Foul Play

Thursday Night, 11 July

Alex became aware of movement, the gently rocking of riding in a vehicle. He heard the siren and how it seemed to surround him. He struggled to open his eyes and felt only the left one open. It was bright, the lights harsh. He heard voices, felt someone touching him through the pain. Pain. It was everywhere. His head throbbed. He felt the places the fist hit him. The nose, the right eye, the jaw and so many other places it was a blur.

Why?

He did not understand why he was the one in an ambulance, the one being attended. He tried to remember.

A flashback, just an image, something coming toward his face.

Then he remembered.

He had gotten a call to meet and as usual at the abandon mill on 38th Street. It was absurd the clandestine meetings. He had not understood it, and on more than one occasion considered breaking it off. It was not good for him. His friends had boyfriends that went with them to restaurants, bars, fundraisers, and parties. He had a boyfriend who feared discovery.

The parking lot had been empty, and he remembered how he hated the place. The parking lot that was broken and cracked with weeds growing up through it. The old mill building, three stories of broken windows, peeling paint and rotten wood. The roof and third floor had collapsed on the western end and the front doors were barely hanging in place, only the bottom hinge of one and the top hinge of the other keeping them from falling out of the opening.

He had heard a sound: maybe his name. He climbed out of his Volvo wagon and went to investigate. He had gone only a short distance when heard someone behind him. He remembered smiling before turning around, thinking all was right in the world. Then he remembered it: a pipe or a bat.

“He’s conscious, but barely,” a voice, male, just above him. He sees a blurred outline.

The siren stops, their movement slows, then stops. He hears doors open and the gurney is pulled out. He hears voices, some excited in tone, before falling unconscious again.

Tuesday, 16 July

Brandon moved around the living room and stood next to Gabriel, his boyfriend for the last eleven months. The birthday party was in full swing, gifts stacked on a side table, the dining table covered in hors d’oeuvres and a bar set up on the side buffet. Paul Reynolds, a police detective and one of Brandon’s closest friends was celebrated his thirty-third. Paul had been one who stood by his side when the shit hit the fan. He and his old man had nearly come to blows, and he quit the next day. Paul had tried to talk him out of it, begged him not to quit. There had been the speech about they needed all the gay detectives they could get to counter those like his father. But it had been a battle Brandon let his father win, too sick of his shit to keep fighting it every damn day.

He knew most of the guys in the room, nearly half from the police department. It was the other half that had guys he didn’t know, but it was easy to tell which were boyfriends and which were friends. And most were gay.

Steven came out of the kitchen with the birthday cake, the candles lit, appearing to have at least 33 for the way they were crowded around the perimeter. Behind him came Bill, Lucas, and Diego, all singing Happy Birthday. Everyone followed Paul as he moved to meet the guys in the dining room. Brandon was leading Gabriel across the living room when his phone rang.

Looking at the number Brandon saw it was his contact at the police department, one none of the other guys knew about. It was his secret, one promised never to be revealed. The situation demanded it, and he would never betray them.

“I’m going to take this outside,” Brandon whispered to Gabriel as he moved out of the group and toward the front door. “Hey, just a sec,” he answered to stop the phone ringing.

On the front porch, watching Paul blow out his candles, he put the phone to his ear. “Okay, I can talk.”

“I’m sorry to call this late. I know you must be at Paul Reynold’s party.”

“He just blew out the candles.”

“Sorry, but I need to know if you’re available tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? After lunch, I’m free. Why?”

“Have you heard about the guy found at the old mill up in NoDa?”

“Yes, Paul mentioned it earlier.”

“Well, the person in charge of the case is going to classify it as a gay bashing by unknown assailant and punt.”

“And you telling me this means there is more to it?”

“Yes.”

“Why not go to the detective in charge and make your case?”

“It’s your father.”

Brandon looked up, exhaling heavily. He moved down the steps and halfway down the sidewalk to the street before speaking. “Son of a bitch.”

“You know him better than most.”

“What’s the real story?”

“The guy’s name is Alexander Stephen Wagner, twenty-nine years old, moved from Paducah, Kentucky eight years ago. He owns The Petal florist shop in Elizabeth and had been seeing someone that was closeted.”

“A boyfriend he couldn’t go out and do the normal things most people get to do?”

“Yep.”

“Has he said who beat him up?”

“He’s still unconscious. Brain swelling, so the doctors have kept him sedated.”

“Shouldn’t you wait and see what he says?”

“Normally, but the thing is…his brother has flown into town and his visit with your father has him pissed off.”

“So, he’s ready to start a real investigation?”

“And he wants to talk to you.”

“Does he know my father is the asshole sweeping the case under the rug?”

“We have talked at length about that. He said if your father pisses you off as much as he is pissed off, then you’re the man for the job.”

“Nice.”

“Can you meet with him?”

“Yeah, sure. Where?”

“Metro Hospital. I’ll text you the room and the brother’s contact information. Just give me a time and I’ll relay it.”

“2:30.”

Brandon eased back inside and found Gabriel waiting for him, holding two small plates with cake slices.

“Something up?”

“Maybe. I’m to meet with them tomorrow.”

“Well, try to relax and enjoy the party.”

“Okay…hey, do you know the guy brought in the other day, the one that got beat up? Alexander Stephen…”

“Wagner. Yes. Should have known that would be the one you were called about.”

“Why?”

“It’s bad. He was beaten so badly we didn’t know if he would survive. We got him stabilized, but I have to say I don’t think the police care about finding the person responsible.”

“That would be my father.”

“Damn: what are you going to do?”

Brandon looked at Gabriel and smiled. “I’m meeting Alexander’s brother tomorrow at the hospital.”

Gabriel saw the express he had come to know well. The ‘I don’t give a shit what someone else thinks’ look that spelled trouble for someone. The problem was who.

Wednesday, 17 July

Brandon moved down the eighth-floor corridor, passing through double doors, second guessing himself at corridor intersections while cussing under his breath at how confusing the hospital had become with all its expansions over the years. He finally found the ICU, the doors locked, requiring him to be buzzed in.

“Are you Brandon Nichols?” a voice from behind.

Brandon turned and sees a man of about thirty, perfectly groomed, wearing a dark blue sports coat over a white polo shirt and khakis.

“Yes. I assume you’re the brother, Felix Wagner?”

“Call me Felix.”

Felix moved next to Brandon and pressed the intercom button.

“Can I help you?” a voice replied.

“Felix Wagner to see my brother; Alexander Wagner.”

The doors clicked and Felix pushed the right one open.

“After you.”

Alexander Stephen Wagner lay flat on the bed with a tube for breathing in his mouth. Monitors beeped and glowed with green waves. Brandon winced when he saw the swollen and bruised face. After years of being a police officer then a private detective, he had never become accustomed to such savagery of a person by another.

“The doctors have him put under and won’t revive him until the swelling around his brain goes down,” said Felix in a low voice, one Brandon knew was struggling to maintain control.

“My contact at the station said there are no leads.”

“And the detective I spoke to seemed to be ready to call it a simple gay bashing and close the case.”

“If the wrong group get the case and it involves someone gay, then…” Brandon let his voice trail off, his old anger trying to surface.

“I was told you are one of the best.”

“I like to think I have a pretty good success rate.”

“I want to know who did this.”

“I do too,” Brandon whispered, then looked around at Felix. “I can message you my rates and a contract this afternoon. If everything looks in order and you are in agreement, then I’ll start right away.”

“I don’t care about the cost. Send it to me as soon as you can, and I’ll sign it. Just get started as soon as you can.”

Brandon saw the anger, one he felt too, but this one was more personal. A brother lay beaten. Then he saw the determination, the resolve to find justice.

“Let’s start now,” Brandon replied, and he saw a faint smile from Felix. Someone pleased they were skipping the pleasantries and getting down to the task at hand. “What can you tell me about Alexander and his boyfriends?”

“Would you mind if we do this somewhere else?”

“No, not at all.”

Felix’s hotel room was in the Westin, on the southern edge of downtown. An executive suite, with a king bed, sitting area and a corner location overlooking the city and the area to the east. It was a room like the one Gabriel had gotten them a few months back when they celebrated his own birthday.

Felix called room service, ordering a wine, while Brandon walked to the sofa looking over it out the window.

“Have a seat,” said Felix, pulling an armchair over to face the sofa. Seated, stiff in his posture, as if about to make a confession against his will. An exhale, and Felix suddenly relaxed, shaking his head. “Where should I start?”

“How long has Alexander been in Charlotte?”

“Alex,” Felix replied abruptly, then he softened his tone. “Sorry, but Alex hated to be called Alexander. Said it was too formal.”

“I take it Alex was a bit more carefree?”

Felix laughed, one that seemed forced. “That is one way to put it. But then again, he was like mother, and I, I’m afraid, am like father. Alex said I was always too serious, too formal.”

“But he was serious about his business?”

“Oh, yes. On that he was as thorough and calculating as our father. It just wasn’t a business father…we saw a lot of promise.”

“The return rate not high enough?”

Felix looked up at Brandon and nodded. “I know how that sounds, and you’re right. But he has a good business. It allowed him to have a nice home and…” Felix fell silent, stopping to compose himself. “You asked how long he has been in Charlotte. It’s been five years as of last February. I remember when he pulled away in that moving van. Snow covered the ground, and more was coming down.”

“This was in Kentucky?”

“Yes. I had gone home to referee. Father was not happy about Alex just taking off with no real plans.”

“Why are your parents in Paducah? That seems like an odd place for a businessman to live.”

“Father began in St. Louis, then expanded into Chicago, Atlanta, Miami and…numerous other cities. Mother hated St. Louis, were they were living, and hated Chicago and Atlanta more, which is the two cities father had just expanded into when he agreed to move to Paducah. Mother wanted a smaller city to live in.”

“I see, and Alex eventually moved to Charlotte.”

“Yes. How he chose this particular city, I have no idea. Knowing Alex, it could have been a blind picking of a spot on a map.”

A knock at the door, and Felix eases to his feet.

“Excuse me; this should be our wine.”

A cart was rolled in, a bottle of red wine opened, and two glasses set next to the bottle. The wait staff took a tip and left the room. Felix poured a little in one glass, swirled it slowly around and did a light sniff, then sip. He nodded approvingly, filled the two glasses, then handed one to Brandon without asking if he wanted it.

“When did he open his own shop?”

“Six months later. It took him that long to find the place, get it renovated and moved in.”

“Just six months?”

“He was driven when it was something he wanted.”

“Did he feel a need to get open quickly?”

“Brandon, he had a trust fund that paid enough to live on. He didn’t need the shop.”

“And his social life?”

“I’m afraid I may not be much help, but I’ll tell you what I know. Alex and I got along but we were not the type to confess things to each other. We tended to keep our lives our own; private.”

“Alex more so than you?”

“If you’re referring to him being a homosexual and not wanting to discuss it with me, yes. I was not understanding at first.”

“And now?”

Felix nodded his head. “I’ve been educated on the subject of diversity.”

“Alex?”

“My wife.”

Brandon laughed and saw Felix smile sincerely for the first time.

“The boyfriends,” Felix uttered, taking a breath. “I’m afraid I only know of two. Three months after getting open, he started dating an architect. Chase Bellamy. I remember the name for it was such a traditional French name. I don’t know much about him other than they dated about a year. The next serious boyfriend was Jordan Doherty. He had this wild red hair and was just a loud person. I met him the Christmas while they dated. Alex made the mistake of bringing him to our parent’s home for our father to see.”

“A little excitement that holiday?” Brandon asked as he made notes.

“An understatement. Alex and Jordan left on Christmas Eve morning to return to Charlotte.”

“After that I assume Alex didn’t discuss his personal life with the family.”

“You would be correct. About a year later, after marrying Catherine, I began to call Alex on a regular basis. Alex opened up about dating and how his business was doing and the renovations he was doing to the house he bought in the Plaza-Midwood neighborhood. I assume you know the area?”

“Yes. A very diverse population but it is getting gentrified.”

“I know what you mean. The character of a neighborhood seems to be sucked out of it by the mundane stuff that comes in.”

“From what you’ve said, the last two…two and half years, Alex has not talked about who he has dated.”

