The Gay Sleuth

This is the story I went far too long on. If you want to get to some good sex quickly, skip this story.  -Grant.

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The Gay Sleuth

Philip James Mason strolled down the hall of Crestview High, looking with his usual curiosity at others, the usual cliques huddled up, the teachers that would stand in the doorways of their classrooms, and those sitting at their desks inside them. He took note of Lisa standing with Nancy and Beth, an unusual group for Lisa had disliked Nancy ever since Nancy got Nathan to go on a date after breaking up with her. Some said it was before Nathan broke it off with Lisa, but Philip knew that wasn’t true.

Philip was eighteen as of last March the fifth, a senior soon to graduate, and despite no one else believing it, he was the school’s sleuth. The detective who solved the mysteries of high school and the small town. His classmates didn’t take him seriously, nor did his teachers. He was average in appearance, five foot eight and weighed less than 115 pounds. Some just considered him nosy, a busy body, and despite his stoicism, it did hurt his feelings.

He couldn’t stop himself from wanting to solve some mystery or discover some secret the adults tried to keep from him. When he was six, he sleuthed out his uncle was cheating on his aunt, having an affair as he overheard his mother describe it. What that meant, his six-year-old self couldn’t imagine, but he knew it wasn’t good. When he was twelve, he discovered what his older cousin, Teresa, had done to make her parents so angry. She had gotten pregnant and didn’t even have a boyfriend. By the next weekend he knew who had gotten Teresa pregnant; Frank Miller who was a senior from Milton. A couple of months later, he discovered why Bryan Martin, a boy two years older at his mom’s church, was acting strange, just in time for the boy’s parents to intervene when anonymously told Bryan had a drug addiction. Two days later, the police got an anonymous tip about a drug dealer in town. Last year was a case that was too close to home for Philip. A neighbor three houses down found their son in his room crying uncontrollably. Toby Reynolds was two years younger and a shy quiet boy, so Philip didn’t know him well, but a couple of days later, he found Toby at the small park behind the state college. Toby had been sitting on the bank of the pond staring at the ducks moving along the edge. It didn’t take long to get Toby to confess to being gay and terrified his parents would throw him out if they found out. Philip couldn’t see it happening knowing Toby’s parents were members of a Presbyterian church in Milton that welcomed all, including the LGBTQ. They just had to be accepting, knowing it could be different when involving one of your own. It didn’t help that he worried about the same thing, how his own parents would react if they found out their youngest child, Philip James Mason, was the Gay Sleuth of Crestview High. Two days later he ran into Mrs. Reynolds, coming out of the thrift store downtown, a store he liked to browse the used books. Looking back, he knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he stopped her and asked about Toby. He saw the fear in her eyes that something was really wrong with her son. At some point in their conversation, he broached the idea that what if Toby just felt different from other boys, that there was something that could make him fear ostracization by his friends and his family. It had been enough, for two days later Toby told him his parents came to him, and he admitted to being gay and everything was good at home.

Philip wondered if he could be so lucky, but he wasn’t ready to find out.

Then there were the cases he had solved in the last year. Who was putting nasty notes in Samantha’s locker (Jesse Matthews because she refused to go out with him). Who stole Mike Smith’s wallet (Cheryl Richards who was looking for an embarrassing note Mike took from her notebook when she had gone to the bathroom in English). Who sold Fentanyl to Joey Harris that put him in the hospital (Travis Butler, who was two years older, and a high school dropout living in a mobile home behind his grandmother’s place or was until the police arrested him with an anonymous tip for dealing). He solved each by following the clues and keeping his ears open to the gossip at school, the talk that no adult would ever hear.

But no one considered those cases he had solved. They didn’t appreciate what he had accomplished. Yes, the cases were of his making, for it was painfully obvious no one was coming to him to solve them.

He entered his fifth period science class cutting across the front then down the third aisle where he sat next to Noah with Debbie in front of him.

“Did you do the reading?” asked Noah.

“Yes, of course,” said Philip.

“That’s good for Mrs. Wilson is going to give us a pop quiz,” said Debbie, turning to look at Noah, “and guess who didn’t read the chapter.”

Philip took out his notebook and textbook and slid his backpack under his seat. He heard Debbie still giving Noah a hard time, making him smile. When Harry Jameson walked in, head down, Philip stopped smiling. He watched his old friend take the seat in front avoiding eye contact with everyone. It made him feel a knot in his chest because they had been best friends until last summer when Harry stopped calling him then told him they could no longer be friends. To this day, Philip didn’t know what that meant. They could no longer be friends. Why? What changed? Harry wouldn’t talk to him, but he could see something was wrong. Harry had never been outgoing, always someone on the periphery of a crowd, but he had never been a loner. He knew it had to be something related to his father getting killed back in June in an auto accident. Since then, Mrs. Jameson has become a recluse, losing her job at Walmart. Shortly after, Harry pushed everyone away.

Philip opened his notebook to the last page and began to write:

The Case of Harry Jameson

Father died in car accident on June 12, 2024.

Mother lost her job sometime in July 2024.

Harry told me we were no longer friends on August 3, 2024, at 3:30 PM, standing in his front door, not even letting me enter his home.

Mrs. Wilson entered the room and Philip flipped back to the last page of his science notes, ready for the class to begin. He noticed she had what he knew to be the pop quiz in hand.

“Okay, class, put your books away and get out a pencil. We’re going to have a pop quiz.”

Philip looked at the back of Debbie’s head thinking she was a sleuth too, finding out when they would have a pop quiz. But it was probably because her aunt worked in the office and told her to be prepared.

 

The Case of Harry Jameson

Philip leaned his bike against the oak that grew by the sidewalk. The tree had caused sections of it to upheave, and he moved to the grass strip where it was level. Standing in the tree’s shadow, he looked across the street at the small house at 2105 Enfield Lane, where Harry lived. The windows looked dark and there was nothing to show anyone was home. Looking at his cellphone, he knew he had about two hours before his mother would be calling him wanting to know where he was at. He meant to use all of it if that was what it took. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he was going to wait for whatever he could discover to find out why Harry pushed him away.

Thirty minutes passed, then thirty more, and Philip sat at the base of the tree keeping watch. He ignored the stare of the mailman and the woman who walked her two dogs. He wondered how Harry could stay inside, just hole up and not come out to do something. He saw movement in a window, a flash of white, then the front door opened. Harry came out in a long-sleeved jersey and jeans, pushing his bicycle. Philip froze, wondering if he should slip around to the backside of the tree, but he kept still as Harry moved down the sidewalk, down the two steps where it connected to the street sidewalk, then climbed over the bike. Turning in the opposite direction, Harry rode off, not looking back.

Philip waited until Harry turned at the next street, and he pedaled away to catch up. As he rode to the cross street, he wondered again about Harry wearing long-sleeved shirts and jeans in lieu of shorts as hot as it was. It was too hot for such attire, especially when riding a bicycle.

Turning at the intersection, he saw Harry riding down 1st Avenue, and he swung out behind an F150 to follow him. After a couple of blocks, Harry veered off on McCaskill Street, and he wondered if Harry was going to ride into town. He veered right and followed at a distance wondering if he should wait until Harry got to where he was going, or maybe he should catch up with him, as if to ride with him. Harry swung left on Pine Avenue and Philip thought Harry may ride to the same place he found Toby Reynolds, the small park below the state college.

When Harry turned right on Hathaway Street, Philip smiled because it seemed Harry was going to one of the ponds at the park, and he bet it was the one behind the state college because it had more places someone could be alone. He had to stop when he saw Harry waiting to cross Highway 90, the busiest road in town. After what seemed like a long time, Harry finally rode across 90 and Philip took off to catch up, for he didn’t want to lose him in the park.

He didn’t have to wait for traffic, arriving at a gap in it, and he raced across 90, down Hathaway until he was between the two ponds. He saw Harry ease through a gap in the cable strung between low posts to the sidewalk, heading around to the south side of the pond on the left.

Philip sped up, made his way to the gap, cutting through to the sidewalk, and slowly closed the distance between them. At the eastern end of the pond, before coming out of the tree canopy, Harry pulled off the sidewalk and sat on the grass a few feet from the water. Philip rode up, climbed off his bike on the sidewalk and walked down toward him.

“Why are you here?” said Harry.

“I want to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is a lot to talk about, such as why you push me away?”

“Philip Marlow, drop it.”

Philip heard the tone, dismissive, wanting to be left alone. He dropped his bike on the ground and sat next to Harry a couple feet away.

“Harry, please talk to me.”

A heavy sigh, and Philip looked over to see the head held down with the eyes closed.

“Aren’t you hot in that long sleeve shirt?” said Philip.

“Fuck you, Philip, just leave me alone,” exclaimed Harry, jumping up and pushing his bike back to the sidewalk.

By the time Philip was on his bike, Harry was standing on the pedals, furiously pedaling away heading north toward other side. He took off after him, following him as the sidewalk curved around to run along the north side. Near the west end of the pond, Harry cut across the grass and hoped his bike onto the one-way drive that served the state college, going the wrong way. Philip gave chase, cutting across the grass and hoping the curb onto the drive. Harry swung north on Hathaway and he followed, pedaling as hard as he could. They were coming up to Highway 90.

“No, no, no, Harry, please don’t do it,” Philip said to himself as he slowed down desperately wanting Harry to slow too. But Harry raced up to the intersection and out into the street. A horn blared, then tires screeched as a pickup narrowly missed him. Harry never stopped, racing across the west bound side and back into the neighborhood to the north.

Philip felt his heart racing. He had been truly scared he was going to see Harry hit by a car. He wondered how he would have dealt with it if Harry had been, then he wondered why Harry was willing to take such a chance just to get away from him. It made him feel an ache in his chest he couldn’t describe.

 

 

Come Monday, Philip was at school early, waiting for the bus that Harry rode. When it pulled in, he stood around the corner of the building so Harry wouldn’t see him and waited. He watched everyone line up down the narrow aisle and make their way to the front, down the steep steps, and off, coming together into groups or strolling off alone heading toward their lockers. When the last person stepped down, Philip realized Harry was going to miss another day.

