know anything about her. She was like this secret friend.”

Brandon considered how much of Landon’s life he didn’t know and considered public records that he could search that might give a clue to some of the missing pieces. “Thanks, I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Okay. I have to get back. I told them I was going to my car for something,” Henry replied as he turned and jogged back down the sidewalk.

Normally, Brandon would head home and enjoy the weekend, but he was sitting in his office, legs up on his desk, staring at the blackboard with additional notes from the day. He was mulling over what he had found to date. The details of the police report, the names that needed checking out and how Landon’s father had lied to him. But the thing that kept returning to him was the name Emily. Some friend Landon had kept separate from all the others. Therefore, she was probably the one he confided in the most. He went back through the information on his desk, flipping through reports from the police department, then opening some insurance documents he had yet to review. What could they tell him? The last time Landon went to his doctor and why? It had no bearing on the case. But not reviewing them was beyond him, and he slipped them from the large envelope.

He had requested the documents go back to 2015, a year after moving to the city. He glanced through the last dates, a few in 2018 for normal doctor visits, and the same in 2017. He flipped to 2016 and sat up. He scanned the page again, looking at the insurance claim for a hospital visit, and saw it was an emergency admittance with two doctors seeing him, but the thing that stood out was the fact it was a psychologist Landon saw the most, did so for six months after a week in the hospital. It was something no one had mentioned. It hadn’t come up in any police reports he had acquired, nor by David Howard, and looking at the dates, he knew it was prior to the two of them meeting. Landon had kept it secret.

His small journal laid out; he wrote the doctors listed in the insurance report:

Dr. Marcus J. Dearden

Dr. Rachel M. McCutcheon

Dr. Gabriel J. Ortega

Brandon looked at the list, circling the last one, the psychologist. He had another lead to pursue, one that seemed more important than the names from David. Only the mysterious Emily seemed as important.

He closed up the office, climbed into his Jeep and headed home. He felt excited, like he was at the threshold of discovering something, knowing he might very well be getting his hopes up. It happened far too often.

He took a shower, putting on a comfortable, well-worn pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and laid back on the sofa to watch television. It would let him stop obsessing over the details of the case, letting him rest his mind. He watched an old movie, then flipped to a news channel, watching until he couldn’t stand it, flipping back to some movie he had seen before.

Around six, he prepared dinner, baking chicken in the oven with some potatoes, and sautéing some vegetables. Seated at the kitchen island, he sat at the end of it so he could watch television while eating. Once finished, he loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the counters and range and went back to the living area. He glanced at his watch, considering how it was Saturday night. He had planned on calling a couple of friends to go out, but had just let the day pass without doing so. Now he was anxious, unable to sit still for long. He glanced at his watch again, wondering if it was late enough to go to a bar that was on the south side of town.

He slipped on a pair of black boots, grabbed up his keys, wallet and cellphone and headed out the door. It was always like this when he started a case. Any other time, he would be content to just lounge around his house drinking a beer and watching television, but a new case keyed him up. He played details of it over and over in his mind, looking for some aspect he had not considered. It would keep him up all night, so he decided he might as well go out. A night out to have some fun. Hang out with other guys, have a couple of drinks, shoot some pool and if he was lucky, maybe drag someone back home.

The bar was in a small brick strip center, the front anchored by a restaurant that was open all night, something far too convenient to the patrons stumbling out at 2:30 in the morning. He pulled around to the parking lot in back, walking back to the door, pressing the buzzer to be let in.

Patrons crowded around the bar and three of four billiard tables had groups of guys surrounding them. Some disco song ended as he crossed the room going toward the bar and heard a country song begin as he slipped between two guys he did not know.

“What will you have?”

“Jack and coke.”

He watched the bartender pour far more than a shot into the cup then fill it with soda, while pulling out his credit card.

“Seven fifty,” said the bartender, setting the cup down in front of him.

“Run a tab,” he replied, holding out his card.

Stepping back, he moved to an empty table, one of four bar height tables that sat parallel with the bar. He eased down on a chair facing the room noting the guys he knew. It amazed him how few he did know, most being new faces to him. But it had been a few months since his last visit.

“Brandon?”

He turned to see Paul Reynolds coming up behind him, leaving from the corridor to the toilets and rear exit. He was a detective, one of the good ones, and Brandon knew was in a relationship with a journalist. They met after he got hurt pursuing a drug dealer along one of the creeks in the city. He never saw the old file cabinet someone had tossed into the creek and nearly broke his leg on the damn thing, tripping over it. He was laid up for a couple of days, and the journalist came to interview him about the drug dealer.

“Hey, Paul. How’s it going?”

“Good, and you?”

“I’m good. What are you doing out here? The journalist out of town?” Brandon jokingly asked.

“Actually, he is on his way. We’ve had his parent stay with us for a week and they finally left today. He took them to the airport and is heading this way.”

“That bad?” Brandon asked, smiling.

“Oh, don’t get me started,” Paul replied. Then he leaned in closer, lowering his voice, “you started a new case, didn’t you?”

Brandon laughed, nodding his head.

“You need to come back. You’re one of the best and…”

“Not as long as my father and his buddies are there. Besides, I’m doing alright with my own thing.”

“Maybe I should send my resume to this enterprise. Are they hiring any more detectives?”

“And give up your pension? You’re crazy.”

“You did it.”

“I had to.”

 “I know. There’s some push back within and internal affairs has been on their asses since you left, but I get it. Your own father giving you shit. I don’t know how you took it.”

“I left remember,” Brandon replied, smiling at Paul.

“Hey, I need to get back with my group. Why don’t you come over and hang out with us?”

“No, I’m not staying long, but thanks.”

“Well, if you change your mind, we’re on the far table in the corner,” Paul replied pointing at the billiard table.

Brandon watched Paul cross the room, remembering how he had started to pursue him when the journalist came into the picture. One of the few guys in the department that were easy going, a laid-back personality that he envied. Then he began to run details of the current case over in his mind. Circling around the red flags he had marked in his journal. Robert Carmichael’s lie, a hospital stay seeing a psychologist and the mysterious Emily were the three big avenues of investigation he was going to pursue, come Monday.

A hand came down on his shoulder, then a guy moved around to his side. “Hey, you were at David’s this afternoon.”

“Yes,” Brandon replied, looking up at the familiar face. It was the guy who took the tongs from David when he had approached.

“So, you’re investigating what happened with Landon.”

A simple statement of fact, which told Brandon David had talked about him after he left, for he knew Henry Walker would not divulge their conversation.

“Yes. I’m Brandon.”

“Brandon, I’m Austin. Austin Miller.”

“How do you know David and Landon?”

“I met David a couple of years ago, right after moving here. I came down from Pennsylvania after finishing college.”

“How did you meet?”

“Are you investigating me too?” Austin asked, sarcastically.

“Just curious.”

“I work at the bank and kept meeting David in the elevator. It became a joke, for even on days I worked overtime, we seemed to be on the same schedule. I didn’t realize his department and mine were coordinating on proposals within the bank.”

“You ever see anything unusual going on with Landon and David?”

“Unusual? Not with those two. I thought they were the perfect couple.”

Brandon knew to stop asking questions about Landon and David, instead asked about Pennsylvania and Austin’s past.

As Austin talked about his youth, going to college then moving to the city, Brandon sized him up. Average height, about five ten, and a little on the lean side, probably no more than one forty. It was the hands that really gave him this impression, with their long delicate fingers and narrow wrist. He had dark brown hair, brown eyes and teeth not quite perfect, incisors being slightly forward of the others, but when he smiled, there was the dimples. It made Austin look boyish. Brandon ran a calculation and knew Austin was twenty-four, maybe twenty-five.

“…and I moved here in June of 2017, taking the job at the bank. I’ve thought of looking at some opportunities at small companies. You know something less soul sucking. But enough about me. So, tell me about yourself.”

Brandon looked at the smiling face, how the dimples framed the lips and the brown eyes stared at him, and he told himself ‘no’.

“Not much to tell. I was born here, my dad is a detective and I followed in his footsteps but had some issues with how they did some things, so I quit and started my own private detective agency. As for Landon, I was hired to look into it.”

“His sister?”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal that.”

“I understand, but I know David said she was going to hire someone to look into it. I hope you figure something out. It’s tearing David up, not knowing.”

“I hope to find out what happened.”

“Hey, can I buy you another drink?” pointing at the empty glass in Brandon’s hand.

“Sure; Jack and coke.”

“I’ll be right back.”

‘Don’t look’ Brandon said to himself as Austin moved to the bar, then leaned against it, his body stretched out. The jeans tightened around the narrow round ass and the shirt seemed to fold in around the lean torso. His eyes roamed down the back and over the round ass, imagining what it would be like to take home. To have it in his bed. He grew more horny, despite his attempt not to consider Austin in such a way.

He looked away, across the room where Paul and the others were standing along the wall while someone took a shot. Looking back toward the bar, he saw Austin coming his way, smiling perfectly, teeth slightly exposed and those fucking dimples framing them.

“Here ya go.”

“Thanks.”

“So, do you come out often? I’ve not seen you around, although I usually go to the bar closer to town.”

“The one on Park Avenue?”

“Yes, you ever go there?”

“I did years ago, but I’ve not been in a while. It tends to be a very young crowd and…just not my scene. As to coming here, not much; about once a month, I guess.”

“What do you do for fun?”

“I hang out with friends,” Brandon replied, and thought about how he did like a lot of other guys, going online to meet guys when he was looking for sex.