Felix nods and Brandon sees how not knowing his own brother’s life is affecting him.

“Has the police been in his house?”

“Not to my knowledge. As I said, they are calling it a gay bashing and moving on.”

“Can I get into it?”

Felix reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys. “Yes.”

Brandon stands in the lobby of the hotel as Felix comes from the elevator. There was a phone call he needed to make, then he would come down for them to drive over to Alex’s. Out front the valet pulled up in a large black Cadillac.

“This is my rental; let’s go,” said Felix, walking past Brandon and to the revolving door.

Felix drove across town then turned on Seventh heading to the east. They left the downtown area, crossed over the inner bypass, and turned on Central Avenue. It was a short drive but construction along the way slowed them.

“A component of the mass transit system is being installed,” said Brandon when they merged with other traffic, going from two lanes to one.

“It is the same in Seattle. Always some road being widened or changed. It’s maddening at times, but such is progress.”

Felix drove confidently, turning on The Plaza then into the core part of the neighborhood. He followed the road as it curved back to the south, then straightened up. After a few blocks, Felix turned left, drove a short distance, then pulled into the drive a bungalow. It was neatly painted, with the front yard a mass of blooming flowers. Ferns hung from the porch and potted flowers lined the steps coming down the porch.

“Nice,” Brandon uttered as he looked over the front of the house.

“It’s a bit small but yes, a very nice house,” Felix replied.

Brandon imagined the house Felix lived in. Eight to ten thousand square feet minimum and with a four or six car garage and large pool in back. But what really was in question was how well Felix knew the way to the house.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Yes. Three times in the last year and a half. I wanted to know my brother better and Catherine and he loved each other. It made up for a lot to see how well they got along.”

Brandon realized that for all of Felix’s stoic nature, he really had tried. It explained his determination to find out who had assaulted Alex.

“What do you expect to find?” Felix asked as they pulled to the rear of the house, parking in front of the carport that was empty.

“I don’t know, but I’m hoping he has a computer he put social posts on.”

“There is a laptop.”

Brandon sat at a wood desk that seemed too large for the bedroom being used for an office. The room felt completely different from the rest of the house. Where the other rooms were open, with mid-century furnishings and artwork prominent on all the walls, the office was crammed with bookshelves full of books, old armchairs, and the desk.

“This desk…it is different from the other furnishings,” said Brandon running a hand along the carved edge.

“It was our grandfather’s. I didn’t want it and Alex took it despite our father’s protestations,” Felix replied, chuckling at the memory.

Brandon opened the laptop and watched it come up. It was locked, the box for Alex’s password in the middle of the screen.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” said Felix, moving back around the desk and to one bookcase, looking at photographs lining a shelf.

“Can I take the laptop? I have someone look at it who can probably get into it.”

“Of course.”

“Anything of interest in the photos?”

“Not to me, but you should look them over.”

“I assume this is Catherine,” Brandon asked pointing at the first photograph of Felix and a woman with short black hair sitting in an enormous living room.

“Yes, that is Catherine.”

“She’s very attractive.”

“And a very kind person,” Felix replied, and Brandon considered how it was her that gave Felix the understanding to know his own brother.

The next photo was Alex, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, ball cap tipped back so the photographer can see his face. Brandon recognizes the setting. It was The Pinnacle, the peak of the second mountain in Crowders Mountain State Park.

In the next Alex was standing alone again, this time in a tank top and shorts, revealing a muscular but lean body. In the background was a waterfall, Alex standing on a deck just in front of it. It looked familiar; a place Brandon had visited before.

“Alex sent a copy of that one to Catherine knowing how she loves waterfalls.”

“Do you remember where it was taken? It looks familiar.”

“Southern Mountains, I think.”

“Southern? Oh, its South Mountain State Park. I’ve not been there in years.”

Brandon looked at the next photograph and saw it was hands clasped together. One was obviously Alex’s for the watch on the wrist was the same one in the other photos.

“When were these photos taken?”

“The waterfall image was last April, but I wouldn’t know about the other two.”

“If he changed out photos on a regular basis then this could be…” Brandon tapped his finger on the glass, pointing at the hands.

“The boyfriend he had been seeing?”

“Yes, and it could be who took these other shots.”

Brandon looked at the next photographs. One of Felix and Catherine sitting on the front porch of the bungalow, the front of The Petal florist shop with Alex standing in front, arms stretched out, with a larger than life smile, and in the last one, Alex standing on a sidewalk in front of an old building. The sign in the front window said Elaine’s Antiques and through the window Brandon saw a washboard, a butter churn, a pedal car, and a line of old baby dolls, a few of which were a bit frightening in appearance.

“Do you know where this was taken?” asked Brandon.

“I’ve not seen that one before.”

Brandon looked at the image, the smiling Alex looking at the photographer, obvious someone he knows. It seems important, this photograph, for it is an unknown place that may be important.

“Can I take it?”

“Of course. Take whatever you need.”

“Can we look through the rest of the house?”

Felix nods and leads Brandon around the bungalow. An hour later they come out the back door, Brandon carrying the laptop and photograph, and get into Felix’s rental car.

“I’ll take you back to the hotel and drop you off. I’m going to return to the hospital.”

“Okay,” Brandon replies, wondering how quickly The Ghost can hack the laptop. It was a stupid name, but he would humor Marcus Klosowski, the twenty-eight-year old guy who lived in the walk out basement of his mother’s house. He spent his days playing video games and hacking computers in a manner Brandon did his best to ignore.

He had discovered The Ghost’s unique talents when he caught him hacking his computer for information about a case that had gotten media attention at the worst possible time. Instead of facing a judge, Marcus Klosowski agreed to help him when the need arose. In truth, Marcus would get excited every time he called for help, imagining himself some sleuth on a case with Brandon.

Brandon pulled up the familiar drive feeling himself relax. Pulling around to the rear of the house, he parked in front of the garage where both doors were down. A light came on, illuminating the drive and the walk to the back door.

Using his own key, Brandon entered the house that was filled with classical music, and once the door was open, the smell of some tomato-based sauce. It made him feel his hunger even more as he eased inside, kicked off his shoes and went into the kitchen.

“You hungry?” asked Gabriel as he switched on another eye of the range.

“Yes; smells good.”

“Thanks. It’ll be ready as soon as I get the pasta cooked. Why don’t you take a quick shower?”

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Brandon joked, Gabriel shaking his head at the lameness of it for Brandon made the joke all the time.

Brandon went back to Gabriel’s bedroom, one he was now a frequent guest, and pulled out some clothes he kept there. It had been a big step for him to leave some things at Gabriel’s, allowing him to stay over at a moment’s notice. There were both lone wolves in their own way, and their jobs made it worse. But after months of dating they took what they thought of as a first step.

Brandon showered, and dressed in jeans and a pullover, leaving the buttons undone. Barefoot, he ambled back to the kitchen in time to see Gabriel pour the pasta in a colander to drain it.

“You ready to eat?” Gabriel asked without turning around.

“Yes. What can I do?”

“The wine is open so take it and a couple of glasses to the table. I’ll bring our plates,” Gabriel replied as he spooned pasta to each plate, then the sauce. Next to the pasta he placed grilled chicken and headed to the table. “I forgot the bread; can you grab it?”

“Sure,” Brandon replied, going to the oven where he knew Gabriel would have left it to stay warm.

The dishwasher ran quietly in the kitchen, and in the living room the television played to the empty room. Down the hall in the Master Bedroom, Gabriel and Brandon were on the bed, their clothes tossed into an armchair. Brandon lay on his back, Gabriel on top, riding him. Up and down, the muscular body moved. Brandon felt how the tight opening milked his cock, dragging upward, then sinking back down. He held the flexing thighs as he watched Gabriel in the dimly lit room. Face in shadows, the torso seemed to glow, and he felt its power, the energy emanating from it as it rode his cock. It was hot to the touch, alive in every way. Reaching out, he took the hard cock that had been smacking his stomach with every descent down, stroked it. The thick shaft moved through his fingers until they were slick, wet, gliding along its length with ease.

Gabriel moved up and down and bucked hips forward. He moaned and uttered the profanities that took on a whole new meaning during sex. It aroused Brandon, the feel of Gabriel’s ass on his cock, the rhythm of their fuck, and the guttural sounds Gabriel made. He rose and hugged the moving body close, until cock raked up and down his chest. He felt its heat while rubbing hands up the sweat covered back. He kissed the indention below the neck, then the chin as Gabriel held his head back while continuing to move up and down.

Cum roped up Brandon’s chest hitting him on the chin. He felt Gabriel’s cock flex against his chest as it spurted, spraying more cum onto his skin. Cum trickled downward as the spurting cock pushed up through it. The smell of it was intoxicating, and as Gabriel shot the last of his load, Brandon rolled him to his back, pushed up on his hands and began to fuck. He fucked hard, fast, hips smacking against the upturned ass.

“Fuck…Brandon…” Gabriel exclaimed as he grabbed the covers on the bed and took every thrust into his depths.

Then it was over. Brandon spent, rolling to Gabriel’s side, still breathing hard.

After a few minutes, Gabriel moved up close to Brandon, putting an arm over the muscular chest.

“Will you stay tonight?”

“Yes,” Brandon replied, then kissed Gabriel and settled for a night’s rest.

Thursday, 18 July

Brandon drove toward downtown while changing radio stations. Gabriel had tried to get him to install a satellite system, but he felt the old Cherokee didn’t need such tech, not when he had his old CD’s and the local radio stations when he was in the mood for something different. He turned on Providence Road and slowed for the traffic backed up, as it usually did on this particular stretch of road. An old Rolling Stone’s song came on, and he turned up the volume, letting the old familiar song fill the Cherokee’s interior. He tapped the steering wheel and nodded his head to the beat, feeling good about the day, wondering how long it would last. He was headed to the police station for Alexander Wagner’s police report and knew if he crossed paths with the wrong ones, the day would turn sour in a hurry.

Brandon pulled around to the parking lot and strolled in, saying hello to those he knew from his days at the department. He went to the reception desk seeing the knowing smile of Shelia who had been working there for years.

“Who you need to see this time?”

“Not sure. I’m here for a report on the Alexander Wagner case.”

“Let me see,” Shelia replied, then frowned. “You know your father is lead on this case.”

“Yes. Is there someone else I can talk to about it?”

“Mitchell?”

Brandon frowned, for Mitchell was nearly as bad as his father, but he nodded his head. “Okay.”

Less than twenty minutes later, Brandon stormed out of the police department, struggling to keep his temper in check. Mitchell kept calling Alex a faggot, knowing it would get under his skin, then telling him he probably just went for some hookup, looking to get beat up and it just went too far. Brandon was ready to throw a punch when he finally was able to wrestle a copy of the report out of Mitchell. The last thing he heard as he walked out of the room was Mitchell saying he would tell his father he stopped by.

“You do that,” Brandon had replied in the most humorous tone he could muster, as he pushed through the glass door and into the corridor that would take him to the elevator.

Back in his Cherokee, he needed to cool off and wanted some quiet time with the report. He fired up the engine, pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward his office. The drive would take him through downtown past the skyscrapers of dueling banks, and with a couple of turns, on the road that led west. It would pass through the areas that first developed in the 1960’s, then fell into a sad state of negligent, and were now seeing a resurgence. The land around the city was too valuable not to have the redevelopment. It did not bode well for the old strip center and he knew sooner or later he would be in search of a new space.

Brandon parked in front of his office, and made his way inside, locking the door to prevent unwanted guest. He pushed the dry erase board to the center of the room and leaned against his desk to read through the report. He would make notes on the board as he went, adding the information he had gotten from Felix, some that would not mean much.

Alexander Stephen Wagner
29 years old
Birthday: 3/16/1990
Gay/never married
Born in Paducah, KY
Brother: Felix – lives in Seattle
Boyfriend: current unknown
Found at old Nolan Mills on 38th Street

Call came in at 11:41 PM by Officers Johnson and Smith when they spotted a 2018 Volvo XC90, silver with black interior, in the parking lot. The victim was discovered on the first floor within the lobby area. 