All through the day he considered all the reasons Harry was pushing him away, and why he would wear long-sleeved shirts and pants all the time. He could only think of one thing, and it scared him if true. Noah and Debbie kept asking him what was wrong because he drifted through the day distracted by his focus on Harry.

Was Harry’s mother abusing him?

It was the only thing he could think of. If so, why didn’t Harry go live with his grandmother or his aunt and uncle that lived in town. It seemed such an easy answer, but he knew reality had a way of making it anything but easy.

 That afternoon, he rode his bike from the school straight to Harry’s house. He pushed it up the sidewalk and at the front door he knocked, determined to talk to Harry. He stood waiting, listening for someone stirring inside. He knocked again, louder than before. Again, he heard nothing inside. He knew Harry had to be inside, otherwise it meant he would have to wait and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He was determined to talk it out.

He knocked again. “Come on, Harry, I know you’re in there.”

He heard someone coming toward the door. It swung open to Harry buttoning a shirt, one with long sleeves, but this time he was wearing just boxers.

“What the fuck Philip. I told you—”

“I know what you said, and it’s bullshit.”

It brought Harry to a stop for Philip rarely cussed.

“Harry, can you tell me what’s going on?”

“No, I can’t—”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I can’t,” Harry replied, and he began to cry.

Despite everything, Harry was still his friend, someone he cared for, and Philip pushed the storm door open and hugged him. He held tight even as Harry tried to push him away. “I’m not letting go until you talk to me.”

 

 

Philip followed Harry through the house. Nothing was as he remembered it. Photographs that had been on the wall were gone and the house was in complete disarray. In the short hall, Philip saw through the gap in a door, Mrs. Miller in bed, looking like someone who was deathly ill. Her hair was stringy and oily and she was twisted in the blankets as if going from being cold to hot. He made no comment on any of it as he followed Harry to his room at the back of house. He entered a room that was clean and neat, even the bed was made. He closed the door as Harry sat on his bed. He leaned back against the door and locked it, not wanting Mrs. Miller to interrupt them.

“Is your mother abusing you?”

Harry looked up with a shocked expression, then he held his head down, nodding.

“Show me.”

“I can’t.”

“Harry, you have to show someone. Start with me. I’m your friend and you know I won’t judge you. It’s not your fault.”

“But maybe it is. Since dad died—”

“Harry,” Philip interrupted him, keeping his voice low and calm. As he waited for Harry to say something he looked around room and saw a few framed photographs of Mr. Miller that had been on the walls in the living room, now propped up on Harry’s desk. The glass was broken in two of them.

Harry tugged his shirt up, worked the right arm out, then the left and eased it over his head. Before it was off, Philip saw the bruises. They were on the upper chest and once the shirt was off, he saw them down each arm.

“She gets so depressed since dad died and…and…she sometimes gets angry and…”

“She takes it out on you.”

Harry nodded.

“You can’t live like this. You have to get out of this house or get her some help.”

“I was going to try to make it to graduation then—”

“Then what? Run away? Live on the street?”

“I don’t know.”

Philip crossed the room and sat next to Harry, and he hugged him again. “Does your grandmother or aunt and uncle know about this?”

“No! And you can’t tell them.”

“They’re going to find out eventually. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, but I’m scared.”

“I’m scared for you.” Philip took out his cellphone and brought up his mom’s number. It rang twice and she answered. “Mom, I’m at Harry’s. Can you come get us.” He listened to his mother as Harry watched intently. “I’ll explain everything after you pick us up.” He ended the call and turned to Harry. “Pack up some clothes and your backpack, you’re coming back to my house until we get something worked out.”

 

The Case of Ryan Thompson

Philip looked up to see Noah and Harry come to their table in the cafeteria.

“Hey guys, how was English?” said Debbie, sitting next to Philip.

“Sucks,” said Noah.

“It’s good,” said Harry, drawing a disapproving stare from Noah.

“Do you guys want to go bowling Friday night,” said Debbie.

“Yes, let’s all go,” said Philip, nodding his head toward Harry.

Harry had been staying with his family until last weekend when Harry’s grandmother and aunt came to get him, taking him back to his grandmother’s. When it came out Harry’s mother was abusing him everyone was shocked, none more so than his grandmother. His mother was taken into custody and was being put into a program to help her with her alcohol addiction, but Philip knew it was too late. Harry was going to the community college, with plans for State in two years and by the time she got out of prison and the program, he would probably be gone.

Philip was just glad to have his friend back.

They settled into the usual conversation of teenagers soon to graduate. Their banter back and forth faded into the white noise in the cafeteria. Students continued to come out of the serving line, trays in hand, going to the table with their friends. Those that arrived early were finishing up, taking their trays to the conveyor line.

Suddenly the cafeteria went quiet on the side at the doors to the corridor. It spread like a wave across the room until the room was almost silent, just whispering comments at a few tables.

Philip, along with his friends, looked up to see what was going on. At the first double doors stood the principal and vice-principal with two police officers. Philip recognized them. The older man was Lieutenant Gregory Bradberry, 38, married with three children. The younger man was Sergeant Curtis Powell, 28, and single. They stood at the door as the principal looked around the room, then pointed toward the far side at the tables where the jocks and their girlfriends were sitting. Everyone looked at the two tables as those at them looked back and forth at each other. Philip watched the expressions of the guys until he was focusing on the one who suddenly looked nervous, afraid even. Dylan Mitchell was a senior and one of the popular jocks. Second baseman and part of the swim team, and Philip had to admit of all the jocks Dylan was one of only a few he really found attractive. It was more than just the attractive features that fueled his fascination, with the wavy dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, but it was the quiet shy nature. Someone who was always at the periphery of the group of jocks.  

But now he saw something else in Dylan as the vice-principal crossed the room. Dylan looked pale, like he could be sick or pass out. Whatever was going on, Dylan knew he was involved.

The vice-principal came to their table and spoke to Dylan. Dylan came to his feet as the others looked on in shock, then followed the vice-principal to the conveyor belt where he dropped his tray. They circled the perimeter of the cafeteria until back at the door where the others waited, then everyone left the room. As soon as the doors closed, the room exploded into a rush of noise from everyone talking about what they just witnessed.

“What was that all about?” said Noah.

“And with Dylan. What has he ever done wrong?” said Debbie.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Harry as he looked across at Philip. They stared at each other, then Harry shook his head.

Philip knew Harry wanted him to let it go. But it was a classmate who might be in trouble, one that had never done anything wrong as far as he knew.

 

 

In fifth period science, Philip heard his classmates talking about what had happened in the cafeteria, so much speculation that he knew most, if not all of it, was wrong. There was nothing to do but wait until it came out what was going on that caused the police to be involved, and in the small town, it wouldn’t take long. He expected to find out that afternoon.

What did he know about Dylan. Unlike most of his classmates who went to one of the public elementary schools, Dylan had gone to the private Christian school on the north side of town until the fifth grade then transferred to Wallace Elementary, the same one he attended since kindergarten. Since then, Dylan was in the public schools. Dylan said it was so he could participate in sports, joining the swim team then in eighth grade the baseball team.

Philip pictured Dylan at the last pool event, standing on the starting block in the skimpy swim briefs, so revealing Philip was surprised Dylan’s parents allowed him to swim. But he was glad for it let him see the body, one most of the guys were envious, even some of the other jocks. Philip didn’t know if it was the lean muscular body, or the way the swim briefs bulged with his manhood.

Philip also knew Dylan was the youngest of two boys, his older brother now in college at FSU. Rumor was Dylan was set to go to U of F in the fall. He lived on Colonial Circle and drove the nicest vehicle of their class, a new Land Cruiser. He seemed to have everything going for him, so why were the police talking to him. It was a mystery. Flipping his notebook to the back pages, he flipped past the page where The Case of Harry Jameson was crossed out, and smoothed out the next page, then took pen in hand.

The Case of Dylan Mitchell

He wrote the date and a brief on what had happened at lunch, then flipped back to the first blank page after his last science notes and waited for class to start. He slowed his breathing, making himself calm down, knowing he just needed to wait. The clues would be forthcoming soon. Very soon.

 

 

Philip coasted up to the garage on his bike, hoped off, and leaned it against the wall. He went inside and saw through the mudroom door his father sitting at the island while his mother stirred around in the kitchen. He took his shoes off slowly, listening to their conversation.

“…where did they find him?” said his mom.

“On the bank of the Yellow River where the power line crosses,” said his dad.

“Just below the interstate?”

“Yep.”

“How did he get there?” You can’t access the river along the power line, can you?”

“Philip and I tried one time on our bikes and side tributaries block access to the river. He either was carried there by boat or floated down from somewhere upriver.”

“That private neighborhood is just to the north.”

“But I doubt Ryan Thompson was ever in there. You know the type that live there. Ryan Thompson was many things but not that.”

“What about Ryan Thompson?” said Philip coming into kitchen, too curious to wait any longer.

“He was found dead early this morning,” said his dad.

“What happened to him?”

“Not sure but some say he drowned.”

“That’s enough about the Thompson boy. Go start your homework and we’ll call you when dinner is ready,” said his mom.

 

 

Sitting at his desk, Philip stared out the window wondering what connection Dylan would have to Ryan Thompson. It didn’t make sense, for he had never seen them together in any capacity. Ryan was two years older, so they could have crossed paths in school, but Ryan only played football so they never were on the same sports team, and not once before Ryan graduated could he think of a time he saw Dylan hanging out with Ryan’s clique. Ryan was one who hung out with those that smoked pot and went to parties thrown by older guys in town. Ryan had been notorious for being a party boy. The total opposite of Dylan.

Philip took out his notebook, flipped to the back of it and spread it open with the page headed The Case of Dylan Mitchell on the right, he took out his pen and smoothed out the left side, and wrote:

The Case of Ryan Thompson.

Dylan was tied to Ryan somehow so he wanted the two headings where he could see them together, expecting much of what was to be written would apply to both.

Laptop opened and the website for the local paper brought up, he didn’t have to search for the news, knowing it would be the biggest story for the small town for days to come.

Body found on Yellow River

Philip read the article, finding less information that what he overhead from his parents. It could be days before details were released, and that was just too long. He wanted to know.

“Philip, dinner is ready,” said his dad who was standing at his door.

“Okay, I’m coming,” said Philip, closing his laptop.