“So, Brandon, do you like to have fun?” Austin asked, rubbing a finger along the back of his hand.

The touch was too much, the feel of it sending a tingling sensation up his arm. “Sometimes,” Brandon replied, smiling at Austin.

Brandon led Austin into his home, through the backdoor into the kitchen, and into the corridor heading straight to his bedroom. They both knew why Austin was there, and it was not to socialize. It was made clear Austin was horny and just looking for a good time, and for Brandon, it was good enough.

Brandon stood at the side of his bed and began to strip as he watched Austin, standing a few feet away, do the same. Shirts slipped off revealing upper bodies, Brandon muscular, strong, with scars on one shoulder and stomach, and Austin with his lean body, one a lot of guys would like for its boyish nature, but to Brandon he looked weak. Brandon liked guys who were stockier, more muscular, guys he considered men, not boys. But he was horny, made worse by the new case that roiled up his mind. It kept him thinking constantly, something only the exertion of sex could tame.

Pants and boxers tossed to the side; Brandon stood straight letting Austin see him. With his flaccid cock growing thicker and longer, he watched Austin’s eyes look at him. A hunger was in them, a lust he had seen often before. He scanned down the lean body and saw Austin was growing erect too. Cock angling outward, slowly, growing in girth and length. He moved to him, cupping the sac then manipulating the cock until it was hard, and Austin was panting. Then he pushed him down on the bed and moved on top.

Brandon felt his body bear down on the smaller body, and he ground his growing erection along the side of Austin’s, working his hips slowly, feel the sensitive head of his cock move over smooth skin. Hands moved up his sides, wrapped around his back and hugged him as he kissed at the neck and nipped at the earlobe.

“Fuck me,” Austin uttered.

Legs moved up and around his waist. He shifted down and pumped his hips, pushing his cock along the spread ass, raking it up and down between the cheeks. Austin squirmed and undulated beneath him, like a trapped animal, and he put his cock to the tight opening and breached it, pushed through the tightness and penetrated him with half his cock in one hard push. Austin cried out, shuddered beneath him, then hugged him tighter.

“Oh fuck…fuck me…”

Brandon rose on his hands, held Austin’s wrist down and fucked. Fucked hard. Fast. Driving into the depths of Austin’s body all the way. He fucked for his own satisfaction. To feel his cock buried inside him. He fucked so hard the bed protested, until there was a rhythmic banging against the wall. Every push inward.

“Jesus…fuck me harder,” Austin exclaimed, as Brandon eased back down on top of him, pushing his arms up, stretching out the lean body. The contact between them was hot, wet, with sweaty skin sliding over sweaty skin.

Brandon slowed his fuck, not wanting to come yet. He ground cock in Austin’s depths, slowly, feeling the hot exhales on his neck and the mutterings to fuck harder. For a long time, he toyed with Austin, pushed cock into his depths and ground his hips against the upturned ass as he kissed and nipped at shoulders, neck and the side of Austin’s face. He didn’t kiss his mouth for he wanted to hear the pleadings, the begging to fuck harder. It spurned him on, until he wanted to come.

Up on his knees, Brandon got Austin to flip over and get on hands and knees. He moved on him, burying his cock into Austin’s hole, and began to fuck with a brutal pace. He grabbed Austin by the hair and pulled his head back, holding him in place.

“Oh…oh…oh…fuck me…” Austin was uttering as Brandon slammed cock into his depths, over and over.

Brandon felt it, the surge of release, and he slammed his cock into Austin’s depths. He held tight to the narrow hips, as his cock ejaculated wad after wad into him. Finally spent, he pulled out, flipped Austin roughly to his back and pushed his still hard cock back in.

“Let me see you come,” Brandon uttered as he piston his wet cock inside of Austin. He watched those delicate fingers take the leaking cock and start to masturbate. Faster and faster the hand moved until it was a blur, then cum sprayed Austin in the face, and across the chest and stomach.

In the shower, Brandon had Austin bathe him, run soapy hands over his body removing the sweat and grime from the day, and with it the tension. He felt his body finally relax, as his mind did the same.

Back in the bedroom, he was going to have Austin get dress and leave, but he watched him climb on his bed and drift off to sleep. He looked at the sleeping form and wondered what he knew, what piece of information that might be important was buried in that mind. He eased down next to Austin, who immediately snuggled up next to him, and decided he could wait till morning.

Sunday, 28 July 2019

Brandon woke to light filtering into the room through the blinds. He glanced at his watch seeing it was a little after eight. Immediately the case came back to him, the aspects of it and the leads he needed to check out starting the next day. It was Sunday and a day to reflect on what he knew and do some online research. But first he had to get rid of Austin, and before he did that, he had a question to run by him.

“Austin? You awake?”

Austin didn’t stir, still snuggled up next to him.

“Austin, you awake?”

Austin stirred, blinking his eyes open. “No, not yet. Geez, what time is it?”

“A little after eight.”

“What? Oh, come on, it’s too early.”

“Austin, I have things to do. Come on, time to get up.”

“No,” Austin whined as he stretched.

Brandon watched him go through the morning ritual of waking, the rubbing of each eye, the stretching of arms and legs, then the laying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling.

“What do you have to do on a Sunday?” Austin asked.

“Research,” Brandon replied, sitting up, turning to put his feet on the floor, letting him turn his back to Austin. It was best to ask as nonchalant as possible. “Hey, do you know Emily?”

“Who?”

“Emily. A friend of Landon’s.”

“Never heard of her.”

“So, you don’t know of any female friends?”

“No,” Austin replied, finally sitting up, looking around the room. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“The week before he disappeared, I saw him with someone: a woman.”

“When was this?”

“The Wednesday…no it was Thursday before the weekend when he disappeared.”

“So, it was the 10th of January?”

“I guess; whatever that Thursday’s date would be.”

“Where was this?”

“It was that deli over on Morehouse Road. In that little shopping center near the hospital.”

Brandon flinched at the mention of the hospital and he slowly turned to face Austin.

“Near the hospital?”

“Yeah, why? Is that important?”

“Just wanting to make sure where you saw them, is all.”

“She was a pretty woman, with this long red hair. I have this thing for red heads, so I noticed that about her. Not that I was attracted to her, you know, it’s just…”

“Hey, I really need to get going,” Brandon interrupted, wanting Austin to leave now more than ever.

“Oh, okay. Well, it was fun. Thanks for letting me come over,” Austin replied as he climbed out of bed and moved around the room picking up his clothes, putting them on as he went.

It was getting dark, the sun dropped below the western horizon. The strip center slowly lit up, fluorescent lights buzzing and flickering along the long canopy as they came on. In the small space for Confidential Investigative Services, Brandon sat at his desk, browsing another site. The chalkboard was covered in additional notes, even though it still had more questions than answers. ‘????’ were written by Butch Jacobs/Jacobson and Emily.

The computer was on a gay hookup site, one for guys with a fetish, and Brandon searched for Butch, knowing he had to be on one of the online sites. He scanned the images, the requests for hookups, beginning to wonder if this Butch had private parties that did not involve online messaging. He scanned the message boards on parties, group events and still nothing. There were a couple of guys in the chat room and he pulled up a fake identity he had created for just such a search as this and hit two of them up. He told them he was looking for a certain host: Butch.

The first one came back with a ‘no’, but the second began to reply, and Brandon waited for it to come through.

If you’re looking for who I think you are, he isn’t online. His parties are strictly by invitation and only come from those already in the group.

He typed a reply, erasing it twice, before satisfied with it. He watched as the other person typed, waiting anxiously.

I didn’t give you this, but Butch’s real name is Matthew Jacobs. He lives up at the lake but not sure where.

He replied one more time, thanking the guy, who came back with one more message.

I can give you anything Butch would. You want to meet up? I’m free tonight.

He started to ignore it but decided he may need to come back to the guy for more information and decided not to piss him off. He typed a reply, one that nicely turned him down.

With a name, it did not take long to find Butch. Matthew Jacobs was a contractor, located north of the city near the lake. He looked at the image of Butch and knew it was the right person. The beard, the tattoos on both arms, the hoops in each ear, and lastly the smile. He recognized it, some aspect that spoke to Butch’s sexuality and proclivities. He could imagine the playroom that was probably in some warehouse. Now he just needed to decide on how to approach him. Too direct and ole Butch would clam up.

Shutting down his laptop, he turned to the stack of print outs from his searches. The doctors listed in the insurance document, and a further search of the hospital for Emily’s, until he had a long list of nurses and other staff by that name. There were a few that stood out, and none more than Emily Watkins, for the staff image of her department showed her with long red hair, and just as important, she worked for Dr. Gabriel J. Ortega, the psychologist. He could see how it played out that night. Landon went to the emergency room having some sort of panic attack or break down. The attending physician was Dr. Marcus J. Dearden, who was young, just getting started and on the night shift in emergency. He went to a superior on duty, thus bringing in Dr. Rachel M. McCutcheon, who in turn pulled in a specialist, Dr. Ortega. And with a stay of five days, Emily had to be the one attending to Landon on a regular basis and some friendship developed. This story made sense, lined up with what he knew of each person. Now he just needed to verify it.

A look at his watch, making him grimace at how late it had gotten, and he turned off the desk lamp, and headed out. He should be exhausted, but he felt energized, even anxious, and couldn’t wait for Monday to arrive.