Injuries:

Brandon read through the report but does not write them down. There was no need. Then he added the information he had gotten from Felix about past boyfriends, what they found at Alex’s home, noting The Ghost had the laptop. He smiled as he wrote the latter, the silliness of it making him forget what had happened at the police station. Then he stepped back, leaning against his desk, and looked at the half full dry erase board, knowing it would fill quickly once he got into the laptop and started doing interviews. He looked at his watch and saw it was only a little after eleven. Pulling his cell phone out, he was going to call Gabriel about the possibility of lunch when it rang in his hand. ‘The Ghost’ came up on the screen and he smiled.

“Hey, tell me some good news.”

“I got into the laptop and have it set up where you can get into it. Where are you?”

The question caught Brandon off guard, for Marcus Klosowski, aka The Ghost, never went anywhere as far as he knew.

“I’m in my office.”

“I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t be so surprised. I’m going to this used electronics store in Gastonia. They have an old Nintendo system that I must get my hands on.”

“Seriously? Isn’t the quality poor and the gaming severely limited?”

“You just don’t get it. I’ll be there shortly,” Marcus replied, hanging up before Brandon could say more.

A few minutes later a Buick Park Avenue pulled up to the front. The paint was faded, a section of the grille missing, and it had to be at least twenty years old. Brandon watched Marcus slid out and head to the door with the laptop in hand.

“Nice car,” said Brandon as he held the door open.

“Thanks. It looks good next to that piece of shit you drive,” Marcus replied as he stepped inside. “Jesus, you work here? And you make fun of my office in the basement?”

“It’s cheap, non-descript, and out of the way.”

“I’ll say. Here,” said Marcus holding out the laptop.

“Come on back and make sure I can get into it.”

Brandon set the laptop on his desk and turned it on. As he watched it come on, he glanced up to see Marcus looking at the dry erase board.

“Did you find anything of interest on it?” asked Brandon.

“What? Oh, no. Just a bunch of boring company files, some personal photos, and the typical search history of a gay man. You know, exotic vacation spots, books, flower wholesalers, new cars, gift ideas, and the occasional browse of porn,” replied Marcus, looking back at Brandon when he said the last.

“Very funny. The photos, are they in one folder or scattered throughout the files?”

“Mr. Wagner was a very meticulous person. Everything is organized and easy to find. A hacker’s dream.”

Brandon opened different folders seeing subfolders within each. The Petal, Personal Tax, Photographs, Charity, Vacation and Misc. folders lined down the left side. Marcus had been right on how easy it would be to browse through everything.

“Thanks Marcus, you can go,” said Brandon without looking up.

“Okay. Let me know if I can do anything else,” said Marcus as he headed toward the front door. Brandon did not notice the sound of it opening then closing as he opened up the photograph folder first seeing subfolders for each year, and within each, folders for special occasions such as Christmas, birthdays, and vacations. It was the miscellaneous folder for 2019 he went to first, thinking it would have the images that might give him clues.

Alex and a guy with brown hair, an oval face with full lips, prominent nose, and long sideburns. Dressed in a tank top, muscular arms were visible with the right having a tattoo sleeve. The image was at Carowinds, the amusement park on the North Carolina-South Carolina state line in south Charlotte. Flipping through the images, he saw there were more at the park, then at a restaurant in town Brandon recognized, hikes at Crowders Mountain, Asheville, and Charleston. All the prerequisite places two guys starting to date had to visit. The dates were from January to April, then the brown-haired guy disappeared. There were shots of parties at someone’s home, one party at Alex’s house, and a few of the interior of his shop, The Petal. In May there had only been a few photographs of Alex with another guy. There were at someone’s house, a party going on. The guy was dressed in a white shirt and jeans, had blonde hair cut really short, and a boyish face. He looked young, and next to Alex was obviously much shorter than Alex’s five foot eleven. Continuing through the images, it was obvious, Alex and the blonde guy did not connect. It was late May before another guy appeared with Alex. There were shots in various locations in Charlotte. Freedom Park, downtown on the sidewalk of North Tryon Street (Brandon knew was between Fifth and Sixth Streets), and around Alex’s house. Brandon kept flipping through them, knowing this had to be the current boyfriend, the one he needed to find. There were no photographs of them at a party, or with other guys that were friends of Alex’s that were in so many other photographs. In June images, Brandon sat back and starred at the first one that opened. It was Alex outside Elaine’s Antiques; the same photograph he had taken from Alex’s office. He opened the next images, and the new guy was standing in front of the same store. Continuing through the images for June, he came to the pictures from Crowder’s Mountain, South Mountain, and a few in a downtown he did not recognize. There was a landscaped strip down the middle of the street with shops lining each side. At first, he thought it might be Amelia Island, but the trees were all wrong. It was somewhere in the region.

Brandon printed off several of the images, mainly the best showing the guy, the antique store and the downtown shot he could not place. With the images in hand, he moved to the dry erase board and created a column with the heading ‘Boyfriend?’ He taped the two best images below and began to list out what he knew.

Lt. Brown hair-cut short
Clean shave – no sideburns 
Appears to be five foot nine to eleven inches in height
Dress: jeans, t-shirts and plaid shirts-seems to be cheap simple clothing-someone from small town?
No distinguishing characteristics visible
 Blue eyes? 

Taping the antique store and the downtown images to the board on the other side, he put a question mark by each one.

Leaning against his desk, he thought of the guys prior to this one, wondering if one could have jumped Alex out of some sense of jealously. It happens; far too often. He printed off the best image of the two from earlier in the year, taped them to the board and made a few notes about each one below.

Brandon pulled up Felix on his cell phone and hit send. He listened to four rings, expecting voicemail to pick up, but Felix answer with a whispered voice.

“Brandon, sorry, I was in Alex’s room. What’s up?”

“How is he?”

“Still sedated. The swelling hasn’t gotten worse, but it is still bad enough to worry the doctors. You have anything new?”

“I’ve gotten into his laptop and found images of guys he has dated and about to go through emails looking for names to attach to them. I was wondering; do you know Alex’s best friends?”

“I’m not sure, but I can ask one of the guys that are here to see him.”

“He has visitors?”

“Yes.”

“Get me names and telephone numbers of each one and let them know I may be calling. Tell them as much as you need to but don’t give out any specific information, like I’m looking at boyfriends. Let them speculate but don’t confirm anything.”

“Okay; hey, let me go. They appear ready to leave.”

“Text me the information.”

Brandon felt like he was making real progress. He moved to his desk, turned the laptop back around and began to go through emails. There were two accounts; one for work and one that was personal. Brandon began with the latter, knowing that would be where he would find the names. He went back to the first of January so he could go in sequence, getting a feel of Alex’s activities over the course of the year. He scanned the sent box, then the deleted box and finally the archived email box, making notes as he went.

Justin96 was the tattoo sleeved boyfriend from January to April, who was Justin Tackett. A quick search and Brandon found Justin lived in Huntersville, probably near the lake. Prettyboi was the blonde from May that had not lasted long. Going through emails he worked out it was Seth McAnally who lived in Charlotte and worked at a clothing store in Southpark Mall. Then in June and July, there was buddy429. Brandon had read through all their emails, but they had been short, devoid of anything personal. Just when they could meet and where.  The only thing he had been able to decern was a first name: Clayton. Buddy was obviously a nickname. But what of the 429 in the email address. Did it mean anything or was it the random number the email site generated to go with buddy?

Once complete with the personal emails, he went into the business email, knowing it would be harder to follow along. The emails within it he took note were two by someone at jc78 that were complaining about a delivery. The flowers were all wrong in their opinion and they wanted their money back. There was a reply on how they had specifically chosen the arrangement, but the next email demanded a refund and turn nasty by its end. Alex then agreed to a refund.

Brandon noted the email address then found the paper trail to the person who sent them. A Christopher Atkins who lived on Windsor Drive. His list of people to interview went from blank to four, one of which he still had to figure out. Unfortunately, it was the main suspect. He tapped the notebook with his pen, wondering about the guy in the photographs. He did not look the type who could beat someone so severely. But Brandon knew not to judge a book by its cover. He was about to get up when his phone beeped with a text.

Chad Walsh
Jose Garcia
Ian Eriksson
 The first two were here. The last was working. 

 Each name had a telephone number beside it and Brandon jotted them down in his notebook, then went to the dry erase board making a box he labeled friends, writing the three names in it. His list just went from four to seven. It was time to get to work, but first he needed lunch. He pulled up the number and hit send.

“Hey, you free for lunch?”

Brandon pulled in behind Gabriel’s house, parking behind the open garage door where the white Tesla X sat. He let himself in, making his way to the kitchen. Two plates, two glasses, a loaf of bread and chips sat on the island. R.E.M. played over the sound system. Brandon smiled as he looked for Gabriel, first in the laundry room off the kitchen, then the dining and living rooms at the front of the house. Down the hall, he saw the master bedroom door was pushed to, and he eased it open finding Gabriel laying on the bed. On his stomach, Gabriel was naked, looking over his left shoulder, watching him enter.

“I guess we’ll have lunch later,” Brandon uttered as he began to remove his clothes.

Once naked, Brandon walked to the foot of the bed as Gabriel scooted toward him. He watched a hand reach out and take his flaccid cock, manipulate it until he began to grow erect. Then he watched Gabriel lean to it, slip the head into his mouth and suck the growing cock until it was completely in his mouth. It did not take long, and Brandon was rock hard. He stepped back and watched his spit-soaked cock flex up and down from his arousal.

“Fuck,” Brandon uttered, and he saw Gabriel smile while moving further up the bed.

“Come on; fuck me,” Gabriel exclaimed as he lay flat and spread his ass cheeks.

Brandon moved over Gabriel, rubbed his cock along the exposed space between the cheeks, then pushed against the tight opening. Slowly, he pushed the head of his cock through the tightness, feeling the squeeze. It aroused him so much, he fought the urge to push with greater force. He wanted his entire cock buried in Gabriel’s body and knew soon enough it would be. He worked a couple inches into him, then began to fuck. Slowly, working deeper and deeper until finally, every inch was buried in Gabriel with every forward thrust.

The bed began to protest the physical nature of their fuck, the undulation of two bodies that caused it to squeak and rock in its frame. Brandon fucked harder and harder, until the sound of bodies smacking together echoed in the room. He fucked until his muscles burned and body grew hot. He felt sweat trickle down his face and chest and his arousal increase too much, too quickly, and he buried every inch inside Gabriel and fell heavily on him.

With an arm around Gabriel’s neck, he rolled them to their sides and began to pump his hips, driving cock into the depths of Gabriel’s ass. He moved fluidly with a steady pace. He hugged their bodies together and watched Gabriel jack his own cock. There was no holding back, not this time. It was a quicky, a lunch hour fuck to ease the excited tension he felt, the new case starting to roil around in his head until he struggled to think of anything else.

Brandon tightened his hold on Gabriel, shoving cock into him over and over until he felt the opening spasm around his cock. He saw cum spurting from Gabriel’s cock, then captured the scent of it. He felt his own release, the surge of cum through his cock, and he shoved inward all the way and hammered his hips against ass until spent.

They lay breathing hard, Brandon sweaty from his exertions. They kissed lazily, then Gabriel sat up and smacked Brandon on the ass.

“Time to get up. Let’s shower off and eat a quick sandwich. I have to be at the hospital in an hour,” said Gabriel.

“And I have some people to track down and interview.”

Brandon sat in Gabriel’s drive watching the white Tesla disappear down the street. He pulled up the list of friends, wanting to start with them to get all the background information he could before confronting the boyfriends. Chad Walsh was first, and he dialed the number.

“Hello,” a deep masculine voice answered.

“Yes, this is Brandon Nichols and I’m…”

“The private detective looking into Alex’s assault. Felix told me you wanted to talk to us.”

“Yes, and I’d like to talk now if that is possible. Can we meet somewhere?”

“I’m heading to the restaurant. Do you know the Black Mustard on Seventh?”

“Near Pecan? Yes.”

“Come around back and text me when you arrive.”