After dinner, he would ride over to Dylan’s house to see if he could find out anything. It was probably futile, and he would probably need to wait until the next day and corner Dylan somewhere between classes and see what he could find out from him. If Dylan would talk.

 

 

It being late spring, the days were long, long enough for Philip to have time to ride his bicycle, or that is what he told his parents. He slipped on a T-shirt and cargo shorts, grabbed up his wallet and cellphone, and headed to the garage. He pulled down his bike and quickly rode off before anyone could ask him where he was going.

He rode north to 8th Avenue and headed east. He crossed Ferdon Boulevard and continued east on Stillwell. He kept up a fast pace as he rode through the residential neighborhood. He felt anxious, for he wanted to get to Mitchell house quickly worried he could miss something. When he came to the end of Stillwell where it intersected Monterrey Road, he swung right heading south.

As he kept up a quick pace, he wondered what Dylan had done to be questioned by the police, and even though he didn’t know it was a fact, it was obviously about Ryan Thompson being found dead. How were Dylan and Ryan connected? It didn’t make sense because they were very different people and he could not fathom Dylan having anything to do with Ryan.

As he drew near the north leg of Colonial Circle, Dylan swung out onto Monterrey from the southern leg on a bicycle. Philip was surprised Dylan didn’t see him. He watched Dylan stand on the pedals and ride hard, shirt flapping in the wind behind him. Philip stood on his pedals to increase his speed so he could keep up, wondering where Dylan was going.

Dylan swung right on Oxmore Drive and by the time Philip got to the turn he saw Dylan was halfway down the road to the place it curved north as Jenee Court. But Dylan didn’t swing right following the road, instead he swung left between the house angled toward the curve and the first house on Jenee.

“Where is he going?” Philip uttered aloud as he pedaled as hard as he could to catch up, worried he would lose him if on some trail through the woods. At the curve, he swung left and followed Dylan’s tracks in the sandy soil, cutting between the houses. As he came to the woods behind them, he soon came to a narrow lane, a two-rut drive that got better as he went south. It came out at three barns, and he saw Dylan up ahead following the dirt lane that ran along the property line. To their left was the owner’s home with a paved drive less than fifty feet over.

Philip hoped it was okay to bike across the private property and he stood on the pedals keeping up a fast pace, closing the distance between Dylan and him. Dylan swung right when he came out on Highway 90 and Philip did the same. They rode the emergency lane of the busy four-lane highway, Dylan setting a fast pace. Philip was glad of it, for he wanted back on secondary roads as a line of semi rigs blew past him.

They rode past the Tom Thumb convenience store, the National Guard building, then a wooded area. Dylan looked back, then swung out into the road, pedaling hard as he continued to move left until in a left turn lane. Philip had to slow and let some traffic pass, then he sped up and did the same, swinging out into the road, moving across the two lanes until in the left turn lane. Dylan was out of sight, and he worried he had lost him. He had to wait for a car to pass, then cut across the east bound lanes onto Victory Lane. It rose in elevation and when he got to the crest, he saw it leveled out and turning right on a side street was Dylan. It was the road that went along the south side of the park, the same park he had confronted Harry.

It would be ironic if that same little park were the place he got Dylan to tell him what was going on, but he didn’t hold out hope of finding out anything, not yet anyway. He thought Dylan would push him away, refuse to talk.

He swung right and pedaled back to speed, seeing Dylan ahead of him. Dylan sat upright, slowing down, then eased off the asphalt onto the gravel shoulder, and disappeared into the park. Philip smiled, for it meant Dylan should be stopped somewhere and they could talk.

When he got to the sidewalk in the park, he saw Dylan was riding along the eastern edge of the pond and he slowed down and followed him. Dylan followed the walk to the north side and at a small tree, he swung off the walk and coasted down to a bench that faced the water. Philip was just behind him hoping Dylan hadn’t seen him yet, and he coasted on the walk until he was near the tree, and he rode to it and leaned his bike against it. He looked at Dylan sitting on the bench, leaning over with elbows resting on each leg.

Philip strolled toward him, and when about ten feet away, Dylan spoke to him.

“What do you want?”

“Just to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk. Not to you or anyone else.”

“Okay,” Philip replied, but he walked around to the front of the bench and sat on the opposite end of it. He sat back looking at Dylan, studied his appearance and posture. One shoe was untied. The khakis shorts were frayed along the leg openings, and the white lining of the pocket was sticking out. The shirt was unbuttoned, and he had seen the bare chest and stomach when he initially circled around the bench. The brown hair was grown out enough to be sticking up over the top, uncombed and windblown.  

“I told you I didn’t want to talk.”

“I heard you. I’m just sitting.”

“Philip Mason, you are a nosy fuck, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

A heavy sigh, then the head tilted down.

“I understand you don’t want to talk to me, but you should talk to someone. What about one of your friends? Luke or Mark, or maybe—”

“NO!”

Philip sat silently, watching Dylan shake his head. Then he heard the low voice, one full of fear. “I can’t talk to them.”

“Why? What is so wrong you can’t go to your friends?”

“You don’t understand. You can never understand.”

“Try me.”

A scoff, then a hand ran through the hair. Dylan sat back and sighed. “Is this what you did to Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Goddamn it,” Dylan uttered.

They sat for what seemed like a long time. Three ducks swam by, and a group of bicyclists rode along the sidewalk behind them. Dylan turned and watched them swing around the east end of the pond, then entered the trees along the south side.

“Fuck it,” uttered Dylan, then he sighed again.

“I don’t know what happened, but it can’t be so bad you would lose your friends. Friends stick up for each other,” said Philip.

“Like you did Harry.”

“Of course.”

“His mother abusing him was bad.”

“He still has nightmares,” said Philip, “but please don’t say anything to him about it.”

After a long silence, Philip realized Dylan was crying. He looked over to see him wipe his nose with his hand and look away.

“Is it so bad?”

“Yes.”

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Do you honestly think it’ll help anything? I’m going to get kicked out by my parents and my friends will ostracize me when…”

The voice trailed off, and Philip’s first instinct was to push for Dylan to continue, but he remained silent, sensing he just had to give him a minute to compose himself.

“That fucking asshole,” uttered Dylan, and he cried again.

Philip waited, let Dylan calm himself. What was so bad Dylan was afraid of getting kicked out and ostracized by his friends. He could think of only one thing, but it didn’t make sense, not with the connection to Ryan Thompson. Ryan was a lot of things but gay couldn’t be one of them. But he knew Ryan could be. Just because he didn’t fit the stereotype didn’t mean he couldn’t be gay.

“I went online knowing not to do it. I knew it would come back to bite me,” said Dylan, leaning forward again, staring down at the ground. “I was so lonely. Luke and Mark were dating and Stephanie kept pushing me to ask her out even though I told her I wasn’t interested in her. I wanted…

“I went online. I had been looking at profiles for weeks, never daring to contact one of them. Then I saw a profile of someone close to my age, someone close by. I figured they were in Milton or down on the coast, maybe Fort Walton, and if they were in Fort Walton maybe they were in the military. Someone who would be gone soon, someone who didn’t know anyone here. I contacted them and within an hour they replied.

“We talked for a few days, me trying to figure out who they were to make sure it wasn’t someone I knew. Weekend before last I agreed to meet them. We were to meet at the burger joint on the south side of the interstate.

“I was shocked when Ryan fucking Thompson strolled in, grinning like a fool. He had worked it out I was the one he was meeting.”

“Ryan was gay?”

Dylan looked around and nodded. “I think so.”

“And you’re gay.”

“Yes,” Dylan replied like he was out of breath.

“So, what happened?”

“I got up to leave. I wasn’t doing anything with him. He grabbed me by the wrist and told me to hear him out. Then he told me he had a friend, an older friend who liked to party. Someone who would pay me two hundred bucks to meet him at a hotel. Ryan said the man was waiting to hear from him and said all I had to do was show the man a good time and I’d walk away with two hundred bucks.”

“You’re kidding,” said Philip.

“I jerked my arm away from him and told him I’m not a hustler and walked out.”

“That’s it, that is your contact with Ryan?”

“Yes, but it’s enough. Eventually I’m going to be outed and…”

Philip heard the gasp for breath and struggle for control.

“The police found Ryan’s search history, and it led to you,” said Philip.

A nod of the head.

“Will they keep your name out of their public reports?”

“They said for now, as if they needed to release my name they would do so.”

“That doesn’t sound like something Lieutenant Bradberry would say.”

“They are stumped and looking for a break.”

Philip considered talking to Lt. Bradberry, wondering if he could keep it secret Dylan was gay. Then he considered Dylan’s friends, especially Luke and Mark. Surely, they would support him. It was a small town with small town attitudes, but that was mainly amongst the older residents. Then he considered how he too was keeping it a secret, and the hypocrisy of him pushing Dylan to reveal himself to his friends.

“Do you really think Luke and Mark would turn their backs on you?”

“Mark won’t wear anything with pink in it for fear it would hurt his image as a tough jock and Luke occasionally jokes around in a way that…”

“Hurts your feelings?”

“Yes. You don’t know how it feels. To be living this lie, pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“Maybe,” said Philip without thinking about what he was saying. He saw Dylan turn and look at him questioningly. “Do you know who the man is?” He wanted to change the subject, realizing he said too much.

“Don’t change the subject Philip Mason. Are you gay?”

It was Philip’s turn to sigh and look away.

“You are!” exclaimed Dylan. “Holy fuck. Have you told your friends?”

“No.”

“But you think I should do so?”

“I’m not the one police came to talk to.”

Dylan nodded, then sat back and stared across the pond, how shadows were stretching out across it as the sun got lower in the western sky.

“It sucks, doesn’t it,” said Dylan.

“Yes.”

“Will you tell anyone?”

“I want to, but I keep...”

“It’s easy isn’t it. Just keep putting on that mask and pretend to be someone you’re not. Goddamn Ryan Thompson…that son of a bitch.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Do you know who the man was?”

“Not a clue. I assume it was someone from Pensacola or down on the coast somewhere nearby. Some man with a bit of money that looked for young guys he could have his fun with.”

“And Ryan was involved with him. That part just seems bizarre.”

“You know, I’m not sure Ryan was gay. He made no move on me.”

“But how would he get involved with someone who was?”