On the way home, he pulled through a fast food joint, knowing it was the worst thing he could do, but he was starving, and a greasy burger seemed just the ticket. Once home, he ate quickly, while watching television, not really caring about what was on. Then he showered and climbed in bed. He lay awake for a long time, thinking of his best approach for Butch, smiling when he realized how simple it could be. He rolled to his side, smiled, and drifted off to sleep.

Monday, 29 July 2019

Brandon was at the hospital by nine, standing at the information desk in the lobby. Of the three doctors on his list, only Dr. Ortega was in. Directed to a bank of elevators down a corridor, Brandon made his way to the third floor, where he moved down one corridor after the next, feeling like a rat in a maze. The hospital had been expanded several times, each time corridors getting longer and more convoluted, until getting lost or turned around was easy to do, even by some of the staff. He came to an intersection with another corridor and stopped one of the staff.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Dr. Gabriel Ortega’s office.”

“Oh, it’s down this corridor,” the young male nurse replied, pointing to Brandon’s right. “Go through two sets of doors and you’ll come to a section of offices. I’m not sure of his office number, but there are names on the doors. I think he is to the right.”

“Thanks.”

Past the two sets of doors, he came into a quieter area, one with a staff lounge and office doors in lieu of patient rooms. Halfway down the corridor he came to an intersection and turned right. Dr. Green, Dr. Jiang, Dr. Ferguson, Dr. Capps, Dr. Garcia, Dr. McCullough and finally, the office he sought, Dr. Ortega. The door was cracked open and he saw someone was inside sitting at a desk. All he could see was a shoulder and left arm, and the left side of a desk.

Two light knocks, and he pushed the door open slightly, “Excuse me, Dr. Ortega?”

The doctor looked up and Brandon saw the attractiveness of the man. Late thirties, maybe early forties, with some gray at the temples, otherwise his hair was jet black. With a dark skin tone and brown eyes, the doctor’s ancestral background was evident in his features.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“I’m Brandon Nichols, a private investigator. I’m looking into the disappearance of one, Landon Carmichael. Do you remember the name?”

“Yes, of course, and I heard what happened. Come in.”

“Thanks,” Brandon replied as he moved into the small office, taking one of two chairs facing the doctor’s desk. “I’ll try not to take too much of your time. The police reports I have acquired have left out too much, like the fact Landon was here in the hospital back in March of 2016…the dates are…” checking his notes, “12th through the 17th.”

“I don’t remember the dates but those sound right. I remember his case for he came to see me for a while after his hospital stay, and I know he stayed in touch with one of our nurses.”

“That would be Emily Watkins,” stated as fact, to make Ortega think he knew more than he did.

“That’s right. I think they stayed in touch until he disappeared.”

“What can you tell about his hospital visit,” Brandon asked, trying hard not to do it, but unable to control himself, sizing up the attractive doctor in front of him. Neat haircut, nice smooth dark skin, and brown eyes that looked liquid. And the left hand had no wedding band.

“He came in having a panic attack, hyperventilating, unable to breathe. We kept him a few days, having some sessions with him and once he was released, continued the sessions until sometime in the spring of 2017.”

“About the time he met his boyfriend.”

“Very possible. A new relationship can be a good way for someone to stabilize after having an attack.”

“Was it external factors or was he clinical?”

“It appeared to be outside factors. Giving his teenage years and what had happened to bring him in, it made sense.”

“I know about the abuse by his father, but what happened to bring him in?”

“A boyfriend turned violent. Abusive. Landon came in with bruises, a busted nose and a couple of broke fingers.”

“So, it was really physical.”

“Yes. We contacted the police, made a report and surprisingly, Landon gave a report to the police as well.”

“Surprisingly?”

“A lot of people who get into abusive relationships don’t always speak up.”

“Would this have been Benjamin Edmond?”

“No, that name isn’t right. It was…I don’t remember. Just a sec,” Dr. Ortega replied, getting up from his desk and going to a file cabinet. “I keep summaries of my cases to help me remember them. And if need, know which one to have the full records brought up. Carmichael…Carmichael…here we go, Darrell Landon Carmichael.”

Dr. Ortega flipped through the file, eyes scanning the first page, then the next. “Donald Tegeler.”

It was a new name to Brandon, one not in any of the reports. “Thanks, it is another name to check out.”

“If it helps, Tegeler went to prison for it. I think it had been his second time having a police report filed against him and he ended up serving time. Not sure of the time frame.”

“That helps a lot. I appreciate your time,” Brandon replied, making a few notes in his journal, as Dr. Ortega sat back behind his desk.

“Have we met before?” Dr. Ortega asked, looking at Brandon with a questioning stare.

“I don’t think so. I would have remembered if we had,” Brandon replied, staring back, wishing the doctor would take the conversation further.

“Maybe you’re right. Anything else?”

“No, that will do it. If I have any more questions, can I call on you?”

“Yes, of course. I remember Landon was such a nice person. I hated what happened to him.”

Sitting in the parking deck of the hospital, engine idling to run the air conditioner, Brandon called his contact at the police station.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I need to track down someone. They assaulted someone back in 2016, sometime in March and went to prison for it.”

“Okay, who’s the lucky guy?”

“Donald Tegeler.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“Why him?  Okay, Brandon, I’ll get the information, but be careful, or you’ll piss off the wrong people.”

“What do you mean?”

“His dad is a police captain up in Raleigh. A politically powerful police captain. The only reason Donald served any time was it was his second offense and the old man decided to let him sit in prison for a while.”

“How long?”

“He served 3 months of his sentence.”

“When did he come out of prison?”

“The trial was at the end of 2016 and…just a sec…he was released in March, the 28th of 2017.”

“So, he was out for nearly two years when Landon disappeared. Maybe he held a grudge that long, but most guys like that explode a bit quicker.”

“Brandon, there’s a note in the file about another complaint up in New York, August of 2017.”

“And?”

“Let me check something and call you back.”

“Okay.”

Brandon drove to Gastonia, ready to confront Robert Carmichael on his lie. He went out 74, the old business route, knowing it would take longer. He was in no rush and used the time at each stoplight to think about the case. As he pulled into the parking lot of the Chevrolet dealership, pulling down to the shop area, his phone rang.

“That was quick,” Brandon answered, seeing it was his contact at the police station.

“Doesn’t take long to find an obituary.”

“What?”

“From what I can gather, old Donald fucked with the wrong person and the father had a contract put out on him. Nothing was proven, but on October 8, 2017, he was murdered in what appeared to be a robbery.”

“Damn. I guess I can cross him off the list.”

“Yep.”

“Thanks; I owe you.”

“Dinner and drinks?”

Brandon laughed, knowing it wasn’t a joke. “I’m at the Chevy dealership so I need to go. Talk to you later.”

Through the raised roll-up door and into the area for checking in, Brandon went to the first person he saw. A young woman with a notepad, checking in a Fusion.

“Excuse me, I need to see Robert Carmichael for just a minute.”

“Robert?” she replied, glancing at her watch. “He’s still on break. You can find him on the other side of the building smoking.”

“Thanks.”

Brandon strolled through the bay past the line of vehicles checking in and out the door on the other side. Outside, he saw more vehicles were parked, some new arrivals with plastic sheeting still on them. He looked right, toward the front then left toward the rear. Robert Carmichael was about fifty feet down, sitting on a bench, obviously the worker’s smoking area with the tall thin trash receptacles designed for cigarettes.

As he approached, Robert looked up and frowned.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“You lied to me.”

“For fuck’s sake. That asshole…should have known.”

“Why did you lie?”

“Why do you think? To keep from being harassed for something I didn’t do.”

“Why did you go?”

Robert shook his head and took a long drag on his cigarette and Brandon wondered if he was going to answer. Robert dropped his hand down, looking defeated.

“I was just curious. I wanted to see him.”

Brandon knew the situation. Even though he beat the shit out of Landon, he still had some fatherly instinct, some twisted notion of loving him, even if he didn’t understand it himself.

“What did you say to each other that day he came out and confronted you?”

“Not much. Mostly Landon yelling for me to leave him alone and to go away, and me…telling him the street was public and I could ride by if I wanted,” shaking his head as he spoke.

“And your alibi?”

“You think I lied? My friend lied to protect me?”

“Maybe.”

“I was there. Had been every night since that day.”

Brandon saw it, the confusion of his own feelings toward Landon and drinking worse when it was obvious Landon was finished with him. He was going to track down his drinking buddy from that Thursday night but saw it wasn’t necessary.

“Okay, Robert, I’m done with you. You can get back to your miserable life.” Brandon turned and headed toward the open service door.

“Hey…you finding out anything about what happened to my b…to Landon?”

Brandon heard him but kept walking, wondering if he deserved an answer.

Back in his office, having a late lunch, going over the case again, he was frustrated. It didn’t make sense. The police reports, the stories of all those around Landon, all added up to nothing. So far. He still needed to find out about that sex party David took Landon the weekend before, but he wondered if that had just been a situation of two partners finding out they might be too different. Everything spoke of Landon just vanishing like a ghost. There had been no fingerprints that could not be written off as normal contact during the days preceding that night. No bloody prints, finger, or shoe, that spoke of someone else in the room. The blood was isolated to a few areas, so it would have been easy for someone to by-pass it. He wondered if something else happened. Then he lifted the photograph of the back door, with its broken glass scattered across the kitchen floor. It was broken by someone on the outside.

Glancing at his watch, he wondered when he should go back to the hospital to try to catch Dr. Dearden and Emily Watkins. Leaning back, he knew it was too early if the two of them worked the night shift. Picking up his cellphone he decided it was time to arrange a meeting with Matthew Butch Jacobs. The phone rang a couple of times, then a deep baritone voice answer.