“I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

Brandon ended the call and pulled out onto the street and headed toward Elizabeth. He knew the Black Mustard restaurant, one of the trendier ones in the city, with weathered steel and glass façade and an interior of leather, steel, and black wood. He had not dined at the restaurant, for it required reservations for its dinner only hours, something that took months to get. Gabriel had mentioned it a few times, wanting to go, but he had always suggested another place that was easier to get a table. The interesting thing about the restaurant was its location. It was only a block down the street from The Petal florist shop owned by Alex Wagner.

Chad and Brandon sat at the bar where they had the small dining room and bar to themselves. They had come through the busy kitchen and Brandon saw why it was so hard to get a reservation. He had known the place was small but did not realize how small until he followed Chad across the dining room to the bar.

Chad was average height, stocky build with long black hair and a friendly, but business-like demeanor. He got to the point, telling how he met Alex when they first opened the restaurant three years ago, Alex bringing a bouquet of flowers for their grand opening. There had been some flirting but, in the end, they knew their personalities were too different, so they became friends instead.

Taking a deep breath, Chad looked at their reflection in the mirror behind the bar and began to talk of the boyfriends from the past few months.

“Justin Tackett is a nice guy, and for a while we all thought he was the one for Alex.”

“But?”

“Not sure. They just decided they were not meant for each other and broke up.”

“No fights or some problem that led to it?”

“Nothing. In fact, when they see each other, like they did about two months ago at the fundraiser for the library, they greeted each other like old friends.”

“So, the chances Justin would do something to Alex seems very unlikely.”

Chad nodded, then looked at Brandon. “I’d put my money on the last one.”

“Why?”

“The secrecy. None of us know anything about him. Not even his fucking name. It’s too weird if you ask me.”

“Some guys are still closeted.”

“Yeah, and they should come out. Haven’t we been in it long enough?” Chad replied and Brandon saw how it riled him up. He knew the feeling.

“Yes, but for some, like from the rural countryside and small towns, it is not like here in the city.”

“I know. I’ve got an ex down in Indian Trail and…damn, it was bad.”

“Have you ever met this guy?”

Chad looks at the photograph, then up to Brandon, coming to some realization.

“There is a photo of Alex standing in front of this building.”

“Yes. Do you recognize this guy?”

“No, but I assume you think this is the mystery boyfriend.”

“I think so. The timeline is right.”

“Damn,” Chad mutters as he looks at the photograph again, then hands it back.

“What about Seth McAnally?”

“Seth?” asked Chad, then he chuckled as if the idea was ridiculous. “Seth was a diversion for Alex. A person who was young and fun and not serious in any way.”

“There was nothing between them that could lead to Seth hurting Alex?”

“OH, hell no. Seth is a sweet boy but boy is the key term. He’s eighteen, lives with his mother while taking classes at UNCC. I think he works at the mall at one of the department stores.”

“So, there was no nasty break up?”

“Break up? They just moved on to the next person.”

Brandon drew a line through Justin and Seth’s name. It was a light line, but one that said he had serious doubts they were a suspect. The line would grow darker and bolder as he found out more about them from others.

“That leaves the mystery boyfriend.”

“And on that one I can’t help you. Wish I could; really, I do. I want who did this to Alex to be caught and pay for it. But Alex kept secret about him. Wouldn’t tell us shit, joking he would reveal his identity when the time was right.”

Brandon heard the hard tone, one that could break with the slightest push.

“I want to talk with Jose and Ian. Which might be easier to get in contact this time of day?”

“Depends. Jose works at Bank of America and Ian is a realtor, a partner in a small company. He might be easier to get in touch, for I know Jose won’t be able to meet with you until after 5:30 or 6. But if Ian is showing a place, forget it. It’ll be late tonight before you can catch him.”

“Thanks; you’ve been a big help.”

Brandon drove to Fourth Ward, pulling into a small public parking lot. He walked down the street past a residence to the small commercial building on the corner. What it had been originally, he was not sure but for as long as he could remember it was a restaurant and bar. Ian was showing a house in the neighborhood, one of the old homes preserved and renovated, giving the small neighborhood its historical and relaxed feel. He entered the restaurant, the interior dark despite it being daytime, and took a seat at the bar.

“Jack and ginger,” Brandon called to the bartender, then he checked his phone. A new text message letting him know Ian was on the way.

A few minutes later the door swung open and a tall, lean guy walked in. He had dirty blonde hair and a tall lanky build. Brandon saw the features that spoke to a Swedish ancestry. Standing up to formally introduce himself, he sees someone a few inches taller come to stand in front of him, the right hand extended.

“Brandon?”

“Yes, you must be Ian. I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me.”

“Glad to do it, if it’ll find out who assaulted Alex.”

“Get you something to drink?”

“Just a tea. I’m meeting a client in thirty minutes.”

“Very well, let me get to my questions. I spoke with Chad and think he gave me the information I needed. I just hope to fill in any blanks that may exist.”

“Okay,” Ian replied easing down on a bar stool next to Brandon, who sits back down.

“Justin Tackett?”

“A really nice guy. Why Alex and he broke up I have no idea. But it was amicable, and they are on good terms. There is no way he did it. In fact, he called me Monday as soon as he heard about the assault,” said Ian, turning to face Brandon, “and he was crying so hard it got to me.”

“Seth McAnally?”

Ian shook his head and smirked. “A diversion at best. It lasted all of three weeks, until the sex grew boring, I’m sure, and it was over.”

“Have they been in contact since?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“The last person Alex dated is a mystery. Do you know anything about him?”

“Not much. Alex kept him secreted away. I don’t know why but I guessed the guy was closeted.”

“That is what Chad said. I found this photo. Do you recognize him?”

Brandon held out the image of the guy in front of the antique store.

“That’s him? He looks like a country boy,” said Ian, sounding surprised.

“I think so. Do you recognize the business? I’m trying to figure out where this was taken.”

“I have no idea, but it looks like a place you’d find in a small town.”

“I think you’re right,” taking the photograph back from Ian.

“I’ve asked the guys if Alex mentioned a disgruntled customer, or someone he may have refused to go out with that could have taken exception.”

“And?”

Ian shook his head, took a drink, then looked down at the bar. “It is none of my business, but I know Felix is the one who hired you. He’s really upset and pissed off, and I know from what Alex has said he can pay whatever fee you charge. But if something happens and Felix stops your investigation before you find out who did it, call me.”

Ian looked at Brandon and it was obvious he was serious. He was not going to be satisfied until his friend had justice.

“Okay.”

“I really need to go, but if you have further questions call me. It is best after eight in the evening, but you can try to catch me anytime.”

“Thanks,” Brandon replied as Ian shook his hand then left the restaurant. Brandon finished his drink, watching Ian walk across the street and get into a big black Audi sedan. He pulled out his phone and pulled up the number for Jose. The phone rang three times, then someone answered.

“Hello, this is Jose Garcia.”

“Jose, this is Brandon Nichols. I’m looking into the assault on Alex Wagner.”

“Yes, Brandon, Chad told me to expect your call. You have some questions?”

“Just a few. When can we meet?”

“Are you near downtown?”

“I’m in Fourth Ward now.”

“Perfect. Leave your car and walk over to Old Settler’s Cemetery. I could use the walk and fresh air.”

“I’ll see you there; the corner of Fifth and Church?”

“Perfect. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Brandon knew the old historic cemetery that was in downtown. It was becoming walled in by new development on the adjacent blocks, but despite the progress it was an odd cemetery that was more park than a place of rest of the dead. The old tombstones were scattered over the sloping site that had pathways curving through it from various points. It was only a few blocks away and spoke to a history that had been demolished from downtown in other ways. He paid his tab, and headed out, circling around the building, and headed down Pine Street. He would cut through Fourth Ward Park then over to the old cemetery.

He arrived at the corner and watched the pedestrians rush down sidewalks and the traffic work its way through the intersection, Fifth heading southeast and Church heading southwest. It was confusing how downtown was a neat grid pattern for the most part but was angled at about a forty-five-degree angle. A few minutes later he saw a man in a business suit cross the street coming his way. He looked more European Spanish than Central American, with a tall lean build, black hair, and dark skin.

“Brandon?”

“Yes, Jose, I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me.”

“No, I’m glad you are looking into the assault. Felix indicated the police don’t seem interested in finding out who did it. Have you found out anything?”

“I think I have a photograph of the mystery boyfriend,” said Brandon, holding out the photograph.

“So, this is him.”

“I think so.”

“Chad said you had this.”

“Have you ever seen him before?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Jose replies and holds the photograph out for Brandon to take, then he jerks it back. “Wait a minute. I know this shop.”

“You do? Where is it?”

“It was in a small town to the west. It wasn’t Bessemer City, but...maybe Kings Mountain, or was it in Shelby…no…Spindale? I’m sorry, I can’t remember where, but I’ve seen this shop. There were the creepiest baby dolls in the window when we passed it one day.”

“Why were you driving around the towns to the west?”

“Antique shopping. My partner loves to hunt for the great find or the deal of the century,” Jose replied. “We drove out to Rutherfordton and worked our way back. I know it is not in Rutherfordton or Forest City, and I’m pretty sure it is not in Shelby, but…I just don’t remember where I saw it.”

Jose held out the photograph then glanced at his watch.

“Can you tell me the basic route you took that day?”

“Sure. I know we drove straight to Rutherfordton, and came back through Spindale, Forest City, Shelby, up to Cherryville, then down to Kings Mountain, Bessemer City, then into Gastonia. We stopped in some places in between, so that could be anywhere.”

“Well, can you think of something else.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know much about that guy. I need to take off, for I’ve got a conference call in forty-five minutes, so I need to get back to the bank.”

“Not a problem, for you have given me a clue to work on.”

Brandon watched Jose cross the street and realized how much like Gabriel he had been. Gabriel had a more muscular body, but their demeanors were very similar, down to the way they smiled.

The next day was Friday, a day Gabriel usually had the day off. He pulled out his cellphone and texted him.

Do you have to work tomorrow?

A few seconds later, a reply.

No; why?

 Brandon smiled as he typed.

Road trip?  

Friday, 19 July

Brandon came out of the bathroom to find Gabriel dressed and sitting on the foot of the bed.

“So, this is the place we need to find?” said Gabriel, holding up the photograph.

“Yep.”

“And it is in a town to our west is all we know.”

“Yep.”

“Good thing I keep the Tesla charged. You want to grab a biscuit somewhere on the way out of town?”

“It’ll let us get on the road faster.”

Gabriel laughed, knowing how Brandon on the trail of a clue was not one to rest easy until he had sniffed it out.

They pulled out of the fast-food place on Providence, drove down the hill and got on I-277, looping around the south side of downtown. They took Wilkinson west until they came to the area of airport parking facing the road and turned away from it going to I-85. They would retrace Jose’s road trip from that day, driving a little over an hour to Rutherfordton, then turning around and heading back on secondary roads going from town to town.

Arriving a little after eight thirty, Gabriel navigated around the small town, quickly covering the few blocks that compromised it. Brandon kept the photograph in hand to remind himself of the look of the storefront on the ground floor, but he knew with one quick look none of the buildings in Rutherfordton were the one in which they were seeking, just as Jose has said.

Gabriel turned and headed east and in a short distance left Rutherfordton and entered Spindale. Brandon had to look twice at a couple of buildings, but on second glance knew they were not it.

“Keep going,” said Brandon as he pulled out his ringing phone. It was his contact at the police station. “Hey, you got something?”

“Maybe. Some guys on another case came across a hustler who has moved locations for his operation.”

“Let me guess; the old mill.”

“Yep.”

“You got a name?”

“Robbie Carrington. Originally from Lexington, he ended up on the streets at fourteen.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep, the same old story. Hustling and dealing drugs. We don’t know where he is holed up, but he had been working the parking lot at the mill for a few months.”

“So, if he’s not a suspect, he might have seen the person that we’re searching. When was the last time he has been seen?”

“Weekend before last.”

“He hasn’t been seen since the assault?”

“No.”

“That might be a bad sign.”

“We’re looking for him for the drug dealing, so I’ll let you know if we find him.”

“Thanks.”

“You still with that boyfriend?”

“Yep.”

“Damn. When do I get my chance?”

Brandon laughed, “I’ve got to go,” hanging up before anything else could be said.

“Another lead?” asked Gabriel as he drove them toward Forest City.