“No idea. All I know is I’m fucked.”

“Do you think your parents would really kick you out?”

“Do you know my parents?”

“Not really. I know you guys go to that real strict church on the north side.”

“Grandparents, aunt and uncle, the whole damn family, so if I get kicked out no family member will take me in.”

“And you’re afraid your friends will abandon you.”

Philip turned to Dylan and waited until he had his full attention. “If you get kicked out and Luke or Mark or one of your other friends won’t take you in, come to my house.”

“What?”

“You heard me, come to my house. My folks won’t care. It’s what Harry did until he could get things resolved with his mother and grandmother.”

Dylan looked surprised, then looked back across the pond looking as if about to cry again.

“Dylan, don’t…it’ll be okay, and if it comes to it, come to my house. You know where I live?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, you have a plan B.”

“Plan B?”

“Yes, a backup plan if things don’t go the way you want.”

Dylan smiled for the first time. “Thanks Philip. You know, you’re not only nosy but you’re also kind.”

“Thanks…I think.”

Dylan chuckled.

“I need to get home,” said Dylan.

“Me too.”

They pushed their bicycles to the sidewalk and straddled them, Dylan facing the east and Philip facing west. Dylan started to push off when Philip stopped him.

“What was Ryan profile name?”

“You don’t want that. Leave it alone.”

“Come on, tell me. What is it going to hurt?”

“It could hurt you.”

“Give it to me.”

Dylan sighed and shook his head, then he leaned toward Philip. “I did not give you this if you get in trouble. Serious20boi.

“Serious? He made it sound like he wanted a relationship instead of just playing around.”

“Yep,” Dylan replied and he pushed off, riding away.

 

 

For two days after school Philip looked at Ryan’s profile, then tried to figure out who could be the man Ryan had been working with to lure guys for him. But there was no way to hack into Ryan’s profile. It was a dead end for him, but maybe the police had better luck.

The one thing he was able to find out was who Ryan’s close friends were by their posts on his social media page. Two names stood out to him, two he remembered when they were still in school, two years ahead of him. The two he remembered being with Ryan all the time. Jeffrey Fowler and Tammy Madison, the latter Ryan’s girlfriend in high school.  He wondered if she had been Ryan’s girlfriend when he died. It wasn’t unheard of for a guy to live a double life. One straight and open in his community with a girlfriend, and the other secretive, gay and closeted, hooking up with guys. Ryan hadn’t seemed the type but the interaction with Dylan said otherwise.

He searched for Jeffrey first, finding he was in Ocean City just above Fort Walton working at an auto repair shop, just like Ryan had been doing in town. He wondered if his mom would let him borrow her car on Saturday to drive down early enough to get to the shop before it closed at noon. He might convince her to let him and his friends go to the beach. It was a long shot for his mom knew he and his friends never wanted to go to the beach. They didn’t like laying out in the sun, but maybe it being their senior year could give credence to his request.

Then he searched for Tammy Madison, finding she was still in the area. There was a picture of her moving into an apartment on the north side of town. Figuring out which apartment would just take a bit of investigation.

When the sixth period bell rang, he jumped up and slung his backpack over his right shoulder.

“I’ll see you later,” Philip exclaimed to Harry, then he rushed out of the classroom. He made his way outside where his bicycle was locked up. As quickly as he could get unlocked, he was standing on the pedals making his way home. He wanted to get home and do more research and when he felt the time was right, ask his mother if he could borrow her car. He rode along one street, then the next, passing other students, some walking along sidewalks and others like him, on their bicycles.

He swung onto his street and pedaled hard enough to feel the wind in his face. As he approached his home, he saw his mom’s car in the drive and the garage door down. It was odd to see her car out in the sun and even more odd to see the door down if she was home. It was usually up to let him put his bike away and go into the house through the garage. He coasted up to the garage door where he was going to punch in the code on the control panel mounted on the wall by the door. As he approached it, the front door open and his dad came out.

“Philip, come inside first.”

“What about my bike?”

“Roll it inside.”

Philip knew his parents were up to something. He rolled his bike through the front door and leaned it against the wall then followed his dad to the kitchen where his mom was sitting at the table in the breakfast nook.

“What’s going on?” Philip asked as he watched his dad sit next to his mom.

“We knew you wanted something to drive for your birthday, but it wasn’t a good time for us since we had to pay taxes and there was the new air conditioning system,” said his dad.

“I know.”

“Well, I got my bonus last week, so…” said his dad as his mom slid a set of car keys across the table.

“No. Did you…really?”

“It’s in the garage. We hope its okay,” said his mom.

Philip grabbed up the keys and rushed to the garage. He swung the door open seeing his dad’s SUV in the first bay blocking his view. He moved around it and found a blue Honda Civic sedan, one just a few years old.

“This is mine?”

“Yes,” said his dad coming to the door with his mom. “You’re going to have to do better at driving a manual.”

“Manual? It has a manual!”’

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” said his mom.

“Yes! Yes, of course.”

Philip moved across the rear of it seeing the Si badge and he smiled. At the driver’s door, he opened it to reveal the black interior with the seats accentuated with red for the seating surface and in the console, the round ball of the gear shift sticking up. It was like the one he found back in March, only that one was white. He climbed into the driver’s seat and held the steering wheel. He had his own car.

Sitting back, he smiled again, thinking it arrived right on time. He climbed out and looked over at his parents.

“Can I take the guys to the beach on Saturday?”

“What about Debbie?” said his mom.

“Her too…if that is okay?”

“An excuse for a road trip,” said his dad, smiling.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, go call them and see if they can go.”

“But first, I want take a drive,” said Philip getting back into his car. His dad hit the button to raise the garage door as he started the car.

 

Road Trip

Philip drove down 85 as Harry adjusted the stereo. The road was straight, from town down to the Fort Walton area. When 85 veered to the east, he merged on 123, taking him down to the airport where he merged back on 85, keeping a due south course. He drove past the airport wondering once again if he should go alone to meet Jeffrey Fowler, or if he should get Harry or Noah to go with him.

Once over Cinco Bayou, traffic picked up, slowing them down. A short distance later, they went over another section of the bayou and into Fort Walton Beach. Another bridge and they were driving along the barrier island.

“Just past the welcome center, there is a parking lot for the beach,” said Debbie.

“What is it you’re going to do after you drop us off?” said Noah.

“I’m going to this used bookstore to see if they have this science fiction book I’ve been looking for.”

“Well, hurry up and get back,” said Harry.

“It shouldn’t take long,” said Philip.

He helped his friends get everything out of the back of the car, handing the small cooler to Harry. He jumped back in, noting it was ten o’clock, so there was no rush except to get back to his friends. He back tracked until crossing the last bridge over Cinco Bayou putting him in Ocean City. He turned on Racetrack Road just before the next bridge and drove to the west passing the Publix grocery store that appeared to be the newest building on the road. A short distance later, his destination came up on the right. Jason’s Auto Repair was in a pre-engineered building with brick veneer up to about seven feet then white metal panels to the metal roof. It sat perpendicular to the road, and he pulled in driving past vehicles parked along the right with the building on the left. He pulled down until he found a place to park.

He strolled back along the drive heading to the office at the front, passing open garage bays, a vehicle in each one, either up on a lift or with their hoods up. He was passing the next to last garage bay when he heard his name called out.

“Philip! Philip Mason!”

He turned to see Jeffrey Fowler coming toward him, wiping his greasy hands on a blue towel.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“If this is about Ryan, you can leave.”

“But a friend has gotten involved by accident and needs help.”

“Your help?” The sarcasm and angry tone were sharp, and Philip wondered if he was going to get Jeffrey to talk to him.

Jeffrey came out into bright sunlight, standing several inches taller. Philip looked at the scruffy face and the green eyes that were staring back.

“What do you know about Ryan’s death?” said Philip.

“Enough to know to leave it alone, as you should—”

“Did you know he was gay?”

Philip didn’t intend to ask it. He intended to try a soft approach, appeal to Jeffrey to help Dylan without bringing it up. But Jeffrey wanted to play tough, pushed back to get him to drop it.

“What? Who told you that?”

“Did you know?”

“He wasn’t gay.”

“He was hooking up with guys online and evidently partying with an older man with them.”

“That is bullshit.”

“Have you talked to the police?”

“They called me, confirmed a few things, then hung up.”

“So, they didn’t tell you about Ryan’s profile on a site for gay men?”

“Stop it. Ryan wasn’t gay.”

“Or maybe he just didn’t feel comfortable telling you about it.”

“Fuck off,” Jeffrey replied and he headed back into garage.

Philip stood in the drive until Jeffrey disappeared into the dark shadows of the interior.

“That went well,” Philip uttered as he headed back to his car.

 

 

Philip hung out with his friends at the beach until nearly one, then they drove to Destin for a late lunch. After lunch, they drove around, heading east to 331, then north to Defuniak Springs, where they picked up 90 and headed west, back home.

Philip carried everyone home, and once back to his home, he washed his car, then went inside to clean up. It was just past five and he was anxious to meet with Tammy Madison, especially after his conversation with Jeffrey Fowler. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out Jeffrey called Tammy and told her what he had said. If only he knew her apartment number. He grabbed up his keys and headed to the kitchen.

“I’m meeting Harry for dinner at the pizza parlor in town,” said Philip when his mother looked around.

“Okay,” she replied.

Fifteen minutes later he was sitting in a parking space at the office of the apartment complex, thankful it was closed so no one would come out wanting to know what he was doing. He watched vehicles leave and return. Per
Tammy’s social media profile, she drove a Miata, something that would be easy to spot. Thirty minutes passed, then an hour, and he was getting anxious that she could be working late somewhere and may not get home for a long time. He leaned back and wondered if he should try again the next day. Sunday might be better to catch her. But it would have been more time for Jeffrey to call her, if he hadn’t already done so.

A red Miata pulled in, top down, and he saw it was Tammy coming home. He started up quickly and pulled around to the main drive that led to the back of the property where the apartments were groups of three buildings within a green area, the drive and parking circling them. Tammy drove past the first group, turned right and drove into the next section. She pulled into a parking space at the second building, and he pulled into a space opposite her. He climbed out seeing she was pulling the top up. As he drew near, she climbed out of the little two-seater.