“Jacobs Construction.”

“Yes, my name is Brandon Nichols and I’m checking around for a contractor to do some renovations on my home. Do you do residential work?” asked Brandon, knowing residential was all Jacobs took on.

“Yes, we do. I’m Matthew Jacobs, the owner and would be glad to sit down with you to discuss what you had in mind. I prefer to come to you so I can see your house.”

“Of course. That makes sense. When could you come out? I work for myself, so I can make almost any time work.”

“Let me see,” Matthew replied, checking his schedule, “I can come out on Wednesday afternoon, around three, if that works for you.”

“Yes, that is good,” Brandon replied, giving him the address and a brief description of the house to look for when he arrived.

“I’ll see you Wednesday at three.”

“See you then.”

Still holding his phone, he spun around and looked at the file cabinets along the far wall, wondering if he kept them. He knew if they were in the file, they would be perfect bait for Butch. He moved across the room, remembering the case was from last year. It was a ‘is he cheating on me’ case by a partner who knew the end was near but was fighting it to the bitter end. It seemed the open relationship was not working in this partnership.

Opening the drawer two down from the top, he glanced at the folder labels and knew it was the wrong one. He opened the next one down and smiled when he saw the folder was the first one in the drawer. It was not a thick one, a case he wrapped up after the first weekend of following the client’s partner. There were only a couple of pages of notes, most of the folder taken up with three old magazines. Bondage magazines from years ago, with guys in full gear, tied up on each cover. He slipped them out, glad to have saved them.

Standing in front of his desk, he knew he needed to do something to occupy his mind. He thought of his yard and how the grass didn’t get mowed over the weekend and decided to head home to get it done. It would be perfect. The day was hot, and he’d sweat and exert himself, all the while processing details of the case, looking for something he had overlooked.

A loose-fitting tank top, old gym shorts and running shoes that were long past their expiration date, Brandon pushed the mower across his front yard. He was quickly sweating in the heat, but it felt good. It loosened his muscles and relaxed him.  He cut one side of the yard, crossed the sidewalk that led to his front door and cut the other. He mowed along the drive, quickly mowing the two narrow strips, then moved to the backyard, the more difficult and largest area. There was the deck and grilling area to cut around, and in the middle of the yard, out from under the two oaks that sat on each side of it, a fire pit. He worked along the azaleas and small shrubs that circled the yard, around the patio area for grilling, then began cutting across the open area of the yard. All the while playing details over of the case, wondering if someone from the sex party the weekend before became obsessed with Landon and came for him. It would make sense. Someone no one really knew, for all those that knew Landon did not seem to have a motive or some desire to hurt him. But maybe he was grasping at straws, for that would be the exception instead of the rule for who the guilty party turns out to be in most cases.

The night was still hot, the night sky cloudy, blocking out what few stars were visible in the city. Brandon pulled into the parking deck at the hospital and found it full for the first six levels. It didn’t surprise him to have to go the seventh to park and even then, there were only a few spaces open. He made his way to the hospital, following the maze of paths until he was at the reception desk in the lobby.

“I’m here to see either Emily Watkins or Dr. Marcus Dearden.”

The man behind the desk checked his monitor, typing a few words as he went.

“Dr. Dearden is in the emergency wing and nurse Watkins is to be in later.”

Brandon knew the staff were not give out someone’s schedule, but he preferred not to wait half the night for Emily Watkins. He pulled out his ID and business card, holding them out to the receptionist.

“I’m working on a missing person case. They had talked with the missing beforehand, and I just want to ask a couple of questions. Can you tell me when Emily will be clocking in?” Using just her first name made it sound personal, and he hoped the receptionist would violate the rule and tell him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that, but…if you talk to Dr. Dearden first by the time you finish, she may be clocked in.”

Brandon smiled, “thanks. Now the best way to get to emergency?”

The emergency area was busy, gurneys lining the wall with waiting patients as nurses and doctors when from one area to another. Brandon slipped through what appeared to be total chaos until he came to a male doctor, taking a chance. As he stepped up closer, he recognized the eyes and hair color that was visible.

“Dr. Dearden?”

“Yes, can I help you?”

“When you have a second, I’d like to ask about Landon Carmichael.”

Dr. Dearden stood straight and looked at Brandon with a frown. “Are you investigating his disappearance?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Dearden took a deep breath, then pointed to a small office, “go wait for me in there and I’ll come as quickly as I can.”

It was a small office shared by some of the emergency ward staff, and therefore nothing personal about it. No family photos or silly cartoons taped to the wall. Just folder after folder of medical procedure, forms, contacts and drug data. He eased down in one of the four chairs and waited while watching the activity in the corridor.

It was nearly thirty minutes before Dr. Dearden came into the small office and closed the door.

“I’m not sure what I can tell you, that I haven’t already told the police, but ask me anything.”

“You attended to him when he first arrived?”

“Yes. He came in alone, staggering through the doors. He was frantic and it was obvious he was having some sort of panic attack. And he was bleeding from the nose and lips and holding one arm.”

“Did he say what happened?”

“His boyfriend had turned violent, beat him up pretty bad. Broke a couple of fingers, busted his nose and left bruises on his chest and stomach.”

“Did he mention it was something his father had done to him when he was a teenager?”

“No, but I heard about it later. Emily told me.”

“Emily Watkins?”

“Yes. She’s a nurse and one that attended to him. There was some bond between them. I saw her with Landon down in the cafeteria on occasion, even after he had checked out.”

“Did Landon mention anyone else being abusive?”

“No. Do you think the boyfriend came back for him?”

“No. He’s dead. Murdered up in New York sometime later.”

“Can’t say I’m sorry to hear, after what he did to Landon.”

“Thanks for confirming some details for me. Can you tell me where I can find Emily?”

“If she’s on duty, she’ll be up on the third floor. Don’t ask where. I’m still trying to figure out this floor,” Dr. Dearden replied, smiling for the first time. Brandon size him up, found the guy cute but the wedding band made him stop. He was not interested in someone who would cheat on their spouse. He had seen enough in his investigations to know he never wanted to be a part of it.

Roaming down one corridor, then another, Brandon made his way around the third floor, stopping staff to ask about Emily Watkins, until one smiled, then pointed through a pair of double doors.

“She’s in that ward. She may still be at the desk.”

“Thanks.”

Through the door, the corridor stretched out before him for a hundred feet, but about twenty feet down the corridor opened up for a desk area. He strolled up, seeing it was open across the central area of the wing, all the way over to the next corridor. Seated at a computer facing the other corridor, her back to Brandon, sat Emily Watkins with her long red hair pinned up.

“Ms. Emily Watkins?” Brandon asked as he moved along the counter.

“Yes?” Emily replied, spinning around.

“I’m Brandon Nichols, a private investigator looking into…”

“Landon.” Emily interrupted, and he saw her smile change to a frown.

“That’s right.”

“Have you found out anything?”

“No, not yet.”

“What about that father of his?”

“His alibi checks out.”

“Really? I just knew that man did something. How can I help you?”

“When was the last time you talked to Landon?”

“The Thursday before. The 11th…no the 12th.”

“Did he seem upset or was there anything unusual about him?”

“No, not that day. There had been some painful times for him after he got assaulted by that boyfriend back in ’16. But once he got past it, he seemed to be getting back on his feet.”

“Anything between David and him?”

“I don’t think so, but he had mentioned they had a couple of arguments. I figured all couples do eventually, and since he said it was nothing serious, assumed that was the case.”

“Anything from that last meeting?”

“David had wanted him to go to some party and he joked about skipping out and getting me to go out for drinks. He said it was just a group he didn’t care for.”

“Did he mention it was a sex party, and David wanted him to join in?”

“What? No. Jesus, that wouldn’t have been good. You think that had something to do with his disappearance?”

“Probably not. Most of these parties are just playing to people’s fetishes and usually harmless. But I need to check it out.”

“Just in case one rogue element was among them?”

“Something like that. Did he ever mention a guy who went by a nickname: Butch?”

“No.”

“Can I ask about your friendship with Landon?”

Emily smiled, but it was sorrowful looking, sad. “How did a straight woman, who was a gay man’s nurse, form a friendship with him? Simple. We both had abusive fathers.”

“I see. Did he talk about his father a lot?”

“Not really, but then neither of us could go down that road very far before the other had to reel us in. That is not something you can just forget about.”

“I’m sure.”

“Anything else? I have a round I need to make.”

“No, I think that covers it, but if I have more questions can I call you?”

“Yes, please do, and let me know what you find out. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes, of course,” Brandon replied as he watched her write her number down and hand it to him. “Thanks.”

Brandon sat on his deck, staring into the back yard, with light spilling into it from the yard behind him. He sipped beer and replayed his conversation with Emily and Dr. Dearden. He was not sure what he hoped to find but felt some sense of relief that they didn’t give him some conflicting information. Emily had been the one he wondered about. Would she give him a new lead, but all she did was focus his attention on that sex party and Matthew Jacobs. It was the only aspect that seemed to leave an avenue for foul play. He considered a random act by someone, maybe a break-in that went sideways. And there was a computer missing. But that did not hold up. There should have been more taken from the home. The large television, the other computer that belonged to David, and he had seen the watch David wore, and would not be surprised if there was not a drawer of high dollar watches. But the only thing missing was some of Landon’s clothes, personal effects, and his laptop. He sipped the beer and considered another possibility. One that at first seemed more outlandish than the others. He wondered about the possibility, then he drained the bottle and headed back inside, storing away the idea for later.