“Maybe, if it was a simple robbery that turned violent.”

They drove around Forest City for Brandon realized it was the downtown in some of the shots. But after driving around they did not find the antique shop in the photographs. They continued east until in Shelby. They rode along the streets of downtown and in the immediate outlying areas.

“That building doesn’t fit here,” said Brandon, thinking of the way it looked.

“It did appear to be one you’d see in some small town barely making it. None of the ornamentation like what you see on these buildings.”

“Head on to Kings Mountain. We circle through it, then up to Cherryville and back down to Bessemer City.”

“When we finish our little road trip, let’s grab lunch in Belmont. There’s a little pub in downtown that has a good hamburger.”

“Sounds good to me. Turn here. This will take us back to the main four-lane.”

They drove through Kings Mountain and Cherryville and were heading toward Bessemer City when Brandon turned in his seat looking behind them.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around,” Brandon repeated, then he scanned the sides of the road as Gabriel circled through a gas station parking lot and headed back. “What is this place?

“Butler. There’s the sign.”

The small town was not on the main road, it’s two blocks of downtown sitting on the cross street. Gabriel eased through it, seeing a small squat police station, a deli, a consignment shop, and drug store among the few open storefronts. The rest were boarded up. After the two main blocks, they saw two more buildings ahead on the left and Brandon sat up, suddenly excited. The second one had a hand painted sign over the old storefront: Elaine’s Antiques.

“That’s it!”

Their excitement vanished as quickly as it arose, the storefront empty and a ‘going out of business’ sign on the door.

“Fuck.”

“Well, you know the city they were in, and as small as it is and as far from everything else, it can’t be just a coincidence they were here.”

“Let’s go back to the police station.”

Brandon went into the station while Gabriel stayed at outside at his car stretching his legs. Inside the station was a small foyer with a sliding glass window in the wall. A woman sat at a computer and he had to tap the glass to get her attention.

“Can I help you?”

“Hopefully. I’m a private detective,” said Brandon holding out one of his cards, “and it has led me to your town. Could I ask if you recognized the young man in this photo,” holding out the photograph of the mystery boyfriend. She looked at it, shaking her then she turned back to her computer, obviously agitated.

“I don’t know him. Must have been someone passing through.”

“Really? For a minute there I would have sworn you recognized him.”

“I told you…”

“Cheryl, what’s the problem?” a man in uniform approached, and Brandon saw it the Captain.

“He’s some private detective looking for some kid that passed through.”

“I see,” the Captain replied, moving up closer. “I’m Robert Severs, the Police Captain here in Butler.”

“I’m Brandon Nichols out of Charlotte. Could you look at this photograph and see if you recognize the man in it?”

Captain Severs took the photograph and for a brief second frowned, then he shook his head holding it out for Brandon to take.

“No, can’t say that I do.”

He’s lying too, Brandon thought as he took the photograph. As he slipped the photograph in his pocket, his cellphone buzzed. It was a text message from Gabriel.

Get out here now. I saw him!

“Well, I guess we drove here for nothing. I do appreciate your time,” said Brandon as he backed up, nodded once to the Captain and pushed through the glass door.

Once he knew he was out of sight, he jogged over to the Tesla where the passenger door was open waiting for him to hop in.

“You sure it was him?” Brandon asked as he buckled in.

“Yes. He drove by in a car that caught my eye. It was like one my Uncle had in his small collection of cars,” Gabriel replied, looking over smiling, he added, “a 71 Mustang with a 429.”

“429? The email address.”

“That is what I think too,” said Gabriel as he sped up the highway as fast as he dared.

“Is that him,” said Brandon as they closed the gap with a light blue Mustang.

“Yep.”

The Mustang slowed, then turned, accelerating away. Gabriel turned and pushed it, accelerating quickly from the intersection. In no time they were behind the Mustang.

“Tag is BRF…4536,” Brandon mumbled to himself as he made a note of it.

The Mustang was driving about 60 mph, well above the 45-mph speed limit for the rural highway, but not unusual for most motorists. It made no attempt to speed away or take a sudden turn, instead just continued down the highway until they crossed into the next county. After a couple of sweeping curves, it slowed, pulling off onto a dirt drive that led through a group of trees to a field beyond. There were brick piers in a grid pattern between the trees where a house had once sat, and the yard had been cut with a bushhog in lieu of a mower, same as the ditch along the highway along the field.

The Mustang pulled under a tree and stopped, and Gabriel pulled in next to it keeping about twenty-five feet between them.

“Stay put and get some photos of him and the car. Wait until I have him distracted,” said Brandon as he unbuckled, swung his door opened and climbed out.

The guy in the Mustang had gotten out and was leaning against the long front fender, looking around anxiously. Brandon approached slowly, keeping his posture casual and non-threatening.

“Hi, I’m Brandon Nichols and was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute?”

When the guy looked up, Brandon saw a bruise on the side of the face, greenish in color. The bottom lip and chin had cuts that were heeling. He looked like he had been in a fight.

“This about Alex?” came a nervous, almost whispered reply.

“Yes,” Brandon replied, moving up closer when he saw the guy relax, as if he had been expecting Brandon.

“First, who are you? Charlotte police?”

“No, I’m a private detective.”

The guy nodded his head, then looked up at Brandon.

“What’s your name?” asked Brandon.

“Clayton.”

“Last name?”

Clayton looked at Brandon, frowning.

“Severs.”

“Severs? That is the Butler Police Captain's last name.”

“Yeah, my dad.”

“I see.”

“Look, you can’t tell him we talked. He’ll beat…he’ll…get mad.”

Brandon heard a true desperation in the voice.

“You still live at home?”

A nod of the head.

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be twenty-one in October.”

Brandon wondered about a twenty-year old kid in such a place, especially one that was gay and closeted.

“Did you meet Alex Wagner last Thursday night at the old mill in NoDa?”

“I went there.”

The answer was odd, as if he had not seen Alex.

“What do you mean? Did you or did you not meet Alex?”

“No, not like you think. I got there and was waiting for him when…”

“And?”

“Someone jumped me, beat me up. When I came to. I found Alex in the lobby area beat up and…and…”

Clayton starts crying and moves away from the car, standing with his back to Brandon.

“The police were outside in the parking lot, looking in Alex’s car. I accidently made a sound and one of them shined his flashlight at the front doors. I knew they would come investigate, so I…ran.”

“Where did you park?”

“A block over in the neighborhood.”

“Did you see who jumped you?”

Clayton hesitated, far too long for Brandon, then uttered a shaking reply.

“No.”

“Do you know who might have done it?”

“No,” Clayton replied, this time quick, sounding definitive in his reply. But Brandon wondered as to the truth of it.

“Why were Alex and you, so secretive about your relationship?”

“Because I can’t…not here…my dad would…”

“What would your dad do? Beat you up?”

“No…I don’t think so.”

“Did Alex and you invite others to join in with you?”

“What? You mean like a three-way with someone else? No, never.”

The way Clayton was responding to his questions, Brandon wanted to rule him out. He seemed like another victim, but there was something Clayton was keeping from him. Maybe they had gotten in a fight, or Alex wanted to open up about their relationship pushing Clayton too far. Or maybe a hustler just attacked them. Or maybe someone who knew Clayton attacked them to stop the relationship?

“Did you have anything taken from you?”

“You mean, was I robbed? No. Why, was Alex robbed?”

“Not that we can surmise. He had his wallet, keys and cellphone in his possession.”

“So, robbery wasn’t a motive,” Clayton replied, sounding like a cop’s son.

Brandon realized this could have been him if things had played out differently, or if he had been closeted. But he had been defiant, getting louder the more his bigoted father demanded silence.

“Can I get your phone number and call you when I have more questions?”

“Yeah, sure. But can we meet in Charlotte instead of here?” said Clayton turning around and facing Brandon.

“That would be perfect for me,” Brandon replied.

“How’s Alex?”

“They are keeping him sedated. There’s some brain swelling.”

Clayton began to cry again, choking, gasping for air. Brandon did not know what type of guilt was driving the response. After a few minutes, Clayton dried his eyes and walked to his car, where Brandon stood at the rear corner.

“Do you have any more questions, or can I go home?”

Clayton sounded defeated; his voice so low he was hard to hear.

“You can go. But can I ask about the car?”

A weak smile, and a nod of the head.

“Is it a 71?”

“Yes, with the big block 429.”

“These are getting desirable.”

“What you mean to ask is how the son of a police captain in some piss poor town could afford it. It was my grandfather’s. He had bought it used in the early eighties and fixed it up.”

“I’d hold onto it.”

“I will. Grandfather was a kind caring man. How my father came from his genes, I’ll never know.”

“Was?”

“He got in an accident five years ago. A semi lost a wheel, and it crossed the medium and went into the door of his truck.”

“I’m sorry. That had to be tough.”

“Yeah…well shit happens, doesn’t it,” Clayton looked up facing Brandon for the first time and he saw some of the bravado country boys were infamous. The bluster and defiance were all there, but so too the sadness.

Gabriel took the exit for Belmont and slowed at the end of the ramp, then made the right turn.

“You’ve been too quiet. What do you think?” asked Gabriel.

“I don’t think he did it, but he’s hiding something.”

“What would he be hiding?”

“Maybe the fact his dad did it out of some rage that got out of control fueled by his bigotry.”

“That would a tough thing to deal with, knowing, or even thinking your dad beat up your boyfriend.”

“And his own son.”

“What do you mean?”

“Clayton was jumped at the mill and beaten up too.”

“Really?”

“What I want to know is what he told his father when they next saw each other. Or was there some agreement to not discuss it?”

“Did you ask him?”

“Not yet.”

“I think it is time for a greasy burger and a good stiff drink,” Gabriel replied, smiling at Brandon.

“Or two or three,” Brandon replied, easing back in his seat trying to calm his mind. To shift through what he had found out so far and determine what was relevant and was not.

Clayton drives back toward Butler, radio turned off with only the throaty roar of the engine filling the interior. He wants to confront his father; make the accusation he had been mulling over since that night. He debates going into town to the station but when Hawkins Road comes into view, he slows, deciding to circle around town and avoid the station as he made his way home.

He drives for a mile, not noticing the cruiser behind him until it quickly closes the gap with lights flashing.

“What the fuck,” Clayton utters as he slows then pulls onto the shoulder of the road. The police cruiser pulls in behind him and he sees Brad Hutchinson climb out, slip on his hat and approach. Brad is the station’s Sergeant, second in command behind his father. He rolls down the window and waits.

“Clayton, where have you been?”

“Why do you care?”

“I think we both know this is a troubling time and we need to remember where our loyalties lie.”

“What do you mean Brad? Is there something we should be keeping secret?”

Brad grimaces, then tilts his hat back, leaning down to the window.

“Your father doesn’t have time to deal with your shit, you fucking faggot. You better not cause any more trouble.”

“What trouble have I caused?” Clayton responds, trying to sound defiant but the harsh tone and the jab revealed Brad knew, and he wondered who else knew.

“You just keep your mouth shut and don’t cause any more trouble,” Brad replied, standing straight then walking back to the cruiser.

Clayton sat still, trying to control his breathing, as Brad pulled around on the highway and headed back the way they had come. Clayton waited until he was out of sight before starting his car and pulling away.

Saturday, 20 July

Brandon stands before the dry erase board, photos taped to it, notes covering most of it, with red arrows connecting different sections. He looks at Clayton Severs name, circled several times in red, then Robert Severs name, with Police Captain/Father noted next to it. It feels like a connection to the assault, but there is something off about it.

There was no robbery, but he looks over at the name of the hustler: Robbie Carrington. What if there is something Clayton is not telling? What if he was not jumped from behind but what if he met Robbie there? It did not fit, but he wanted to find Robbie Carrington and talk to him before ruling him out.

Eyes fell back on Robert Severs name. Maybe he was projecting, wanted the father to be the guilty bastard he would take down. Some revenge against abusive fathers who can not deal with sons not being the person they expect them to be. He loved the idea of his father seeing a news cast showing a police captain being led out in handcuffs, charged with a crime against a gay man, and his own son the one who cracked the case.

Brandon’s cell phone rings, and he picks it up seeing it is Gabriel.