“Tammy?”

She looked up and for a second didn’t recognize him, then her expression softened.

“You’re that Mason boy. Peter?”

“Philip.”

“Philip. That’s right, I remember now. Why are you here?”

“It’s about Ryan.”

She grimaced. “Why are you asking about him?”

“A friend has gotten caught up in…the situation.”

“I’m sorry to hear but I’ve not had anything to do with Ryan for nearly six months.”

“So, you were no longer seeing each other?”’

“That’s right. Why?”

“Did you know he was…seeing guys?”

Tammy laughed with such anger, Philip found himself stepping back from her.

“Yeah, I found out about it.”

“Do you know who he was seeing?”

“Fuck if I know. Why, was your friend one of his boys?”

“No. When he went to meet the person he talked with online and saw it was Ryan; he left. But it happened not two weeks before they found Ryan, so the police have questioned him.”

“If he wasn’t involved with Ryan, what’s the problem?”

“He’s worried he’ll be outed.”

She shook her head, then leaned against her car looking at him as if she could read him, as if she could see he too was gay. Then she sighed.

“Why can’t people just be themselves and why do others care who they fuck.”

“My friend is worried his family will kick him out if they find out.”

“That would be a shitty thing to do.”

Philip heard how her tone softened and he waited to see if she had anything else to say.

“Do you honestly think you can help your friend? The police told Ryan’s parents they were going to classify it as an accidental drowning and release the body to them.”

“Really? They haven’t investigated who Ryan has met online?”

“Why bother? What evidence is there for foul play?’

“But—”

“Look Philip, I remember how you were the one in school always sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, but…I know what you did for Bryan Martin and Joey Harris too. Look, this may be nothing, but Ryan had a friend he kept away from the rest of us. His name is Leroy McCullough.”

“I don’t know that name.”

“You have no reason to know it. Leroy is two years older than us and lives over in Baker and the last time I heard Ryan mention him, Leroy was working in Milton at an auto repair shop.”

“Like Ryan and Jeffrey.”

“Jeffrey? He’s not involved in this, is he?”

“No.”

“You met with him?”

“Yeah, and he told me Ryan was not gay, then cussed me, and told me to get lost.”

“That sounds like Jeffrey. Never able to face anything that disturbs his neat little view of the world.”  

 

 

When Philip got home, he found a message was sent to him through his social media page. He opened it to see it was from Dylan.

Can we meet?

 

A New Understanding

 

Philip entered the café looking around to get his bearings, the kitchen to the left and the dining area to the right. He had heard of it but never been for it was in a small community to the west. He moved away from the door, looking for Dylan and once around the corner of the order counter, saw him waving to get his attention. Dylan was sitting along the back wall.

As he crossed the dining room, he saw Dylan was dressed better, shirt neatly buttoned, shoes tied, and the hair cut and combed. But the brown eyes still showed sadness.

“Thanks for meeting me,” said Dylan.

“I’m glad to do it.”

“I just wanted to talk but let’s order first.”

They went back to the counter, put their orders in, took their drinks, and went back to their table. Philip saw the anxiousness, how Dylan was fidgeting, unable to sit still. Then there were a sigh and Dylan sat back looking like someone who lost something important.

“When we get to college, will it be better?” said Dylan.

“You’re going to college?” said Philip.

“Don’t look so surprised. My grades are good. I’m set to start in the fall at Auburn.”

“Seriously? Auburn. What will your major be?”

“Architecture.”

“Wow, I would have never guessed that.”

“I assume you’re going to college. Are you all set?”

“Yes,” said Philip.

“Well?”

“Organismal biology focusing on research in wildlife biodiversity.”

“Sounds tough.”

“Architecture sounds tough to me.”

“Are you going to Florida? Sounds like a program there.”

“No. Auburn.”

Philip saw the eyes go wide, then Dylan laughed good naturedly. It was good to hear, and it made him laugh too.

“Why Auburn?” said Dylan.

“My uncle has ties to the university and helped me with admission. What about you? Why not Florida?”

“The Rural Studio. I hope to be a part of it.”

“Any news on the situation on Ryan?”

“No. But that isn’t why I wanted to meet.”

Philip leaned forward, lowering his voice. “About the other thing?”

“I hate feeling alone all the time. Having this…this inability to talk to anyone about what it is like for me. And with everything that is happening, I need something that feels normal.”

“What do you want?”

“Can we just hang out sometimes?”

“Sure, it would be nice to have a friend who was the same.”

“You consider me a friend?”

“I can, if you think it too.”

Dylan chuckled. “Philip, I always liked you. You never did anything bad to anyone. A bit nosy but I know you helped Joey.”

“Why does everyone think I’m nosy?”

“You’re the most curious person I know, not letting go of anything. Like me struggling with the current situation.”

“Yeah, okay…maybe.”

“Maybe?” said Dylan, laughing.

“21, your order is ready.”

“Let’s eat,” said Dylan.

 

 

Three days later Philip was in Milton, sitting in a shopping center parking lot along the front of the site watching an auto repair shop across the street. He sipped the coffee he bought at a nearby Starbucks while keeping watch. He had spent the day before calling shops looking for Leroy McCullough and after calling five of them, got lucky.

He hoped Leroy led him to the mystery man Ryan had been helping lure young men. How he would connect the dots was to be determined, but he needed to find the man before he could work out the logistics. It was Friday afternoon, and it had been nearly three weeks since Ryan Thompson was found. Maybe enough time had passed the man would pursue someone and if his hunch was right, Leroy was probably helping the man long before Ryan came along. He could be wrong. Leroy McCullough may not have anything do with it, that it was something Ryan did on his own. But what he knew of Ryan, he believed someone had to trick Ryan to do it. Or maybe the money was enough.

Looking at his cellphone, Philip saw it was finally six, the time for the shop to close for the day. He sat up and watched, disappointed not to see a rush to close with the mechanics coming out to leave. He saw a man come out of the office, one who had entered a few minutes before, and go over to a Ford Explorer and drive away. Then garage doors began to go down until the shop was sealed up for the day. A couple of guys walked out, then two more, all going to one of the trucks or SUVs in the parking lot. A couple of minutes later, a woman and two men came out, all three obviously those that worked in the office area by being neatly dressed.

“Come on, Leroy, it’s time to leave,” Philip uttered to himself.

Two guys came out, and one of them locked the door to the office. Philip smiled because the other one was Leroy McCullough. The two men crossed the parking lot, Leroy going to an old Mustang. It had aftermarket wheels and a wing on the trunk, making it easy to recognize.

Starting his car, Philip prepared to follow Leroy. He watched the Mustang pull to the highway wondering if he would go back toward Baker where he lived or if he would go somewhere else. The Mustang pulled out, heading west. Philip smiled as he pulled out to follow.

They were on 90, the main highway and Philip wondered where Leroy would lead him. Pensacola, or maybe some house on the beach, just hoping it wasn’t the country club north of the city because it was a gated community. Soon the road turned toward the southwest and Philip kept pace, as they went from paved road to bridges spanning sections of Escambia Bay as they crossed the northern end of it.

As he followed Leroy, Philip thought of his meeting with Dylan. He tried not to do it, but he considered the physical aspects of Dylan, how he found him attractive, and now knew the two of them were gay. It was something that made him think of it. Could they go out, maybe date, even if just superficially, with no real commitment. He would do it, for it would push back the loneliness. To be able to just go out with a guy and have dinner together or maybe go to a movie, like his friends were able to do.

When they entered Escambia County Leroy stayed on the old 90, now Scenic Highway, following the shoreline of the bay. When they came to the railroad crossing, Philip got a glimpse of I-10 bridge over the bay and when Leroy came to the interchange with the interstate Philip watched him turn to head west on it.

“Shit,” Philip uttered, hoping Leroy didn’t go west all the way to Gulf Shores or Mobile. He turned and accelerated hard because the Mustang was out of sight. When he got on I-10 he saw it ahead of him. As they neared the next exit, he expected Leroy to exit, but the Mustang kept going but as soon as it went over Davis Highway, it eased over to the exit for I-110. Philip smiled, for it meant they would at least go south into the city.

The traffic was heavy, making it hard to keep up with Leroy, and he swung into the left lane risking getting too close. Then he remembered Leroy would not recognize his car or even him. After Brent Lane he was driving alongside the Mustang and saw Leory leaning back, one hand on the wheel, the other holding a cellphone.

As they reached the end of I-110 Philip slowed down to ease his car behind Leroy wondering if he would find himself downtown or crossing the bay to Gulf Breeze or the beach. He followed Leroy off the spur of the interstate, going toward the bay bridge. A few minutes later they were passing through Gulf Breeze, and Philip expected them to take the highway to the barrier island to the beach but just past the high school, Leroy turned right. After a couple of turns he saw Leroy turn into the drive at a big contemporary house that sat on Pensacola Bay facing toward the Naval Air Station and the entrance to the bay.

Philip pulled to a stop to give Leroy time to get inside, then he eased by seeing the Mustang in the drive. The garage door was down, so he couldn’t see what the owner drove. It had to be the one that had wanted Dylan, or so he hoped.

 

 

Two days later, Philip was driving toward the house when a big black Mercedes sedan pulled out and came toward him. He made sure not to hit the brakes when they passed, instead continued driving along the road watching the Mercedes in the rearview mirror as it slowed then turned heading toward the main highway. By then, Philip was at the cul-de-sac and swung around and accelerated away to catch up with it.

He was over halfway back to 98 on Shoreline before he caught up with the Mercedes. They curved to the north on Daniel Street to utilize the light to make a left on 98. Philip had let an old Chrysler convertible get between them, giving him some distance. When the light changed, they headed north, eventually going over the Bay Bridge back into Pensacola.

The Mercedes turned on Ninth, heading north, and Philip barely made the light to keep up. They drove through the predominantly residential neighborhoods all the way up to the main commercial area around the mall and turned on Bayou Boulevard. A short distance later the Mercedes turned left into an office park, and Philip hesitated, then drove past the drive afraid he would be noticed. When he came to 12th Avenue, he turned left wondering if he could get to the office park from it. 12th Avenue curved back to the left and the office park came into view.