Tuesday, 30 July 2019

Brandon had rolled out of bed late, rode down to the Greek diner for breakfast, and drove over to his mechanic for routine servicing of his Jeep. He sat in the small lobby, reading a crime novel by a Norwegian writer. It seemed cliché for him to be reading it, but it entertained him to read about a detective having a harder time of it than himself. And it let him push his own case aside, even if for only a short time. He had the appointment with Matthew Jacobs the next afternoon and he intended to bring that line of inquiry to a close quickly.

Jeep serviced, he went by the grocery store, then back home where he sat on the deck, reading. Shadows grew long, stretched out longer and longer until the light began to dim. In the kitchen he prepared a salad and sandwich then crashed in front of the television, mindlessly flipping channels as he ate.

He called Shelley Carmichael again, having given her a report last Sunday. She answered on the second ring, her voice sounding excited, like he had real news for her. He heard her tone change as he told of his recent findings, then he asked her if Landon had ever mentioned a Butch or a Matthew Jacobs. The negative response was quick and sounded sincere, and it was what he expected. What brother would tell their sister of such a thing.

He was anxious, too worked up with the case to really relax, and he went to his bedroom to take a shower and put on clean clothes. White dress shirt, jeans and black boots, he grabbed up his keys and headed out. He considered going to the bar he frequented the most but decided to go back to one of the others. He drove out of his neighborhood and headed toward town. It was one of the trendy bars, the clientele younger than he preferred, and worse, the drinks were expensive. But he knew none of his usual bar buddies would be there and it would be an adventure into territory he was not accustomed.

The bar was busy, but not packed, and Brandon took one of the stools at the U-shaped bar that filled the small room. He saw guys gathered in small groups, talking and laughing, and guys like himself, alone, a partially consumed drink in front of them. Some were on cellphones and others were watching, scoping out other guys. He saw a few look his way, and he turned to the bartender, pretending not to have noticed.

“Jack and coke.”

He saw a couple guys about his own age but dressed far nicer. Bankers or accountants or lawyers, he assumed. There was one man at the far end, looking at one of the other guys closest to him. Brandon knew the look. It was too desperate, too longing for some contact and knew the man would leave alone. He sipped his drink. Let his eyes scan the room, wondering if he was up for a little company. Maybe it was what he needed. He saw some look back, one smile, one nod their head. He played it stoic, not sure he was really in the mood. His cellphone buzzed and lit up with a message.

You want to come over next Friday?

It was one of his friends, and he typed a reply, asking what time.

“Hey, I’ve never seen you here before?”

A familiar voice, one heard recently, and Brandon turned to see Dr. Ortega standing behind him.

“Oh, it has been a long time since I’ve been here. In fact, I think it had a different name.”

“That was two years ago. It has been a while.”

“So, doc, what brings you here,” Brandon asked, turning to face him.

“You know us doctors. We have the worst habits. I don’t smoke, so, that leaves drinking.”

“There’s drugs?” Brandon joked.

“Not since the college days. Can’t handle the sense I’m not in control of myself.”

“Buy you a drink?”

“Sure. Manhattan.”

It was nearing midnight, and Brandon and Dr. Ortega were on the deck that ran along one side of the bar. They had talked about their personal lives, joking about past boyfriends and hookups usually too embarrassing to discuss.

“Dr. Ortega, when did you move to the city?”

“Call me Gabriel, please. And I moved here in October of 2015. I had done my residency in Dallas and when I got my plaque for the wall, I wanted a change.”

“So, you came here.”

“I had thought of moving to New York or Boston, but when I went to interview and saw the craziness in the hospital, I just couldn’t do it. On a whim, I detoured here to do one more interview that I was able to set up at the last minute, and well, the rest is history.”

“And you are still single? That is shocking.”

“Not really. I have terrible hours, I like my ‘me’ time and…shit, how to say this. I get bored with some of the guys I meet, most being at the hospital. It’s like looking at myself in the mirror. Nothing really different. Does that make sense?”

“In a crazy way, yeah.”

“What about you? Why are you still single?”

“Let’s see: I have terrible hours, I like my ‘me’ time and…shit, how to say this…” Brandon replied and they broke into laughter.

“You want another drink?” Gabriel asked after they stopped laughing.

“OH no, I can’t. I need to head out. I’ve got one more lead I’m chasing down and hope to have my answers before the end of the day tomorrow.”

“Good. I hope you find out what happened. How about dinner one night? Friday?”

“That would be nice, but this Friday I have plans. How about another night?”

“Saturday?”

“Saturday is good,” Brandon replied, and they traded numbers, making plans for a time and place.

“Gabriel, it has been really nice just hanging out with you,” said Brandon as he stood, “but I have to get going.”

“Me too. I’ll walk out with you.”

Brandon walked up to his old Jeep and unlocked the door. Gabriel stood close behind him and held the door as he climbed in.

“A Cherokee. I had one in college. I loved that old thing. Should have never sold it.”

“Really? I figured you for the little 2-seat convertible sports car.”

“In Dallas?” Gabriel replied, laughing.

“What do you drive now?”

“Well…I went for something a little better on gas,” Gabriel replied hitting his key fob making a Tesla X across the parking lot light up.

“Nice.”

“So, I’ll see you Saturday night?”

“It’s a date.”

Wednesday, 31 July 2020

It was nearing three and the house was ready. The living room was neat, everything dusted and the crime novel he was reading and a gay novel that was to be next, lay on the coffee table. A normal home setting, with just a bit of an enticement. In his study, he hid all his notes on the case, just in case Matthew Jacob found himself alone for a minute or two in the room. Down the hall, he straightened up the guest bedroom and in his, he left the bed unmade. The bondage magazines were put on the shelf of the nightstand that was on the far side. There was a chance they would not be seen, but he bet Matthew Jacob would want to snoop around a single man’s home. Especially with the novel on the coffee table the first clue he was gay.

He slipped on a tank top that revealed his muscular shoulders and arms and a pair of worn jeans, rubbed thin in places. He was going to push Matthew Jacobs to act out, then he would pounce.

At five till three a big Ford truck pulled into his drive. It filled it, with its four-door cab and long bed, and when the door opened a stocky, muscular man climbed down. Brandon watched him approach the house. He was shorter than expected, not more than five seven or so. But with a shaved head, beard, and hoop earrings he looked the part expected.

The doorbell rang and Brandon made his way to it, taking his time. He had to act as nonchalant about this meeting as he could. Someone not sure he was interested in the services about to be offered. Door swung open, he moved into the frame and saw the look, eyes doing a quick scan. He stifled the urge to smile.

“Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yes; but call me Butch.”

“Butch. Well, come in,” stepping back to let him enter. He led Matthew to the living room, motioning for him to sit on the sofa while he took the large armchair.

“This is a nice home. Looks like it hasn’t been messed with since original construction,” said Matthew as he took out a business card, laying it on the coffee table, his hand hesitating for a second when he laid it next to the gay novel.

“I think you’re right. It looks all original. I’ve been in the attic and crawlspace and haven’t seen any signs of an addition.”

“So, what do you have in mind?”

“Nothing over the top. The mechanical system is old, same for the wiring, and that needs to be gone through, and for the master bedroom, I’d like to do an expansion off the rear. Maybe do a new bedroom and use the existing space for a master bath and closet.”

“Any work in the kitchen?”

“I’d like to, but not at this time. I want to make sure I do the master bedroom right. It’s an important room to me.”

“Yes, I understand. Same for me. It is where we spend more time than we realize.”

“Yes, it is,” Brandon replied, doing a knowing smile he knew Matthew would read the way he wanted.

“Have you done any plans yet?”

“No, afraid not. I was wondering about the cost and wanted to see if the expansion was even feasible before spending the money for those.”

“Well, I think we can work something out for you. Can I see the bedroom?”

“Yes, sure. Come on back,” Brandon replied, getting to his feet, and heading down the hall, not looking back. He felt Matthew’s eyes on him and dared not turn. In his bedroom, he moved to the side and motioned toward the double doors to one side. “That is the small closet and the only bath is off the hall.”

“I saw it. It looks in good shape but small by today’s standards.”

“But for the guest bedroom I think it is sufficient.”

“Of course,” Matthew replied, moving around the room, eyes looking up and down.

Matthew looked in the closet, then stood at the wall and got the width of the room with a laser measure. He moved to the far wall and got the depth of the room. He slipped the laser into his satchel and Brandon saw him freeze. Just for a second, but it was obvious by were Matthew was looking, he had seen the bondage magazines.

Acting like he hadn’t noticed, Brandon led him back to the living room, taking a seat on the sofa this time. Matthew did as expected and sat near him.

“You sure there isn’t something else we can help you with? I’ve noticed you have a basement. It could make a nice entertainment room,” said Matthew, the insinuation clear.

“Entertainment room?”

“You know. I saw those magazines, the bondage ones, and if you haven’t already done so, we could help set up something.”

“Thanks, but I really don’t need that here.”

“Really? You have a place already?”

“Sometimes.” Vague, coy, leading Matthew on.

“I’ve never seen you at any gathering.”

“I don’t do those that are so public. I’m not into having my photograph loaded up on some social media site, even if it is private.”

“I hear that. Maybe you’d like to come to one of my parties. I’ve got one coming up weekend after next.”

“Really? How often to you have them?”

“Once, maybe twice a month.”

“And are there limits?”

“Everyone has a safe word. But no real limits.”

“Pain? You know, maybe draw a bit of blood?”