“Hey.”

“How long are you going to be at your office?”

“Not much longer. I’m afraid I will have to wait until Monday and drive back to Butler to get the case moving again.”

“Good for I have us reservations at The Asbury and a room at The Dunhill.”

“A night out on the town?”

“Yep. I know you will not take a weekend trip while in the middle of a case, so why not do our weekend getaway routine in town. A nice dinner, a stroll around town, then a night in a hotel acting like run away lovers.”

Brandon laughs at the silly reference, but he likes how Gabriel is the one that keeps their relationship interesting.

“That sounds really nice. I’ll leave here shortly, go home and clean up and meet you at your place.”

They leave the curtains open and the lights off. The lights of the city are enough to illuminate the room. Gabriel climbs on the bed, one nearly waist high with thick white blankets and white linens, all pulled to the foot. He moves to the center and lays on his stomach as Brandon moves over him, kissing the left ass cheek, the lower back, lips following the spine until moving across shoulder blades. He feels each kiss and grows aroused by the contact. There is another at the back of the neck, along its side then at the base of the ear.

“I love you,” Brandon whispered. It had been hard for him to admit, for months hesitate to say it, but over the last couple of weeks there had been a change. No longer hesitate to admit how he felt. And he stayed at Gabriel’s house overnight so often, he accepted the need to leave clothes and toiletries there instead of lugging them back and forth between houses.

“I love you too,” Gabriel replied, undulating his body beneath Brandon, pushing up with his ass, increasing the feel of cock nestled between the cheeks.

Brandon held him by the shoulders with a tight embrace as he moved against him. He grew rock hard, aroused to the point he could not hold back, and he moved his cock into position and slowly breached the tight opening and penetrated Gabriel.

Their fuck would be slow, lasting such a long time they would be exhausted. Then there would a shower, bathing each other of the sweat and cum that clung to their skin, then the spooning together in bed, letting sleep overtake them.

Sunday, 21 July

Brandon was mowing his grass when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He killed the mower and pulled it out surprised to see it was his contact at the station.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“We found the Carrington boy?”

“You sound like there is something wrong.”

“He’s dead. A homeless guy found a disturbed area on the ground and thought someone buried a treasure.”

“Instead it was a body.”

“Yep.”

“Where?”

“On the mill property across the abandoned track that runs along the west side.”

“How long has he been dead?”

“About seven to ten days.”

“Shit.”

“Yep. They think he was killed the same night.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Why assault someone, beat them so bad they would normally die if not for being discovered so quickly, beat someone else up, then hide the one body you killed?”

“To make us think Carrington did it?”

“Still doesn’t make sense. The Carrington boy would have robbed them, so we would have ruled that out pretty quickly.”

“Or the killing of Carrington had a different motive, one that made them ashamed and felt a need to hide the body.”

Brandon considered what was suggested, then the possibilities, scenarios that could have played out.”

“I don’t know,” Brandon finally replied.

“I’ve got to go. My date is waiting.”

“Date? Wait, is this your day off?”

“Yep.”

“Thanks for calling. And how’s the date?” Brandon asked in a mischief tone.

“Good. I had to find someone else since you rejected me,” came a joking reply.

“Have fun,” said Brandon, ending the call.

Later that day, back in his office, Brandon goes to the dry erase board and puts an ‘x’ over Robbie Carrington’s name, then makes a note about him being murdered. There is something about the degree of each attack. The Carrington the boy the worst, murdered and buried, then Alex’s assault that has him lying in a hospital bed sedated due to the swelling around the brain, then there is the assault on Clayton Severs, that was mild in comparison. Was it really by one person?

Monday, 22 July

Brandon was stuck. Leads led to nowhere and his suspicions needed some evidence, which did not seem forthcoming. He was parked across the street from the Butler Police Station, sitting among the customers of the dollar store. He had arrived around ten and was just sitting there watching the station across the street not sure what he expected to see. He had looked up who worked for the department. Robert Severs the captain and Cheryl Barnes the receptionist and administrator he had met last Friday. The others were Police Sergeant Brad Hutchinson, and four police officers, David Lauren, Jim Peterson, Curtis Barnes, and Travis Grodin. There were two other women on staff in support roles, but it was the officers and captain Brandon who interested him. His main suspect was Clayton’s father, the captain, but he knew from his own experience that men underneath a captain would do anything to protect him, sometimes violating their own oaths and the law. Knowing Curtis Barnes and Jim Peterson worked the late shifts, he ruled them out. They could not drive to Charlotte without being discovered.

Captain Severs came out, walking toward his cruiser, then Sergeant Hutchinson came out, walking fast to catch up. Brandon watched as the Captain turned around and seemed to be reprimanding Hutchinson, then there was a pointing of a finger at him that was threatening and Severs turned around and climbed into his cruiser. Hutchinson watched him leave, then went to his own car, climbed in, and drove off, going in the opposite direction. Officer Lauren pulled up and went inside in a normal manner.

Brandon picked up his phone and brought up a contact and hit send.

“What’s up?”

“Can you talk?”

“To you, anytime,” came the reply with a humorous tone.

“How was the date?”

“Good. You want the details?”

“No, I can imagine what happened.”

“Probably not as good as what really happened.”

“Can you find out something for me?” changing the subject.

“Sure. What do you need?”

“First, has anyone pulled video camera footage around the mill from that night?”

“Yes, but I doubt if has been watched.”

“Can you get me a copy of it?”

“After seven this evening.”

“Is that when dear ole dad gets off work?”

“Something like that.”

“Don’t get into trouble over it.”

“Don’t worry, if they don’t actually catch me doing it, they’ll never know.”

Brandon laughed at the cockiness of his contact.

“The thing I’ll need to know is what personal vehicles the following men own. You ready for the list?”

“Shoot.”

“Captain Robert Severs, Police Sergeant Brad Hutchinson, Officers David Lauren and Travis Grodin, all of the Town of Butler Police Department.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“This is easy, but can I ask why you suspect a police officer from some little town outside of Charlotte is involved with a crime in it?”

“A wild hunch.”

“Wild is an understatement. Give me about an hour or so, for I don’t want anyone seeing this search.”

“Thanks, I owe you.”

Brandon sat his desk. It was after eight, and he was ignoring the hunger pains. He was looking for a break in the case, watching one video after the next, stopping multiple times on each to study a vehicle captured in it. He glanced at his list, reading it once again to eventually have it in memory.

Capt. Severs:  2018 Jeep Grand Cherokee, Silver, MMT 2301

Sgt. Hutchinson: 2017 RAM 1500 4-Dr. Truck, Black, DGE 1475

Off. Lauren:  2017 Honda Accord, White, BNB 2103

Off. Grodin:  2016 Chrysler Town & Country, Red, YYN 1185

NoDa had a busy commercial strip that was just below the abandoned mill. There were music venues, bars, restaurants, and micro-brewers that kept a steady flow of traffic, pedestrian and vehicular, around the neighborhood. It made the abandon mill an eyesore, something the community kept clamoring for its renovation.

It was common knowledge the owners had tried to refurbish the building cheaply twenty-five years earlier, but structural issues caused the project to stop, then become abandoned. So, it languishes with busted out windows and a collapsed roof and floor on one end. Brandon wonders at what point the owners will simply say it is beyond repair and seek to tear it down.

There were four video cameras that captured traffic on a section of road either to the south, east or north of the mill, the west side bordered by the light rail and railroad lines. He watched one video after the next, most often it seemed checking another Accord or Grand Cherokee. It was getting late by the time he finished the videos from the two south of the mill, and he was half way through the videos of the camera on the east side when he saw the 71 Mustang pull down the side street. Five minutes later, Clayton walked back, a black baseball cap pulled low concealing his face. It was 11:06 PM.

Brandon checked his notes and found the call from Police went out at 11:41 PM and the ambulance arrived at 11:49 PM. It meant there was 37 minutes for Clayton to get knocked out, Alex to get beaten, then the police to show. If Clayton was telling the truth, he should show back up around the time the police call went out. He started the video again, watching the clock and the image, waiting for Clayton to show back up.

It was 11:43 PM, and Clayton came back into the shot, staggering a bit as he made his way down the sidewalk heading back to his car. Brandon stopped the video, backed it up and played it again, confirming there was something different. Clayton was not wearing the baseball cap.

Brandon leaned back, wondering where the cap is now. It nagged at him, this little detail. Despite the hour, he pulled up a contact and hit send.

“Damn, when do you like eat and sleep?” came the reply as soon as they picked up.

“Sorry, but there is something I need to know.”

“I feel a dinner at a nice restaurant about to be promised. Starched white linen table clothes and waiters in black suits and hundred-dollar haircuts.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. The Carrington boy found at the mill.”

“Yes?”

“Describe the scene; what was it like and what was on the body,” Brandon asked, knowing his contact had a photographic memory. He did not forget anything.

“Eighteen-year old male, five foot six, 118 lbs., brown hair dyed blonde, blue eyes, tattoos on both biceps, the left pec, across the shoulders and one calf. He had half ounce of pot, a plastic baggy with cocaine residue in it, a half pack of cigarettes, lighter, and wallet. In the wallet was an expired driver’s license issued with a Lexington address, two one dollar bills, a five and two twenties, and a photo of a young guy, high school photo from the looks of it, and probably the first boyfriend. He was wearing a yellow t-shirt and blue jeans (no underwear) and a black baseball cap. He also…”

“Wait, go back. The baseball cap. Was he wearing it?”

“No, it was just in the hole with him. But…”

“Was his hair matted down from wearing it?”

“Seriously, you want to know if a body that was buried in the ground showed signs of wearing a cap?”

“Humor me.”

“I do all the time. I’m pulling up the photos from the crime scene.”

“Are you at work?”

“No! I have access from home.”

“Official access?”

“On a need to know basis. Okay, the photos are loaded up. Let’s see…”

It seemed like minutes passed but Brandon knew it was only a few seconds.

“His hair is matted down some but…I’d say no. He must have had it in a pocket or something.”

“Or someone meant to ditch it in lieu of getting caught with it later and tossed it in the hole with the body.”

“I should report this in the morning.”

“No, wait a few days. Give me some time to sort it out. I think I know who the cap belongs to, but they are not the ones who killed Carrington…I think.”

“You think?”

“Just give me some time, okay?”

“Fine, I’ll sit on it.”

“Thanks. I owe you a McDonald’s Happy Meal.”

“Very funny,” then the connection was ended.

“Who else was at that mill?” Brandon uttered aloud as he pulled up the camera video from the one on the north.

He went through the recordings looking for the correct timeline, then loaded it up. It had been right at 11:01 PM when Clayton arrived in the area and parked. Playing the video, he stopped on any vehicle that looked remotely like on the list. Then at 11:01 PM, a 71 Mustang drove past the camera, and Brandon realized Clayton drove in from the north side, then pulled into the residential neighborhood to the east to park. He continued the video and only five seconds later a vehicle passed the camera. He backed up until it was in the frame. It was hard to make out the color, but he was sure it was one on the list. Leaning back, he wondered how to prove it. To do so on his own would require him to bend the law a bit on evidence gathering, but he could not go to the Butler police for he had no way of knowing how many were in on it. And hell would freeze over before he willingly helped his father on a case by going to the local police. He knew he was being vindicative, and some of the other guys would be aggravated with him, but in the end, they would know why he did it. He would wait till morning, and go over his fucking father’s head, to someone he trusted to do what was right. It was ten minutes past midnight, and he suddenly felt beat. He sent a text to Gabriel that he would sleep at his home since it was so late, closed the laptop, killed the desk lamp, and headed for the door.

Tuesday, 23 July

Brandon rolled over and looked at the clock showing it was 7:30. He had not slept well, wondering what could go wrong. There was always something that could blow a case out of the water. He rolled up and stretched, then headed to the bathroom.

Coffee pot drained of two cups and a dirty plate and fork in the sink, he headed to his office. By the time he got there it would late enough to make the call, and he needed access to the files when he made it.