Philip turned into it, and eased along the back side, then turned to drive along the far side. At the second building on the right, he found the Mercedes parked. The sign at the door in front of it read Benson Enterprises. Parking a few spaces down, Philip took out his notebook and wrote down everything. The name of the company, the model of Mercedes, and the tag number. If he could have gotten away with staying all day, he would have done so, but he was expected at home that afternoon, so he pulled out and headed back.

As he crossed Escambia Bay, his cellphone rang, showing it was Dylan. He accepted the call.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Not much. Still no word about Ryan.”

Philip heard the tone, how Dylan was still worried. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Not really. I was wondering…” The voice trailed off.

“What is it?”

“On Friday, after school, you want to drive over to Pensacola. Maybe knock around the mall or something, then grab dinner somewhere.”

Philip smiled, for he had been wondering the same. Could they just hang out together. “Sure. You want to leave from school or go home and clean up first.”

“I’ll want to clean up first.”

“I can pick you up at four. That will put us ahead of rush hour traffic.”

“I’ll drive but plan on being at my place at four. I’ll see you at school.”

 

That night, Philip researched his main suspect. He did a real estate look-up for Santa Rosa County to get a name, Benjamin Troy Benson. Then he searched online for him. He found some business news associated with Benson Enterprises relating to real estate transactions in Gulf Breeze, Pensacola, and Mobile. He found an article on a charity event for vulnerable children where Benson was pictured with three others holding one of the large banner sized checks for $250,000. There was no social media profile, but in digging deeper, he found Benson was from Mobile, the oldest son of Charles and Sharon Benson. He ran searches relating to arrests, coming up with nothing. Then he found a reference to Benson Enterprises being established twenty years ago by the family and a 26-year-old Benjamin Troy Benson set up as the President of the company.

“That’s awfully young to be starting out,” Philip mumbled to himself. He thought it odd to create a business for him, one where the family couldn’t keep a close eye. He noted the date, then did a search in Mobile’s news outlets for the year before. Nothing came up. He did a search for the year before. He looked at the results, clicking on one and reading it. “Oh shit,” he exclaimed out loud, then he began to print the article and all the others he could find.

 

First Time

Philip followed Dylan into the clothing store with a line of fashion aimed at young people. They strolled in while talking about their approaching graduation, and he knew Dylan deliberately avoided mentioning anything to do with Ryan Thompson. They moved past a table with graphic T-shirts, then one with jeans for guys who were skinny and long legged. Dylan looked up and smiled.

“What is it?” said Philip.

“Casually look behind you,” whispered Dylan.

Philip looked at a faded pair of jeans, then turned as if to look around the room. About ten feet away were two guys flipping through shirts hanging on a low fixture. The first thing he noticed was the haircuts revealing the two to be military, either Air Force from Eglin or Navy from the Naval Air Station. Then he noticed their attractiveness. One was blonde headed, about five ten or so, with a lean muscular build, the other dark haired, tall, over six feet, with a lanky build, and both were cute, so cute, Philip found himself staring at the blonde when he suddenly looked up and smiled at him.

“How’s it going?”

“Good, and you?” Philip replied.

“I’m good but a bit bored.”

“I assumed you guys on base had a lot to do.”

“There are some things, but still being eighteen means we can’t go to the bars and Landon and I…well, we don’t always fit in. You know what I mean?”

Philip sensed the chance, some opportunity was before him and he smiled at the sailor. “Yes, Dylan and I know what you mean.”

“Do you really?”

“The not fitting in with other guys and a desire for something different…yeah, I think so.”

“What do you desire?”

Philip knew it was time to confess or find a way to walk away and live with the idea he missed an opportunity. It was how to say it where he could play it off if wrong about the sailor. “The companionship of a guy.”

The sailor came around the fixture and stood close, impossibly close, and lowered his voice. “You and your friend want to come with Landon and me somewhere?”

Philip turned and saw Dylan talking to the other guy, the one he now knew was Landon, then he turned to the guy standing in front of him. “I’d like that but I’m not sure about Dylan.”

“I think your friend will want to go with us,” said the sailor.

Philip turned to see Dylan and Landon coming toward them, Landon with an arm draped around Dylan’s neck in a playful manner. Philip smiled, for it was obvious Landon had approached Dylan the way he had been approached.

“I’m Philip. What’s your name?”

“I’m Bradley.”

“Hey guys, Dylan and I are thinking of going somewhere we can hang out,” said Landon.

“Philip and I were talking of the same thing. We could get a room at some cheap motel?”

Dylan grinned at Philip. “I’ve got fifty bucks on me,” he said to Landon and Bradley.

“We’ve got it,” said Bradley. We’re supposed to get a discount being military.”

“We looked up a couple before leaving the base and know there are two over at that shopping center on North Davis Highway by the interstate.”

“The old mall site,” said Dylan.

“Mall?” said Landon.

“It was a mall, but they tore most of it down and built it back as a shopping center,” said Philip.

“Well, let’s go. Can we ride with you. We took a taxi to get here,” said Bradley.

“Sure, let’s go. We out front near the main entrance,” said Dylan.

 

 

Philip was nervous. An excited, can’t wait to see what happens, nervousness. Dylan went to the bathroom and Bradley was getting ice from the alcove across from the stairs and Landon was washing his hands.

“How long have you guys been at the Naval Air Station?” said Philip.

“A couple of weeks. We’ll be there six more weeks before shipping out.”

Bradley came in carrying the plastic bin filled with ice. “Let’s have something to drink to set the mood.”

Philip wasn’t sure about the bourbon Bradley brought, but he was so nervous he hoped one cup would help. Dylan came out of the bathroom in time for Bradley to hand him a cup, then one to Landon. He came to Philip, a cup in each hand. “Here,” he said holding out one of them.

“Thanks,” Philip replied.

Bradley turned to Landon and Dylan and held his cup up. “Cheers.”

As they slowly drank the too strong bourbon and cokes, Bradley and Landon began to touch them, rub an arm or touch chests, necks, and cheeks. They kissed and Philip found himself closing his eyes and letting it happen.

A hand touched his chest again, then moved down over his stomach until groping him. It manipulated his cock, squeezed and fingered it making it respond.

“Let’s take off our clothes,” whispered Bradley.

Philip opened his eyes seeing Bradley step back and work off the T-shirt. He glanced over and Landon and Dylan were already shirtless and working to get their jeans off. He unbuttoned his shirt as he watched Bradley get each leg free of jeans. He wanted to see him naked, to see what was within the boxers.

Shirt off and tossed into the chair, Philip got his jeans down as Bradley stood up, naked, tugging on a nice cock. As he slipped his feet free, he glanced over at Landon and Dylan seeing the two of them naked, kissing and manipulating each other. He looked at Dylan, the exposed body, one as muscular as Bradley and he considered how they were all about the same age, the navy boys just looking older for some reason. He looked at the cock, one extending to a nice length, one longer than Landon, who was tugging and stroking it, working to get it fully erect.

“Get naked, Philip,” said Bradley and Philip turned to see him down on knees before him, tugging his boxers down. His cock flopped out half-hard, and once his boxers were around his ankles, Bradley had his cock in hand, manipulating it.

“Fuck,” Philip uttered, as he felt his cock respond. It would get seven inches long and thick enough his fingers didn’t fit around it, and he wondered how Bradley would view it. He watched the hand move on it until he was fully erect, sticking straight out in Bradley’s face.

“Nice,” said Bradley, then he leaned forward and took over half in his mouth.

“Jesus!” Philip cried out, shivering with the feel of the mouth moving on his cock.

Bradley sucked his cock. Worked the tongue over it. Moved lips along its length. Manipulated it until he was working his hips, pumping it through the lips.

“I’m close,” whispered Philip.

Bradley increased the intensity of his suck. He worked his mouth on it at a furious pace until Philip couldn’t hold back and he pushed into the mouth nearly all the way and came. As he pumped wad after wad into the mouth, he felt Bradley swallowing it.

When Bradley sat back, he glanced over at Dylan sucking Landon, the Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed a load.

Then he was on the bed on his back, legs held to Bradley’s chest.

“Will you let me?” whispered Bradley.

“Yes,” Philip replied as he felt cock rake across his ass.

Landon cried out and Philip looked over to see Dylan in the same position as Bradley was with him, the long legs held to the chest and cock sinking into the ass. He felt cock push against his tightness, then stretch him open, letting Bradley penetrate him.

Bradley pushed slowly into him until hips pressed against his ass.

“You got all of me,” said Bradley.

“Fuck. Fuck me,” Landon cried out from the other bed.

Philip looked into the green eyes, staring down at him and he clutched the bed. “Do it. Fuck me.”

Bradley moved inside him, a short tug outward, then a push inward, slowly, gently, gradually building up his pace until fucking Philip. Fucking hard enough to rock him on the bed and make him gasp for breath. He threw his arms over his head and stretched out, arched his back, pushing ass down on thrusting cock. He took every inch and moaned with the feel of it, the fullness of penetration as Bradley hammered his insides.

Suddenly Bradley was pushing his legs over and down. Thighs pressed against his chest, and he felt Bradley’s weight pushing down on him. He looked down to see the cock come into view, then Bradley shoved it back into his depths, all the way, hips smacking down on his ass.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Landon cried out.

Philip looked over to see Landon on his knees and elbows, Dylan holding the narrow waist and fucking. Fucking hard. Rocking Landon and smacking hips against ass.

“Take it. Take it,” uttered Bradley.

Philip looked up at the grimacing face, with eyes closed and jaw clinched tight, as hips hammered his ass, then press tightly against it as Bradley shuddered with release.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Dylan, and Philip looked over to see him laying over Landon, one arm around the neck, hugging their bodies together as he ground hips against ass, pumping it full of cum.

 

 

They switched partners and Philip found himself holding Landon by the waist as he fucked him in the ass. At first, he fucked slowly, feeling the ass milk his cock as he worked it into Landon’s depths. He gradually increased his pace. He tightened his grip of the narrow waist and fucked harder, faster, hips smacking the ass.

“Yeah, fuck me. Fuck my ass,” exclaimed Dylan.

Philip glanced over to see Dylan on his back taking Bradley’s fuck, cock sinking into his ass all the way, then he turned back to Landon. The long torso glistening in the dim light. The slightly long neck and the head bent down out of sight. The ass spread for his fuck, his cock pulled nearly free of it, then slammed back into its depths, over and over, fucking as hard as he could.  