Matthew smiled, and Brandon knew that was something he was into. The pushing someone to the point of severe pain. Something Landon would never be able to accept. There were those that found it exhilarating, something they got off on. But for those like Landon, it was something they needed to steer clear. But if David had pushed Landon to go, maybe with a lie it was not that extreme, or maybe he preyed on some sense of jealousy, luring Landon to go along.

“Sometimes. There is nothing like having someone submit totally to you. Willing to take a lot of pain to show you pleasure.”

Brandon leaned back, wondering if Matthew crossed the line often, or if it had been the one time with Landon.

“Did Landon Carmichael like it?”

Matthew grew wide eyed, stammered nonsensically, then stood. “I think I should go.”

“I think you better sit your ass back down.” It was not a question.

Matthew looked at Brandon, who remained seated, confident, sure he had full control. Nodding a couple of times, Matthew eased down in the armchair, away from Brandon.

“You’re looking into Landon’s disappearance.”

“Yes, and funny thing, your name kept coming up. Have the police talked to you?”

“No. David never told them about that night.”

“The Saturday night before?”

Matthew nodded.

“Let me guess. You got Landon tied up in some manner and pushed him too far and he freaked out.”

“I thought he was playing along. You know. Saying no as part of the role. I hadn’t realized he panicked, forgetting the safe word. He really freaked out.”

“How did you talk him into it? Getting tied up.”

“We…kind of told him we’d go easy on him.”

“Who did? David or you?”

“David at first, then some of the other guys.”

“But you didn’t go easy on him, did you? You liked seeing him squirm and fight against his bonds, then saying no. How many times did he say it?”

“I don’t know. A lot. Look, he let David cuff him to the cross and at first, he seemed okay. His cock was hard and…”

“But fear can do that too. And you know it. Was that the only time Landon had been at one of your parties?”

“Yes. David had been working on him for a few months. Telling him he could set the limits, and such.”

“But you violated those limits.”

“I thought he liked it.”

Matthew was visibly shaken, with being called out on going too far with someone.

“Did you go to David and Landon’s house the following Thursday night?”

“What?! No. You can’t be implying…no, no. I did not do anything to Landon.”

“But if he had talked, went online and discussed what happened, some guys would lose their trust in you.”

“Yes, that’s right. But I didn’t go after him.”

“Then who did?”

“What?”

“The only event leading up to his disappearance with a conflict was your little party. Maybe someone else was afraid Landon would ruin the fun. Maybe do something to protect you?”

“No...no,” Matthew replied, at first a sureness in his voice, but then something else. A defeated tone to it. Brandon saw him thinking, considering the possibility. Then looking up, staring him in the eyes, “no, that doesn’t make sense. The other guys were upset with me. They were mad with me for going too far. I had to stop the parties for three months and talk with each of them to make amends. It had freaked them out. The way Landon fell to the floor when David released him, just crying so hard he was gasping for breath.”

“And instead of getting some help for Landon, David just carried him home.”

“I think so…yeah, I know he did. We talked the next day and he said Landon was sleeping.”

“What time was this?”

“About four that afternoon.”

Brandon’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he slipped it out to look at the screen. It was a message from Shelley Carmichael.

Call me.

“Landon had not been to a party prior to that night?”

“No, in fact I had not met him until then.”

Brandon was weighing Matthew’s responses with what he knew so far and coming up empty. It seemed Landon just disappeared after someone tried to break in.

“Okay, I think I’ve got enough, but if I have other questions, I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Matthew replied, clearly hoping otherwise as he grabbed up his notepad and headed to the front door. “I’ll let myself out.”

Brandon brought up Shelley’s number and hit ‘send’.

“Mr. Nichols, I huh…” Shelley stammered, the there was a heavy sigh. “I need you to bill me for time spent and stop. I have some unexpected expenses come up and cannot afford for you to keep going. I really want to know what happened, but…I just can’t afford it.”

“What happened?” Brandon sensed something was off. She sounded like she was lying.

“Nothing. I just can’t afford this.”

“Okay, I get it. I’ll prepare an invoice and email it to you tonight.”

“I’ll watch for it. And Mr. Nichols, thanks for what you’ve done so far.”

Shelley hung up before he could ask further about the request to stop work. He leaned back, wondering about his previous thought on the case. Did it seem likely it was a random crime?

It was after nine, the room dimly lit with only his desk lamp on. He was in his home office, staring out the window. He had sent an invoice an hour ago and struggled to find closure. He hated unsolved cases, for there were far too many of them, even if the percentage was small. Every one of them nagged at him over the years, and he knew this one would be no different.

Saturday, 3 August 2019

Gabriel had bought dinner and when they moved to the bar, Brandon covered the bar tab, which was more than the food, making him laugh at the absurdity of it. They had gone for a stroll around the neighborhood around the restaurant, each amazed at the constant change that was happening in the city. Houses renovated, expanded, or simply torn down for one monstrously larger. The small commercial strip that anchored the neighborhood had changed as well. The galleries and artist studios pushed out for microbrewers, bars, and restaurants, and it made Brandon wonder if everything would become service-oriented businesses. There were a couple of small specialty retailers, but they were the exception, rather than the rule.

It had been only eleven when they returned to the small parking lot across the street from the restaurant, and Brandon stood by Gabriel’s Model X, wondering if he could make the night last longer. The week had been frustrating for him, packing up his notes, erasing the chalkboard and filing away everything on the Landon Carmichael case, with it still unsolved.

“Hey, would you like to come back to my place?” Brandon blurted out.

Gabriel smiled, nodding his head. “I would but wasn’t sure you were up for it. You seemed frustrated by the case.”

“I am. I hate unresolved cases.”

“I can tell.”

“It was that obvious?”

“Yes, but don’t apologize. I’m the same with a patient we’re struggling to find out what is wrong with them. I’ll sit up all night trying to figure it out.”

“It’s just…”

“I know. But should we go to your place, or can I suggest mine? A change of scenery for you?”

“That would be nice.”

“Follow me.”

Brandon followed Gabriel around downtown until they were heading out from the southeast side. They drove through the old neighborhoods for the wealthy, with large brick homes, large front yards and three or four car garages in back. Further out they came to the area that developed in the fifties and sixties, with large ranch and contemporary homes. Gabriel turned right, and he followed along a narrow two-lane road that wove into the neighborhood. He followed until Gabriel was pulling into a drive and under a carport of a contemporary home. He parked along the edge of the drive away from the carport and followed him inside.

They went through a small utility room with a washer and dryer along one wall. Through a door they came into a kitchen and sitting area, the latter looking through full height windows into an inner courtyard. Bamboo grew up from round concrete planters along one side and a small ornamental tree anchored the middle with a small reflecting pool circling it. Looking back at the kitchen where Gabriel was making them another cocktail, he saw the slick contemporary style of the cabinetry.

“Let’s go into the living room,” said Gabriel as he handed Brandon his drink, then led him along the glass wall that enclosed the courtyard. They passed a dining area before coming into the living room, separated by a wall that was just short of the sloping ceiling. There was artwork on the walls, small sculpture on side tables and in the window facing the front of the house, a large sculpture that was an abstraction of a horse.

“This is…really nice,” Brandon stammered as he walked along one wall admiring the artwork.

“Some of it is from Brazil and Argentina. Local artist that are trying to make a name for themselves.”

“It’s nice.”

Brandon moved to the sofa where Gabriel was already seated and he felt anxious, suddenly out of his element. The house was so different from his own. As simple as it was in some respects, he knew it was not cheap.

“This must have set you back a few dollars,” Brandon uttered as he looked around the room, then through the courtyard at the bedroom visible on the other side.

“The house had been cheap, for it needed a lot of work, and the family wanted it saved, so they sold it for less than they could have gotten for it. The real expense was renovating it to get it back in good shape,” and Gabriel chuckled, shaking his head, “I thought I’d go broke before I got it done.”

“Well, it turned out great.”

“Thanks, but enough about the house. I get the feeling you’re letting it be an intimidation.”

“What? No…”

Gabriel looked at Brandon questioningly, eyebrows arched and a grin that spoke to him not believing his denial.

“Okay, maybe a little,” Brandon replied, and the two of them laughed.

“Brandon, it’s funny, we’re very different in some ways, but a lot alike in others.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, of course not. I find it nice you have a different life, a career that is so different.”

They sipped the drinks and let the night slow down. Brandon finally felt himself relax, and he leaned back, legs stretched out in front of him.

“That’s more like it,” said Gabriel, setting his glass down, “but I think we both want something else,” standing up by the sofa and holding out his hand to help Brandon stand. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

They stood at the foot of the bed and undressed while watching the other. Shirt, shoes, socks, jeans, boxers. It all got tossed on the floor, unconcerned where it lay. Gabriel made the first move, coming up to Brandon and kissing him on the lips. Then he kissed along the jaw, the neck, just below the ear, then along the shoulder, even kissing the scar. They touched each other, fingers grazing over skin, following contours, tracing the muscular form of each one’s body. Circling nipples, trailing up sternums and up along necks. They each felt the stubble of chins, the roughness of it ticklish to fingertips. Then they fondled cocks until hard, angled out until heads touched.

Brandon felt his sex, this desire, and he pushed Gabriel down on the bed. He moved between spread legs and kissed the erection that hovered over the stomach, then slipped the head into his mouth. He sucked Gabriel, moved his head up and down with lips tight around the hard shaft. He kept it up until Gabriel could no longer lay still, passive, and began to pump hips upward. Then he knew. He moved up on knees, lifting each leg letting the hairy calves rest against on his shoulders as he moved forward. He rubbed the tight opening with his cock until it was wet, and Gabriel was working his hips with greater urgency.