Brandon left the lobby lights off, going to his desk where he turned on the desk lamp, the only illumination in the dark office. He sat at his desk staring at the dry erase board. The upper half in shadow but it did not matter. He knew what was written on it. Laptop opened and the case loading up, he went to the coffee pot and set it up to brew a pot. Before he got back to his desk, his cellphone began ringing. He saw it was his contact at the police station.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Just thought you should know. The investigation has found out the cap does not belong to the Carrington boy.”

“Fuck.”

“I figured you would say that.”

“Do they have something?”

“A brown hair that is not a match.”

“Okay.”

“What are you planning to do.”

“Push to get the real suspect in custody before they go off looking for a scapegoat to blame.”

“You sure it would be a scapegoat?”

“99.99% sure.”

“Should I ask?”

“I wouldn’t, if I was you.”

“I heard that loud and clear. I have to go,” and the connection ended.

Brandon stared at his phone as if it were the culprit in messing with his investigation. Then he searched quickly for the person he hoped would bring the case to an end. Hitting send, the phone rang. He was about to give up on them answering, expecting voicemail to pick up when a female voice came on the line.

“Brandon Nichols, you son of a bitch, what do you want this early in the morning?”

“Hey, its nice to talk to you too.”

The woman laughed, making Brandon smile, knowing Rachel Harrison was someone who could be caustic and as foul mouthed as any of the guys, and a hell of a lot meaner when the situation called for it. His jaw still ached when he thought of the punch she threw during their first meeting. A little misunderstanding that made him trust her more than most. He had deserved it after smarting off.

“Seriously, what’s up. This isn’t a ‘hey, how have you been’ call.”

“No, but how have you been. You still married to that accountant?”

“Yep; haven’t run him off yet. What about you?”

“I’m seeing someone.”

“Really, now that is news. Is he deaf and not able to hear the stupid shit that comes out of your mouth?”

Brandon laughed at how inappropriate on so many levels the question had been.

“No, he is a doctor at one of the hospitals.”

“Oh dear. I bet he is like you in so many ways.”

“Most in a good way.”

Rachel laughed.

“Okay, back to business. What’s up?”

“I’ve got a case that is in Charlotte under my father’s charge.”

“That is strike one.”

“It’s an assault on a gay male and a murder of another who was also a hustler.”

“With your father on the case, that is strike two.”

“And I think someone from another police department did it. From the town of Butler outside Charlotte.”

“Oh shit…strike three.”

“Yeah.”

“And you want the big bad FBI to charge in and take charge?”

“Yes. I can send you what I’ve got and let you look it over. I think it is pretty convincing, but it’ll take a warrant to search a police cruiser and their personal vehicle. Probably the latter is where the evidence would be found.”

“Don’t you think he would have cleaned up everything by now?”

“Maybe, but it’s a small-town cop who probably thinks there is no way he is considered a suspect in an assault and murder in Charlotte.”

“Maybe. Send me what you got. I’ve got fucking meetings all morning, but I’ll look at it this afternoon.”

“Thanks Rachel, and one other thing.”

“Here it comes. What?”

“Charlotte has some evidence that could point to the Butler’s Police Captain’s son.”

“Is he involved?”

“The extremely closeted boyfriend of the assault victim, who was also attacked at the site, then fled when CMPD showed up.”

“Fuck,’ Rachel uttered in a low voice, then she added in a serious tone, “I’ll call you later today.”

“Thanks, Rachel.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Then the call ended with Brandon about to ask one more question.

Brandon pulled up Gabriel’s contact and hit send.

“Hey, what’s up?” Gabriel asked.

“When do you have to be at the hospital?”

“I’m on a 1 to 1 shift.”

“Can I come over?”

“Need a stress reliever?”

Brandon laughed, then leaned forward with the phone held close, “Yeah. Can I come over?”

“I await your arrival.”

Brandon rushed out, locking up the office and quickly getting on his way. He called Felix with an update, leaving out his suspicions regarding the Butler Police Department, not wanting that information to get spread around until it was necessary.

Gabriel lay on the bed, naked, cock half hard, as Brandon tore at his own clothes. The shirt tossed into a corner, shoes tossed to the side, socks following, then jeans tugged down, nearly tripping him as he continued to take one small step then another toward the bed. Down to boxers that were already tenting out the front, he stood at the side of the bed, looking at Gabriel.

Brandon came to fuck, to push the case from his mind while he had to wait on Rachel to go through everything. It was sex; physical, rough, exerting the body to the point of exhaustion that would take his mind off the case. And Gabriel knew this about him. It was something they both experienced in their own way and it always led to sex of a physical nature.

Gabriel reached out and grabbed the front of the boxers and jerked hard, tearing the front open.

“You want to fuck my ass,” Gabriel taunted, as he tugged on the boxers again until only the elastic waist band was left.

“Yes,” Brandon replied breathlessly, then he pounced on Gabriel, cock quickly getting rock hard.

They were all hands, mouths, bodies rubbing against each other, holding the other down. The blanket and pillows were pushed off the bed and eventually Gabriel lay on his back with Brandon between his legs, holding them up and spread out.

Brandon watched Gabriel take his cock and hold it to the tight opening. He pushed, watching it squeeze through it and he kept pushing, slowly, until half of his cock was buried inside of Gabriel. Then Brandon began to fuck. At first it was a slow, steady push and pull of cock through the tightness, sinking deeper and deeper until abdomen was bumping against ass. When Brandon felt Gabriel loosen to his penetration, then beg him to fuck harder, he did so, relentlessly pumping cock inside of him. The bed rocked in rhythm to their fuck as Brandon piston cock inside Gabriel with a furious pace. The sound of bodies smacking together began to echo in the room and Brandon’s torso shined with sweaty skin. Sweat trickled down his face, his chest, making him feel the heat of his own body.

Gabriel stroked his own leaking cock as he took every thrust into his depths. It rocked him roughly across the bed and made him feel his sexuality, and his sex.

“Fuck…” Gabriel uttered, then shook with release as thick wads of cum roped up his chest.

Brandon watched how it covered Gabriel, feeling the spasm of the tight opening around his cock with every ejaculation. He pushed him to fuck harder, faster, until the muscles in his body tightened up, his entire body rigid, then jerking with every ejaculation of his own cock buried in Gabriel’s ass.

Gabriel held Brandon against his chest, the two of them just sitting on the bed.

“I’ve got some good news?”

“Yeah, I could use some.”

“The Wagner boy is awake and looks like he’ll be okay. He has a tingling down the left arm, but his doctor thinks it’ll go away soon.”

“That is good news.”

“You know who did it.”

It was not a question but a statement of fact.

“I think so.”

“You going to take them in tomorrow?”

“A bit above my paygrade, I’m afraid. But I’m working on it.”

“A plan to even the odds?”

“No, to give the good guys the better odds.”

Friday, 26 July

Brandon sits nervously in the parking lot of the dollar store, watching the goings on at the Butler Police Station. It was a little after three in the afternoon and he wondered if Rachel was playing a cruel joke on him. Get his hopes up then…no she would not do that. He knew he was just impatient, ready for the case to be brought to an end, before his father back in Charlotte fucked it up.

He had watched Cheryl Barnes leave for a late lunch, and return carrying a Styrofoam container from some restaurant nearby. He Saw Officer Grodin leave for patrol, then Officer Lauren return, bringing someone in wearing handcuffs. About an hour later, he watched the person leave, free to go. An old Buick pulled up and picked the guy up and drove off. Sgt. Hutchinson’s cruiser sat in back and had not moved. There was one person missing, Capt. Severs, and Brandon wondered if it would jeopardize things in some way when the FBI showed up.

The minutes ticked off and Brandon pulled up Rachel Harrison’s number again, but as before, he closed it, remembering how she couldn’t give him an exact time, just saying sometime after 2:30. Another glance at his watch and he saw four minutes had passed since his last look.

Two black Tahoes pull up the station, then a van, going to the parking lot behind the building. Brandon sits up as he sees Rachel climb out the first Tahoe and with several men following, went inside the station.

Brandon watches as Sgt. Brad Hutchinson is led out to the second Tahoe, the person who owns a black RAM truck he had seen in the video following Clayton the night of the assault. It still did not make sense. Was Sgt. Hutchinson acting on orders from the Captain, or was he acting on his own with some delusional notion of protecting him? He watched the van crew go to Hutchinson’s cruiser and start their forensic work. He knew across town, at a ranch house with a carport in back, a Chrysler mini-van and a RAM truck parked within, another crew would be arriving to take the truck and search the house.

Brandon knew Rachel’s crew, had worked with them a couple of times, and knew how efficient and quickly they worked, much like Rachel herself. His cellphone rang and it was his contact back at CMPD.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Your father is raising hell. The FBI came in taking over the case about an hour ago.”

“Does he know it was me behind it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why don’t you go tell him?”

Brandon heard a nervous laugh through the phone.

“I’ll pass. I assume you’re in Butler?”

“Yep. The FBI is here.”

Brandon sees Rachel come out with one of her men and the two of them climb into her Tahoe. It pulls out on the side street, eases down to the drive to the dollar store and pulls toward Brandon.

“I’ve got to go.”

The Tahoe stops behind him, and he gets out going to the lowering driver’s window.

Rachel is in the passenger seat and one of her men Brandon does not recognize is behind the wheel.

“How’s it going over there?” Brandon asked.

“Good, but the Captain has taken the day off and is supposedly at his home,” said Rachel.

“You going there now?”

“Yep, get in.”

“Why?”

“Because he lied to you, and if he is cop, a real cop, that will be something he regrets.”

“So, he might be willing to talk if he has to face me again?”

“Get in.”

It takes ten minutes to drive out into the countryside to where Capt. Severs lives. It is a ranch house sitting over three hundred feet from the highway. The property is fenced in, each section separate from the other. Three dogs run to greet the Tahoe in the front yard. To the left, a couple of horses gallop along with them. To the right on the other side of the front yard, two more horses are grazing, undisturbed by their presence.

“Nice place,” Rachel utters before returning her attention to the paperwork in her hands.

“Yeah,” Brandon whispers, but he was scanning the house with its open carport on the left end and behind it, a free-standing carport. He was looking for the Mustang but does not see it. He hopes Clayton is at the auto repair shop and not somewhere nearby, only to return soon.

Stopped behind the carport at an angle, blocking the silver Grand Cherokee and the black Ford Fusion next to it, Rachel is the first to get out. Brandon and the other guy follow. As they head toward the front door, they hear a door open and look to see Capt. Severs at a door under the carport.

“Come in this way,” Capt. Severs calls out and Brandon hears none of the gruffness from his previous encounter. Instead he sounded sad.

They come into a mudroom and follow the Captain through a kitchen into a living area adjacent to it. Through glass sliding doors the three dogs have come under the back porch and are sitting, waiting to be let in.

“Captain Severs, we have taken Sgt. Hutchinson into custody for…”

“I know. Cheryl called me while you were on your way over. What do you want to know?”

Brandon stepped forward, just past Rachel and the Captain frowned.

“You lied to me.”

“I did, and…it was my boy. And he…I tried to make it not true.”

“Being gay?”

The captain nodded. “It just didn’t seem…damn, what do I know.”

“Did you send Hutchinson to beat up Alex Wagner?”

“No! I don’t know why Brad did that?”

“And the Carrington boy?”

“Who?”

“The boy that was murdered.”

“Murdered? I…didn’t know there was another.”

“What do you know?”

“Just Brad came back and said he caught Clay with some boy and taught him a lesson.”

“And when did you know about the Wagner boy?”

“The next day.”

“So, you knew Brad assaulted Alex Wagner and your own son?”

Captain Severs began to shake, visibly unsettled. “It was my boy and my men. They’re my people…we’re supposed to look out for each other.”

Rachel stepped in front of Brandon, taking back control.

“You will need to come with us.”

“Of course.”

“Is your wife here?”

“Back in the bedroom. I made her wait there.”

“Go tell her you’re leaving, and it may be a couple of days.”

“Will we be going to your offices in Charlotte?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Clayton?” asked Brandon.

“He’s at work.”

Clayton clocks out and heads to the rear of the shop where he is parked. He has cleaned up as best he can and slipped on a clean pair of coveralls to protect the interior of his car. The motor fires quickly and he eases out of the gravel lot, pulling around the building to head home. Blocking the drive is an old Jeep Cherokee and leaning against the side of it is Brandon Nichols.