He buried his cock in the ass and slid his hands up the slick back. He felt the heat of the smooth skin, then he grasped the shoulders and pulled the body upward until the hands came off the bed and he fucked. Fucked hard, slamming cock into the depths of the ass until he needed to cum.

“I’m going to cum,” said Philip.

“Do it. Pump it in me,” exclaimed Landon.

Philp thrust in the ass, hips smacking the ass, three, four, five times then he buried his spurting cock in the ass as he shivered and jerked with release.

 

 

Laying on top of Landon, both of them gasping for breath, they watched Dylan riding Bradley’s cock. Body leaned back resting on the hands, Dylan worked his ass with a furious pace on the cock.

“Goddamn it,” Bradley cried out, shoving upward, then he shuddered with release as Dylan kept moving on his spurting cock.

Once spent, Bradley begged Dylan to stop, eventually sitting up and pulling him down all the way on his cock, holding the sweating body against his own.

“That was hot,” uttered Landon.

 

 

It seemed awkward at first. Bradley and Landon on the other bed watching. Philip held Dylan’s legs, straight up and spread apart. He moved closer to the ass seeing Bradley’s load leak from it, and he smeared the cum with his cock, then pressed against the loosened opening.

“Fuck me, Philip. Fuck me,” said Dylan.

And Philip penetrated him and fucked. Fucked with a steady rhythm, wanting it to last as long as possible. He pulled the legs to this sweaty chest and fucked. He twisted them to one side and fucked. He pushed the legs against the chest and fucked even harder. He was fucking a man. He was fucking Dylan. The room closed in around them; Bradley and Landon were forgotten. He pushed down on the legs holding his body over Dylan and pumped cock into the ass as hard as he could. He hammered the ass, the sound loud in the small room.

Then he could hold back no longer, and he slammed into Dylan’s depths and shuddered and jerked with release.

He fell down next to Dylan and saw him start to masturbate to get off again. He looked at the cock, one longer than his own, as the hand moved along it. The bed rocked and Landon was soon moving between Dylan’s legs until pushing the hand away and taking it.

“Don’t waste it,” Landon joked, smiling at Philip then slipping his mouth down the cock. Dylan moaned and shivered as Landon moved on it.

“I can’t hold back,” Dylan uttered.

“Don’t; give it to him,” said Bradley, laying on the other side of Dylan watching his friend suck cock. “Come on, Landon, suck the cum out of that cock.”

Landon moved faster, noisily, and it made Dylan pump hips upward. Then Dylan grunted, exhaled heavily, as he shoved upward and shuddered with release. Landon was swallowing until Dylan was spent, then he licked the cock clean and grinned over at Philip. “That was fucking awesome.”

 

 

As they crossed the bridges heading home, they kept looking at each other smiling, then giggling. Philip couldn’t believe the last two and half hours. His initiation into man-on-man sex, first Bradley, then Landon, but it was when Dylan and he had sex while Bradley and Landon watched that had been the most arousing. He wondered if Dyan and he would do it again.

As Dylan drove past Milton, Philip considered Dylan. Would he want more from him. Was Dylan willing to give it. The sex had been good, but then again it had been his first time and to do it not with one guy but with three was too much. Maybe he was on a high that come morning, he would have second thoughts.

“Can you believe it?” said Dylan.

“No,” Philip replied, knowing exactly what he meant.

 

Stirring the Pot

On Sunday morning, Philip rode up to the police station on his bike, his backpack strapped over his back. It would be easier to loiter around the parking lot and the police coming and going would pay less attention to a kid on a bicycle than one sitting in a car. He could pretend to be riding to the farmer’s market or the baseball fields on the north side of the property. He cut across the ditch and into the main parking lot in front of the building, looking toward the side lot where the police parked. He circled around the parking lot just to keep moving, too wound up to sit still. It was time for the shift change and eventually he saw Lt. Bradberry crossing the parking lot going to a Dodge SUV.

Philip saw him climb into it, then he raced toward the drive for side parking lot which was separated from the main lot. He cut across the grass, coming to the drive as Lt. Bradberry drove up. He stopped in the middle of the drive, forcing him to stop.

The driver’s window went down, and the lieutenant looked questioningly at him.

“Is there a problem?”

“Can we talk?”

“About?”

“Ryan Thompson’s murder.”

Philip saw the expression harden and the eyes look at him differently.

“It’s ruled an accidental drowning. So, what could you possibly have to say?”

“The Waffle House. I’ll meet you there,” Philip replied, then he took off across the grass area outside the fence that shielded view of the side parking lot. He didn’t look back because he knew the lieutenant would be there. If he knew something, the lieutenant would want to know.

As he turned on Industrial Drive heading north, the police cruiser drove through the intersection heading west. Philip knew the lieutenant would turn on Ferdon Boulevard, the four-lane highway, the main road that ran parallel with Industrial. By the time they got to the Waffle House, only a grass strip and sidewalk would separate the roads.

 

 

Philip cut across the grass and saw Ferdon had a gap in traffic, and he raced across the four-lane highway into the drive for the Waffle House. The police cruiser sat in the parking lot.

Inside, Philip found Lt. Bradberry waiting in a booth at the front. The restaurant was busy, and thus noisy, with a white noise of conversations and a person behind the counter calling out orders.

“You’re that Mason boy. My niece has talked about you.”

“Yes, sir. Philip Mason.”

“And you’ve been meddling in things you should not be meddling in, but you’ve got my attention. What do you have to say?”

“First, you don’t really think Ryan Thompson just fell into the river and drowned, do you?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe; listen to you. Ryan was athletic and could have swam that river from the state line to the place he was found.”

Lt. Bradberry waited for Philip to continue.

“Now, I have two suspects, and I want you to know that neither are Dylan Mitchell. He’s innocent.”

“I never thought the Mitchell was guilty of anything.”

“Good.”

“The first is Leroy McCullough.”

“We know Ryan and he were friends, so I can’t see what his motive would be.”

“The other suspect is Benjamin Troy Benson.”

“Who?”

Philip saw how the lieutenant was staring at him, as if he could read him in some manner, know if he were telling the truth or not. Philip stared back, confident with the knowledge he was right. It just needed the police to step in and get the final proof.

“Can I get your order?” said the waitress.

“Yes, I’m starving,” said Philip. “What about you? Have you had breakfast? My treat.”

“I’ve had breakfast,” Lt. Bradberry replied, clearly put out by the delay.

“The waffle with two eggs, sunny side up with bacon, and coffee; black.”

“Anything for you?” the waitress asked the lieutenant.

“Coffee.”

The waitress went back behind the counter and Philip found the lieutenant staring at him, waiting to hear what he had to say.

Philip pulled two folded sheets of paper from his pocket, spread them open, then slid them across the table. “The man who used Ryan and possibly Leroy to lure young boys for his pleasure.”

“That is quite the accusation. Have you got any proof?”

“Just Leory going to his house in Gulf Breeze.”

“That proves nothing.”

“Look, Dylan said Ryan tried to get him to go to a hotel to meet an older man. A man who would pay him for sex. The only man I can find that connects Leroy, who I think got Ryan involved, is Benjamin Troy Benson. Years ago, he got in trouble in Mobile and his family hushed it up, moving Benson to Pensacola with a business set up for him.”

“Wow, that is some reaching.”

“But Ryan didn’t accidentally drown, and you know it.”

“But implicating Leroy McCullough and this Benjamin Troy Benson is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“I don’t have time for some kid’s conjecture,” said Lt. Bradberry. “Go home and study or play video games like other boys your age.”

Philip saw Lt. Bradberry was just staring at him.

“Two coffees,” said the waitress, setting a cup in front of each one of them. Philip took a sip, noting the lieutenant still staring, eventually reaching for the cup.

“I think the man behind everything, the man responsible for Ryan’s death, directly or indirectly, is Benson, forty-six years old, single, and—”

“Stop!”

Philip stopped and watched the lieutenant’s expression, how it went from aggravated to questioning.

Lt. Bradberry grabbed up the printouts and began to read. At first there was no change in the expression, then the eyebrows arched up and a look of surprise.

“Benson had been arrested for messing around with a minor?”

“Yes. The boy’s parents filed charges.”

“And there is no record of this because—”

“The Benson family got the charges dropped. Probably a big check or a threat to run the boy through a nasty court proceeding. Or both. So, what are you going to do?” said Philip.

“That is none of your business.”

“But I—”

“But nothing. I want you to get back on that bicycle and go home.”

“Your order,” said the waitress, setting a plate in front of Philip.

 

 

Bradberry got into his cruiser and laid the printouts on the passenger seat. He started the car then pulled up his computer to do a more thorough search for Benjamin Troy Benson. Nothing. The man was clean, or at least per their system. But the printouts indicated that might not be the case. But he wasn’t sure. What if the boy Benson had been meeting lied about his age, said he was eighteen or nineteen. It could mean Benson had been tricked, therefore the dropped charges made sense. He looked at the photo of Benson at the charity event, holding the check.

He needed to talk to Powell, but today was Powell’s day off. He would have to wait until the next day to talk to him.

 

 

An evening shower of rain beat down on the roof and against the windows. Lighting flashed then the deep rumbling of thunder. In the small ranch house on Amellia Place, Sergeant Curtis Powell was laying on his back, watching his boyfriend, Aiden, riding his cock. He watched the thick shaft come into view then disappear in the ass. Slowly, teasingly slowly, Aiden moved up and down.

“You love me?” said Aiden.

“Yes…oh yes,” Curtis replied.

“Then show me,” said Aiden playfully.

Curtis sat up, hugged the lean body and rolled it to its back. He moved over Aiden, buried his cock back into the ass, and began to fuck. The long legs wrapped around his waist and a hand cupped the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. He piston inside the ass as they kissed.

“Fuck. Fuck me harder,” said Aiden. “Harder, Curtis; fuck me harder.”

Curtis pushed up on his hands giving his body room to move, and he fucked as asked. He fucked harder, faster, until the bed was squeaking and banging into the wall. He fucked until Aiden was moaning and grunting.

He fucked until he felt the buildup for release, then he pushed into Aiden’s depths and held still. It was too soon.