“Brandon…fuck me,” Gabriel uttered in a low voice as he grabbed at the bed and threw his head back. “Fuck me, please.”

Brandon pushed, slowly, breaching the tight opening. He kept pushing, feeling the head of his cock squeeze through, then inch after inch of shaft. He kept pushing, until his hips pressed against Gabriel, his cock sunk all the way inside of him.

“FUCK,” Gabriel exclaimed, as he dug fingers into each of Brandon’s thighs.

Brandon took each leg behind the knee and moved over Gabriel, folding him in half. He pushed each thigh down against Gabriel’s chest and began to fuck, to pull upward then drive back in, building up a steady pace. He watched Gabriel laying prone before him, with eyes closed and pleadings for him to fuck harder. He looked at the body, one that obviously worked out enough to stay in shape with skin darker than his own. He felt the legs quivering against his chest, the heat that enveloped his cock and the fingers digging into each thigh. And he felt his own masculinity. The exertion of muscle, the heat of his body, alive in his own skin. He felt feverish, vision going tunnel, only Gabriel in focus as he increased his pace. Faster and faster, until hips smacked against ass. The bed began to squeak, and rock in rhythm with their fuck.

It was happening too fast, and Brandon slipped free of the tight ass, his cock bobbing up and down with his arousal.

“Roll over,” he uttered, and Gabriel was quickly on elbows and knees, ass spread for him to penetrate again. And he did. Cock naturally aligned, he sank back into Gabriel, all the way and began to fuck. He fucked slowly at first, feeling every inch move through the tight opening. Every inch squeeze through it making his toes curl and his arousal grow. He leaned over the body, feeling its heat, and the contact between them quickly grew wet, slick, with skin gliding over skin. He bearhugged Gabriel, held him firmly in place as he increased his pace. Hips moving faster and faster. With gritted teeth to keep from bellowing out, he fucked with a furious pace.

“Jesus…fuck me…fuck me…” Gabriel stammered as he went down, collapsing on the bed, letting the weight of Brandon pin him to it.

Lifting up on his hands, Brandon fucked for release, too close to hold back. Hips smacked against ass and the bed squeaked noisily underneath them. He drove into Gabriel’s depths, over and over and over. The pace made his muscles burn with their exertion and sweat cascade down his face and chest. It rained down on Gabriel, hot droplets that blended with his own sweat.

Brandon shuddered as he felt the surge of release. He jammed his cock all the way inside Gabriel and came.

Brandon fell to the side and Gabriel rolled over, cock angled up hard, the head wet. Gabriel reached to take it in hand, but Brandon pushed it away and slid down to it. He held it up and moved to it, taking it in his mouth. He pushed down as far as he could, then began to move up and down on it. Lips tight around the hard shaft, he moved with determination, a desire to take Gabriel’s load. He wanted it.

A hand combed through his hair as he moved up and down on the cock, fingers massaging his scalp. Then hips pushed upward, the cock swelled thicker, longer, and flexed. Cum filled his mouth and he swallowed, as more spurted to the back of his throat.

They lay in bed, exhausted, bodies wet with sweat, for a long time. Gabriel twirled fingers in Brandon’s hair, who lay still next to him.

“How about a shower, then we get some sleep. You’ll stay, won’t you?”

Brandon considered it, how so often he just got dressed and left, or asked the guy to leave if at his home. It was tiring, and he did not want to do it this time.

“I’ll stay.”

How long it had been since Gabriel fell asleep, Brandon was not sure, as he sat up against the headboard and watched him. He was struggling with letting the Landon Carmichael case go, had been all week. He hated unsolved cases and this one seemed off. Gabriel stirred, then opened his eyes.

“You’re still awake?”

“Yeah, sorry, I can’t get to sleep.”

“You’re thinking of that case.”

Brandon smiled and nodded his head.

“It just doesn’t seem right. All the alibis and the way the house looked. It’s…”

“I get it. It eludes you. A conclusion that you expect or feel Landon is due. It happens with us all the time with patients when the diagnosis is not good. I struggle with it, keeping a stoic composed face while the patient and their family come apart.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“I look at my successes and know life is not fair and that some people just don’t make it. I do the best I can, knowing I save many.”

“I’m not saving any…it seems like.”

“Brandon, lay down. Come on, lay next to me,” said Gabriel.

Brandon eased down and rolled to his side facing away from Gabriel. He felt him slide up to his back and spoon against him. He could never admit how good it felt, to have someone hold him like this. He settled down, closed his eyes, and heard Gabriel’s soft muttering for him to go to sleep, as he drifted off.

Friday, 16 August 2019

The Tesla moved down the highway in an eerie way, with there no sound of a motor running. Only the wind, some tire noise and the stereo playing some soft jazz, as Gabriel drove, and Brandon watched the scenery of South Carolina pass by. They went by a lake, up and down the rolling terrain, then crossed into Georgia. They were headed to Atlanta, a trip suggested by Gabriel. Their first getaway together since they began to go out.

It was late afternoon, just before the worst of rush hour, when they pulled into the front of the hotel in Buckhead. After checking in, they had a quite dinner in a small Thai restaurant, then a stroll through the neighborhood surrounding it. Returning to the hotel, they decided to turn in, for the next day was going to be full, with a trip to the High Museum, then another exhibit at the campus of Emory.

Brandon came out of the bathroom to see Gabriel standing at the window, looking out over the city. It lit up the night sky, pockets of bright lights that were commercial districts, with scattered lights of residential neighborhoods in between. He moved up behind Gabriel, slipped arms around his waist and hugged their bodies together.

“Thanks,” Brandon whispered.

“For what?”

“This weekend.”

“We both needed it, and I’m glad to have the time with you. My schedule can be so tough sometimes.”

“I know,” Brandon whispered, then kissed the back of Gabriel’s neck. He ran his hands over the chest and stomach as he pushed his body against the round ass and broad back. Fingers worked buttons free, then ran over the bare chest and stomach. They worked the belt loose, undid the pants then manipulated the cock growing within the boxers.

Brandon hated the clothes in the way, the shirt breaking contact with the back, and the pants and boxers around the thighs, below Gabriel’s cock, but still there. Just below his hands manipulating him. He wanted everything removed. He stepped back and removed the shirt. Going down on knees, he removed the shoes, socks, then the pants and boxers. He ran his hands up the hairy legs, lightly, the hairs ticklish to his palms. He cupped the loose sac and rose to the cock, taking it in his mouth. A hand combed through his hair as he worked his lips along the thickening shaft. The cock quickly filled his mouth.

Gabriel pulled Brandon to stand, then undressed him. As each garment was tossed carelessly to the side, hands moved over the exposed flesh. Caressed the skin. The curves, the form of muscle giving it shape…the scars.

On the bed, Brandon eased between raised knees and let his body press down on the prone body beneath him. He moved on it, worked hips grinding cock along cock, as they kissed and moved hands over the other.

A hand worked between them, and Brandon felt it take him, guiding him to Gabriel’s entry and he pushed through it, slowly, gently, pumping his cock inward deeper and deeper until Gabriel finally had all of it. Then he began to fuck, to drive his cock deeply into him.

Brandon felt his exertion, the way it made him feel feverish. The contact between them became wet, slick, letting them move easily against each other. It drove his arousal to nearly the breaking point. So sensitive to every touch, he had to slow, or go over the edge.

“Roll over,” Brandon uttered as he stood on knees between the spread legs.

He lay next to Gabriel, snuggling up to his back and entering him. He hugged their bodies together and resumed their fuck, driving into Gabriel all the way. He ran a hand down the wet chest and stomach until he had him in hand. He stroked him in rhythm with his fuck, increasing the pace, faster and faster, until he felt it, the surge of release. He thrust harder into Gabriel, pushed inward all the way and kept jamming his hips against him until he was at the point of no return.

Gabriel cried out, and Brandon felt the flexing cock in his hand as it erupted. Then he came.

Saturday, 17 August 2019

They were driving through a small business district that anchored a neighborhood, when Brandon turned in his seat.

“Stop…stop…park somewhere.”

“What is it?”

“Shelley Carmichael was back there.”

“Brandon?!”

“Please.”

“Okay.”

Gabriel turned around and eased back down the road until Brandon saw Shelley going into a coffee shop.

“She went in there,” pointing at the bright blue and green building with its locally owned coffee shop.

Gabriel turned into a small parking lot across the street, circling the back of it, then coming back toward the street side looking for a parking space. Just as he approached the front, a large SUV’s backup lights came on.

“Perfect,” Brandon uttered as they waited on the SUV to work its way out of the tight parking lot.

They sat for nearly ten minutes waiting on Shelley to come out.

“Maybe she met someone inside?” Gabriel offered as way of an explanation.

“Maybe. Why don’t you go over and see?”

“Me?”

“She knows me, but she doesn’t know you. Does she?”

“No, I never met her when Landon was in the hospital. I doubt he told her.”

“Just go over and get a coffee and hovering near her and see if she says anything about Landon.”

“You think she knows something?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay.”

Gabriel climbed out, made his way across the street and into the coffee shop. A minute after he entered, Shelley came out and took a seat at a table in front. Brandon watched her as she looked at her phone, then pulled out some mail, flipping through it. He could tell it is mostly junk mail, but there is a bright yellow envelope, a greeting card size. She tore it open and pulled a card out, just as Gabriel came out and took a seat at the next table, the one she had her back to. She read the card, smiling, then laid it with the other mail. She picked up her phone and made a call.