Engine shut off, Clayton gets out and moves to the front of his car.

“You come to take me in?”

“No, I came to tell you the FBI took Sgt. Hutchinson and your dad into custody.”

“Dad?”

“He knew Brad had assaulted Alex Wagner and you and kept silent. You didn’t ask about Sgt. Hutchinson. You knew it was Brad.”

“I wasn’t sure, but…I’m not surprised. I saw a uniform and what looked like the Butler crest and thought it was someone from the station. I had thought it was dad at first but the next day I knew it wasn’t him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this the other day?”

“Like I said, I wasn’t sure…it didn’t make sense. A police officer doing it. Is dad in a lot trouble?”

Brandon heard the nervous tone, a son still worried about a father that protected the man who assaulted him and his boyfriend.

“It is not good, but not as severe as it is for Hutchinson.”

“Have you heard anything about Alex?”

Brandon looked at Clayton and smiled.

“Yes, and it is good news. He woke up Tuesday. Have you not gone to see him?”

Clayton shook his head and appeared near tears.

“You should go see him.”

“He’s not going to want to see me, not after what happened is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. You…”

“Thanks for letting me know Alex will be alright,” Clayton interrupted Brandon, who knew not to push it. There was too much to work out, everything about it too personal, for both of them.

“Okay. I have to go, but if you have any questions, call me,” Brandon replied, holding out his business card.

Rachel Harrison and Carl Richardson sat opposite of Brad Hutchinson, who appeared resigned to his fate. Behind the mirror Brandon stood behind the men recording the interrogation, anxious to find out what had happened. He could figure out the attack on Alex and Clayton, but Robbie Carrington didn’t’ make any sense.

Rachael leaned back, composed, calm, ready to listen to what Brad had to say.

“Tell us what happened that night and start in Butler and why you followed Clayton to Charlotte,” asked Rachael after a long pause from explaining his rights, and what to expect.

“I…I saw Clayton avoid his dad that evening when a group of us had gone to the bar-be-cue place in Shelby. I knew Clayton was up to something, and it really tore at Robert.”

“That would be the Captain, Robert Severs?”

“Yes. You see Clayton was a faggot…I mean…you know, and Robert had found out a couple of weeks prior. His only son and he was…it wasn’t right.”

“What wasn’t right?”

“Clayton being one of them.”

Rachael sighed, then glanced at her partner, frowning. She looked back at Brad.

“Go on.”

“I thought I would just follow him, Clayton that is, and catch him with whatever faggot he was meeting.”

“Mr. Hutchinson, can we not use that word?” Rachael asked, but it was obviously not a request by her tone.

“Yes…sorry. Clayton drove out to the interstate and headed toward Charlotte. Robert said there was someone Clayton was sneaking off to see, but he didn’t know where the guy lived. He drove into Charlotte, and I followed him off the interstate at Sugar Creek. Clayton drove down to a road I didn’t catch the name. I think it was Davidson. Well, Clayton…

Brad followed the Mustang down the narrow two-lane road, passing old office-warehouse buildings, some converted to micro-breweries, until they came to the old mill building. Brad recognized it, for a great aunt had worked in it back in the sixties. He saw the Mustang brake, then turn left, away from the mill. It was a neighborhood street and Brad knew if he followed Clayton, he could be spotted, so he pulled off the road at a rear parking lot entrance to the old mill and waited. About five minutes later he saw Clayton come out of the neighborhood and cross the street heading toward the mill. 

Brad smirked, imagining what faggots do at these abandoned old buildings. The sucking of each other’s dick and taking it up the ass. He felt anger at the idea of it. He left his lights off and pulled into the parking lot, hiding in the shadows of the trees along the street side. He eased into the building, wondering where they would meet inside. Would they go up to an upper floor or take a chance by staying on the first floor. Clayton had walked toward the end of the building, and Brad made his way in that direction. He walked carefully, placing each foot flat on the floor, as he made his way to a corridor. A few doors down, he saw a light. It was too dim to be a flashlight, and Brad was sure Clayton was using his cellphone. He moved to the light until he could look through an open door at Clayton standing across the room. He was waiting, watching across the next room for someone to meet him.

Brad was not sure what he was going to do, but for Robert’s sake he was going to stop Clayton from meeting some guy and doing those sexual things they do. He imagined it again, the sucking dick, and the kissing and touching and the bending over to take it in the ass. It unnerved him to consider it, made his own cock feel painful, unaware of his own arousal, how his growing erection was caught wrong in his pants. 

He eased across the room, quietly, not making a sound. He drew closer, fifteen feet, then ten, then five, and he kicked something making it slide across the floor. Clayton turned and Brad panicked, afraid of being recognized and he threw a punch. Clayton staggered, nearly fell backwards, and his cap flew off landing at Brad’s feet. Clayton began to regain his balance, and Brad threw another punch, and another, until he was on top hitting an unconscious Clayton who lay on the floor. 

Brad fell back on his ass and looked at Clayton wondering if he had gone too far, threw too many punches until the boy was really hurt. He picked up the baseball cap, knowing it was Clayton’s favorite, and he twisted it as if to wring water from it. A light flashed from the front of the mill, and Brad eased to his feet and made his way to where he could see it. In the dark recesses of the lobby he waited, as someone came toward up the front steps, then through the damaged front doors, one appearing ready to fall from the one hinge holding it in place. Brad stepped back behind the stair where he would be concealed from the light used by the guy crossing the room. He hugged the wall, feeling his heart race, wondering if he should have run, knowing it was not too late to do so. He could rush past the guy and be out of the building before being recognized. Then his hand fell on a short section of pipe leaning against the wall. It fit snuggly in his hand and he lifted it silently. When the guy moved past, he heard him.

“Clayton? Are you here?”

It was too much, hearing this faggot call out Clayton’s name and he raised the pipe like a baseball bat and swung.

It was a blur, just his arms working for far too long, then he was back outside at the rear of the mill. He sat on a low wall by the sidewalk and leaned the pipe against it. He was shaking and felt like he was going to be sick. He slipped his hands into his pockets to stop the shaking and felt the baseball cap in his right pocket. He didn’t remember putting the cap in his pocket, but he slipped it out as tears trickled down his cheeks. 

“Hey, you looking for someone?” a male’s voice, soft, almost feminine. Young, implying innocence. 

Brad turned to his right and saw a silhouette approaching him. A short, lean silhouette that spoke of a young guy.

“What?” Brad stammered.

“What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know.”

Brad heard how his voice had sounded. Scared, and unsure of himself.

“Maybe I can help,” the guy replied moving next to Brad.

Brad felt a hand on his thigh, the fingers working the flesh, then sliding upward. It moved to his crotch and touched him, felt his growing erection. It was wrong. He wasn’t a faggot. He couldn’t do this.

Brad grabbed up the pipe and swung with a violence that would keep him up for nights to follow. He swung the pipe until his arms ached then dropped it, suddenly realizing he had gone too far this time. The boy lay still, and he knew without checking he had killed him.

He stumbled out into the parking lot, crying uncontrollably, wondering if he was losing his mind. He walked in circles, looking at the still body on the ground whenever he came around to face him. He swallowed hard, sucked in breath after breath, until getting control of himself. Then he raced across the parking lot to his truck, getting the folding shovel from behind the back seat. He needed to make it go away. Everything that had just happened. The boy approaching him, the touching and him responding to it, then using the pipe with such violence. He grabbed the boy by the feet and looked around. At the back of the lot was a section of open ground he could dig in, and he hoisted the body over his shoulder and headed toward it. 

“Fucking hell, the bastard is a closet case?! Seriously?” Brandon yelled.

He was in Rachel’s office and the interrogations were over. Brad had confessed to everything, and Robert to what he had known. Brandon felt a disappointment in Robert, such a failure as a Captain and a father to let things happen like this, but it was Brad that made him furious. If asked at that moment, he would have said to give him the death penalty and he would pulled the switch or pushed the plunger or whatever the hell North Carolina had done when it was utilized.

“Brandon, I know this case hits close to home, but you’ve got to calm down.”

“I know…I know,” Brandon replied. He went to one of the armchairs in front of Rachel’s desk and collapsed in it. “At least the case is solved.”

“Yes, we’ve got our man. Now go home.”

Brandon climbed to his feet as if it took all his strength. He moved to the door, hesitating to open it, instead looking back at Rachel.

“Rachel?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks…for everything.”

“How about calling me in a week or so about dinner. You know act like adults and introduce our better halves to each other.”

Brandon smiled, nodding his head. “How about next weekend? I could meet this guy who puts up with that foul mouth and you can meet the guy who puts up with mine.”

Rachel leaned back and laughed, then nodded her head. “Let’s do that Thai place in downtown.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Friday, 16 August

It was late, after eleven, and Brandon and Gabriel walked hand in hand down Bull Street. They had circled Chippewa Square and saw Madison Square in front of them. Gabriel had taken the weekend off so the two of them could enjoy a short vacation away from Charlotte and their jobs. Brandon had struggled to let go of the last case, made worse by his father discovering it was he who brought in the FBI and pointed out they were on the wrong trail. He thought it would have been satisfying to face his father, but it only pissed him off more, the two of them ending up in their usual yelling match.

Gabriel loved Savannah and its old historic streets and after several trips to the city with him, Brandon was beginning to see what the appeal was for him. The had dined in a nice restaurant, walked a few blocks to a bar, and now strolled the streets, just enjoying the warm night.

Gabriel suddenly moved in front of Brandon, stopping him under a live oak that hung heavy over the walk.

“Brandon, I want to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

“We’ve been dating for some time now and I think…well…”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you rent out your house, or sell it, and move in with me?”

“You want me to move into your house?”

“I hear how that sounds. How about we find one that will be our house?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. You’re practically living with me now, and…I would like it to be all the time.

Brandon smiled, then laughed.

“You think I’m joking?” Gabriel asked, surprised by Brandon’s reaction.

“NO, no…it’s just…I’m shocked. Pleasantly, but…” Brandon looked at Gabriel, leaned close and kissed him. “Yes, let’s do it, and your house is fine. No, it’s better than fine, its great.”

Thursday, 29 August

Clayton was bent over the front of a 97 Oldsmobile Aurora. The owner swore it was a classic, the last of a great brand, but Clayton did not see it. The car looked nice enough, but it was no classic to his way of thinking. He was replacing the alternator, tightening it in place, checking the belt as he did so, thinking about how it was all wrong. The engine turned the wrong way, powering the wrong wheels. The V-8 was nice enough, but the car seemed lacking in so many ways.

“Clayton?”

A familiar voice, and Clayton banged his head on the hood as he jerked up. He swung around to see Alex standing a few feet away.

“Alex?”

“How have you been?”

“I’m…Alex, why are you here? After what happened, my dad…Brad and…”

“You blame yourself for what happened?”

“Yes,” Clayton replied as tears pooled in his eyes.

“Don’t cry. It’s not your fault.”

“But if I had been open about it, not so scared...”

“But that doesn’t make what they did right.”

“No.”

“Now that everyone knows you’re gay, is it so bad?”

Clayton smiled as tears trickled down his cheeks. He laughed, nearly choking, then shook his head. “No. It’s been fine.”

“Your dad okay with it?”

“He seems to be, but he’s seriously occupied with his legal issues.”

“You haven’t taken any of my calls, so I drove over. I needed to see you.”

“Alex, I’m not what you need. You live in the Charlotte, have your own business and friends who are similar, professionals with great jobs and…”

“And you’re not good enough?”

“Let’s just say different.”

“And if I do want us to continue dating?”

Clayton fell against the Oldsmobile, not sure what to say.

“Won’t you go out with me?” Alex asked.

“Goddammit, Clayton Revers, say yes,” someone yelled across the shop, then there was laughter. Clayton looked up to see Roger, one of the other mechanics, and Mr. Simpson, the owner, standing on the other side of the shop. He felt his face heat up, knowing he was blushing. They had asked so many questions when it came out he was gay. He had been surprised that their initial disapproval turned to curiosity, then after a few days, an acceptance he had not seen coming.

Clayton looked at Alex and nodded his head. “Yes, I’d like that.”