It was agonizing how long it took Shelley to end her call, finish her coffee and gather her belongings to leave, but eventually she is standing up. The yellow envelope dropped to the ground as she picked up the mail and started to walk away. Gabriel picked up the envelope, looked at it for what seemed entirely too long, then motioned toward her.

“Excuse me…excuse me, you dropped an envelope.”

Shelley turned, smiled at Gabriel, thanked him as she took it, slipping it into her bag. She headed down the sidewalk and Gabriel waited a minute, then rushed back across the street. He climbed into the car, grinning.

“Look in the glovebox and hand me that pad of paper and pen.”

“What is it?”

Gabriel holds up his hand for Brandon to wait, then took the offered pen and pad. He wrote furiously, then looked up.

“I didn’t want to forget the address.”

“And?”

“The name was L. Christian, but the thing I noticed the most was the address,” holding out the pad to Brandon.

Brandon looked at it. One in Campeche, Mexico.

“You think Landon is alive, don’t you?” asked Gabriel.

“I think so.”

“And he changed his name?”

Brandon nodded his head as he read the address again.

“That is why Shelley stopped you. He finally contacted her, and she had to stop you before you found him.”

“It makes the most sense.”

“Wow. An accidental crossing paths with the sister and you have an address.”

“I think so.”

“So, when do you want to go to Mexico?”

“What?”

“I don’t know everything about you, but I know this. You’re going down sooner or later. Campeche is supposed to be nice, and not as overrun with tourists. I can take a few days off and we can go have a real vacation together. You know, see how we tolerate each other for a period of time living out of hotels,” said Gabriel, smiling.

“Serious?”

“Yeah. When we get back, I’ll see how quick I can take a few days, but should be able to plan something in three or four weeks.”

“Campeche,” Brandon whispered, imagining a scenario where they walk up to Landon on some street and ask to talk with him.

“Come on, let’s get going, I want to check out those two exhibits and we have reservations at eight.”

Saturday, 14 September 2019

Brandon led Gabriel back down to the street after checking into the hotel. It was a nondescript hotel in the center of the city where the streets were narrow and lined with businesses and residences. They walked for a couple of blocks, looking for food, finally stepping into a small restaurant where the smell of the food lured them in, that and the crowd of locals seated inside and standing at the front.

Then they walked toward their destination. Gabriel knew it had to be done first or Brandon would not be able to relax. They walked for blocks, until they came to the street. They moved slowly up it, Brandon looking at everyone they met, making sure Landon did not pass them. At the address, they saw it was a small grocery store, a gallery space, with apartments upstairs. Brandon stood in front of the building, looking up at the two floors above, wondering which windows were Landon’s. There was movement in the gallery, and he looked down to see a man setting a painting on an easel in the window. When the man turned, Brandon froze, for it was Landon Carmichael.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Gabriel whispered after stepping up next to Brandon.

“Yep.”

“Well, let’s go in,” Gabriel replied, heading toward the door.

Brandon followed, the two of them coming into the gallery, moving along the right wall, looking at the work on display.

“I like this one,” said Gabriel, standing back a few feet from a large painting.

“That is an artist from Felipe Carrillo Puerto,” came a voice from behind them.

“How much?” Gabriel asked, as Brandon stood in place, taking a deep breath.

“16,000.”

“Do you ship back to the states?”

“We can, but you’ll have to pay the cost.”

“That is no problem. Brandon what do you think? It’ll be nice over the dining room table.”

“But you already have something over the table.”

“Not mine. Yours.”

“What? I can’t…”

“I’ll take it,” said Gabriel, ignoring Brandon, turning to Landon. Brandon turned to, ready to argue but stopped when he saw Landon.

The nose was slightly crooked, and there was a scar on the left cheek. But there was something else. A determination in the eyes.

“We can have it shipped out tomorrow. My assistant that does the packaging is out today.”

“No rush. We’re vacationing for a week, so that is fine,” Gabriel replied, turning to face Landon for the first time.

“Dr. Ortega? What are you doing down here?”

“Vacationing. I’m surprised to see you here.”

Gabriel pulled out his wallet and handed over a credit card. They followed Landon to the counter along the back that displayed hand made jewelry. Landon acted nervous, wondering what Gabriel knew.

“Is this your shop?” asked Brandon.

“Oh, I wish. No, I just work here. But the owner does let me use the studio in back in my free time.”

“You’re an artist?”

“A struggling artist,” Landon replied, smiling.

“I want to ask you something, but I don’t want you to freak out. Okay?”

“Huh,” Landon replied, looking at Brandon closely for the first time. “Oh shit.”

“Relax,” said Gabriel.

“How did you find me?”

“A fluke. But you changed your name?”

“It’s Christian now.”

“I was hired by your sister, and…”

“But she terminated your contract!”

“Yes, but…”

“Brandon has an issue with unsolved cases,” Gabriel interjected.

“Gabriel!” said Brandon, then looking back at Landon, “I just want to know what happened. I’m not here to take you back or report you to anyone. I just would like to know what happened that night, and what triggered it.”

“I assume Dr. Ortega told you about my abusive father, the boyfriend back in ’16 and the hospital stay.”

“Yes.”

“I thought I had gotten past it. You know, a place in my life where it didn’t haunt me. But David…”

“The party that weekend before?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t have gone, knew it was a mistake. I knew I should have just broken up with David and moved on. But everything had been so good. Just perfect. I thought…so, I went to the party with him. They told me there would be limits, a safe word. I watched them do things to a guy that…

“I get it, some guys like the mix of pain and pleasure, but I can’t deal with that. And I thought David understood it. But when they got me secured to the cross I panicked. Forgot the safe word. By the time…”

“Okay, we get the picture. Then you waited till Thursday?”

“I hadn’t planned on doing anything. David had apologized about that night and I thought we would be able to move on. I had hoped he would stop wanting to go. But four days later, just four days, he called me at work and told me there was another party that weekend and would I go.”

“Seriously?” asked Brandon.

“He was addicted to them. I went to the bank and withdrew some money, not sure what I was going to do. I got home and paced the house, just coming unglued. I was so scared I’d end up back in the hospital. It felt just like last time. I rushed out to the car to get something and locked myself out. That did it. I…I…exploded. I damaged my car, then went back to the house and broke the window to get in. I cut my hand. I tried to get it to stop bleeding, but another part of me wanted to bleed out. I got blood everywhere before stopping it.”

“Then you packed up and took off?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have much money and knew not to use my credit card, or David would find me.”

“How did you get down here?”

“I got rides with truckers down to Texas. Then I caught rides with people across Mexico. I had no idea where I was headed, but I ended up here. I found this place looking for an apartment.”

“You live upstairs.”

“Yes. I have the place upstairs and got this job, even though I struggle with the language. My Spanish sucks but I’m working on it.”

“Will you ever go back to the states?” asked Gabriel.

“I don’t think so,” Landon replied, smiling, “I thought this would be really lonely. My lack of Spanish and not knowing anyone, but there is a small community of guys and I’ve been hanging out with them. They’re nice and I enjoy their company.”

“I’m glad to hear,” said Brandon, and he was sincere.

“How did you find me?”

“I’m afraid I saw your address on an envelope your sister accidently dropped,” said Gabriel.

“Seriously? I sent one greeting card telling her I missed her and that gave me away. Damn.”

“Relax, I gave it back to her and we’ve told no one,” said Gabriel.

“Will you ever tell David?” asked Brandon.

“I don’t think so…maybe.”

“Well, we’re here for a week. We’re staying here,” said Brandon, writing the hotel name down on a piece of paper, then sliding it across the counter. “If you want to send him, or Emily, a letter without an address, we could take it back.”

“Emily. I really should contact her. I’ll let you know.”

Gabriel moved closer, “I’m glad to see you back on your feet.”

“Thanks, and thanks for buying something.”

Wednesday, 25 September 2019

David pulled into the drive, up to the back and into the garage. It had been a long day, one of one meeting after the next, and he was exhausted. He had called Rick and Bill on the way home to beg out of dinner. Moving through the quiet house, he flipped on the computer system to bring up music. Anything to push out the silence. At the front door, he checked the mail, pulling out the fliers and envelopes, knowing most were bills or junk mail. He carried everything back to the kitchen, tossing it on the island, and made a drink. Two fingers of whiskey, he dropped one cube of ice into the glass and took a seat. He slid the fliers to the side and began to open the bills. There was the cable bill, the water bill and another credit card application. He flipped through the other junk mail until he came to a blank envelope. No address, to or from on it. No post mark or stamps. It had been put in his box by someone other than the mailman. He tore it open and slipped the lined notebook paper out and opened it. His hands shook and he was short of breath when he saw the familiar writing. He had to lay the letter down on the island in order to read it.

Dear David,

I guess you now realize I’m okay. I’m sorry, but…

David read the letter, then reread it again, not sure it was real. He cried and wondered how he could ever make amends. He wanted to contact Landon, to tell him it was okay, he understood. That he had been wrong. But there was nothing in the letter that gave any indication about Landon’s whereabouts.

Across town, Emily came out of her townhouse to take a jog. She stood at the bottom of the steps and stretched. When she twisted around, she saw her mailbox had something in it. It was too early for the mailman, so she assumed it was a flier advertising maid service or some other offer. She went up the steps and pulled out the envelope, seeing it was blank, but held something inside. She tore it open and gasped at the site of the familiar writing.