“Curtis,” Aiden uttered breathlessly.

Curtis shifted down, hooked the legs behind the knees, and moved back over Aiden. He had him folded up beneath him, ass turned up for his cock, and he buried himself in it. He began to fuck, full long strokes, pulling nearly free, then pushing back in, all the way, bumping against the ass. He increased his pace, until he smacked against it. He fucked until his body dripped sweat on Aiden and he felt as if he were burning up with a fever. He fucked until his body tightened, his cock ached for release, swelling thicker inside Aiden, then he shoved into him all the way as his cock erupted, spurting wad after wad into the ass.

Collapsed on top of Aiden, Curtis slowly stopped gasping for breath and felt the cooling of his skin as sweat dried from it.

“Let’s shower off,” said Aiden, kissing Curtis on the neck.

 

 

The water ran warm over the two bodies, as Curtis leaned against the wall with Aiden holding him by the waist while fucking his ass. It was an urgent fuck. One to get Aiden off before the water heater ran out of water. It was one that made his own cock flop heavily between his thighs. He relished the feel of it. Aiden’s cock fucking him. How his own cock swung between his thighs in rhythm to their fuck. The intimacy with Aiden. Naked, fully exposed, the two of them willing to do anything for the other.

“Curtis!” Aiden cried out as he shoved hard into Curtis’ ass and shuddered with his own release.

 

 

They lounged on the bed, naked and barely dried off. The house was quiet because the rain had stopped. Aiden touched Curtis on the chest, ran a finger in a circular motion.

“Were you serious?” said Aiden.

“About you moving in? Yes.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the department finding out?”

“It’s not illegal.”

“Not yet,” Aiden replied, a hidden anger and fear surfacing.

“Aiden.”

“Curtis.”

“Your lease is up. Give them a letter you’re not renewing and move in with me…please.”

Aiden chuckled, then leaned over and kissed Curtis.

“Since you begged me, I can’t say no.”

A knock, three raps firm against the storm door.

“Who could that be?” said Aiden.

“Not sure, but I’ll go find out,” said Curtis sliding off the bed and grabbing up a towel to wrap around his waist.

Curtis came out of the small hall into the living room. He looked through the window and grimaced. He unlocked the door and swung it open to Lt. Bradberry looking in through the storm door.

“Greg, what are you doing here? You know it is my day off.”

“I need to ask you something?”

Curtis looked toward the hall, then back at Bradberry. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow. You can see I’m not exactly dressed for company.”

“I don’t care if Aiden is here. I just need a minute. One question; that’s all. Just one question.”

“You know about Aiden?”

“Of course. There are a few of us at the department that know. Can I come in just for a minute?”

Curtis unlocked the storm door and opened it for Bradberry to come in. He turned on a lamp and stood back giving Bradberry just enough room to stand inside the door.

“Do you know that Mason kid, the one that helped that Jameson boy?”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“He came to me today, telling me Ryan Thompson didn’t drown accidentally, but was murdered and he thinks he knows who killed him.”

“No shit. How did he arrive at this?”

“I think he’s been following Leroy McCullough.”

Curtis laughed. “I told you guys McCullough was involved and not just some hook up from Ryan’s past.”

“We didn’t have anything on him.”

“So, what did this kid find out?”

“McCullough was meeting with a Benjamin Troy Benson from Gulf Breeze. Does that name ring a bell,” said Bradberry, and he saw it, a recognition of the name. “You know the name.”

“This is why you had to talk to me now. You wanted to know if I’d seen him in one of the gay bars or clubs in Pensacola with Leroy or Ryan.”

“I know there are only a few places and if Benson was someone who liked to go out for a drink and maybe a hook up, he would be known within…” Bradberry stammered, unsure how to refer to the gay guys going out to bars and clubs.

“Within the gay community?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve crossed paths with the asshole. When I first started going out, he hit on me but there was something about him…he just seemed a bit slimy.”

“A policeman’s sixth sense something was off,” said Bradberry smiling at Curtis.

“Something like that. He always hit on the youngest guys, especially those new to the bar. He liked his fresh meat, if you know what I mean.”

“Did you ever hear of him liking them too young?”

“No, but a couple of guys joked how Benson paid handsomely for getting to be a virgin’s first time.”

“He was paying for sex?”

“Not in a hustler and john way, but as a rich asshole who could lure younger men to his place. And McCullough was in contact with him?”

“Yes.”

“We got enough to search his place?”

“OH, hell no. All I got is Perry Maon’s hunch.”

“Perry Mason?”

“The kid.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Pay Benson a visit and see how he reacts. See if he flinches when questioned.”

“Let’s go tomorrow.”

Bradberry looked at Curtis and smiled. Of all the officers on the force, it was Curtis who could show the same determination as he.

“I’ll talk to the captain in the morning. Benson works in Pensacola.”

“A bit out of our jurisdiction.”

“Yeah, but it’s just a friendly visit to ask questions about Leroy,” Bradberry replied sarcastically. “I need to go, but I’ll see you in the morning,” he added as he opened the storm door to leave. He stopped and looked back. “Tell Aiden I said hello,” and he stepped out laughing.

“What was that all about?”

Bradberry turned to see Aiden standing in the doorway to the hall, a towel wrapped around the narrow waist. “He just had a question about a case.”

“Ryan Thompson?”

“Yeah.”

 

 

Sgt. Curtis Powell came out of the locker room dressed in civilian clothes. It had been some time since he had ditched the uniform, and it felt oddly freeing. To go out as a civilian, knowing he would not draw attention to himself. He came out of the station to Lt. Bradberry in one of their unmarked vehicles, engine idling, waiting on him to get in.

“You think Benson will be at work by ten?” said Curtis as he buckled his seatbelt.

“If not, we’ll just have to wait,” said Bradberry, putting the Explorer into gear.

They pulled out of the parking lot, drove over to Ferdon, turning left. When they came to Highway 90, they turned right, just making the light, and headed to Pensacola.

“I take it I’m just back up,” said Curtis.

“And two of us make it obvious we’re serious. He’ll know it isn’t just a simple visit to just chat.”

“Put a bit of pressure on him and see what happens?”

They drove into Holt, then turned heading south. The road led them straight south, not one turn in it, and when they came to I-10, Bradberry swung onto the ramp and accelerated.

Curtis pulled up the file they had on Benson. “He drives a black 24 Mercedes S 500. Must be doing well for himself.”

“He came from money, so…”

“Money generates more money.”

Bradberry nodded as he slipped into the left lane to pass slower traffic.

“I assume you’ll take I-110 down to Brent Lane,” said Curtis as he closed the computer file and sat back.

“Yes,” Bradberry replied as he drove them toward the Escambia Bay bridge heading into the city.

 

 

Bradberry eased around the parking lot until they could see the black Mercedes in a space. He pulled to an empty space across the drive from it.

“Okay, let’s go have a chat with Mr. Benson.”

They entered the small lobby where an older woman was typing on a computer. She looked up and smiled.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Lt. Bradberry and this is Sgt. Powell, and we’re with the Crestview Police. We would like to talk to Benjamin Benson.”

“Let me see if he is in,” she replied stiffly, no longer smiling.

“I’m sure he’s here for his car is out front,” said Curtis in a helpful manner.

“I’m Troy Benson, what is this all about?”

Bradberry and Curtis turned to see a heavy-set man, about five foot seven, clean shaven, with slightly long dark hair, standing in the entrance to a short hall.

“We just have a couple of questions about a case we’re working on. Can we talk in private?” said Bradberry.

“Of course; we can talk in my office. Gentlemen, this way,” said Benson, turning and walking to the first door on the left.

Bradberry, then Curtis entered behind Benson to see it was a large office, the desk backed up to the window facing the parking lot and on the interior side a sitting area dominated by a large dark red leather sofa. Benson took a seat behind his desk and indicated the two chairs opposite. Straight back chairs meant to be uncomfortable.

Bradberry took one chair, but Curtis remained standing behind him, looking at the photos on the wall, most Benson and other men at ribbon cutting ceremonies for new projects.

“So, what do you want to ask me?”

“Did you know Ryan Aaron Thompson who resided in Crestview?” said Bradberry.

“A Thompson? No, can’t say that I do.”

“What about a Leroy J. McCullough, of Baker?”

“No, don’t know him either?”

“Interesting for someone saw him at your residence in Gulf Breeze.”

“Excuse me?”

“Someone saw him at your residence.”

“Is he with Gulf Mechanical? They had some guys at my house to do some maintenance.”

“No, he works in an auto repair shop, one in Milton.”

“Maybe you should ask him why he was trespassing at my residence.”

“So, you don’t know him?”

“Like I said, I don’t know him.”

“He wasn’t someone you socialized with on occasion?” said Curtis.

The way Curtis said socialized caught Benson’s attention, made him look up with anger in the eyes.

“I have a meeting to get ready for, so unless you have some other questions, I think we’re done,” said Benson, getting to his feet. “If you could see your way out.”

 

 

As Bradberry backtracked out of the city, they rode in silence until getting back on I-110.

“He was lying about Leroy,” said Curtis.

“And Ryan too.”

“But we don’t have anything except the word of the Mason boy.”

“But we have more than we had; we have someone lying to us.”

“So, what’s next? Leroy?”

“Yes. I think we stop on the way back. Look up the address to that repair shop he works at.”

 

Bradberry pulled into a parking space at the office door for the repair shop as Curtis looked around.

“I don’t see Leroy’s Mustang. You think Benson called him?”

“Bet on it. Let’s go see what story Leroy left for us.”

 

 

Bradberry stood at the counter, watching a woman come from a back office and sit across from him.

“How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Leroy?”

“He’s not here. He left for the day.”

“Really? Damn, I was going to have him look at my car. It’s making this funny noise again and he said he probably knew what was doing it. When will he be back?”

“He left feeling sick, so I’m not sure, but we have other guys who can—”

“That’s alright, it’s not my daily driver. I’ll check with you later. Thanks for your help.”

Bradberry left the office before she could respond and climbed into the SUV.

“Well?” said Curtis.

“He got sick and had to leave for the day?”

“So, we pay a house call.”

“Yep.”

 

 

They drove back to Baker, a crossroad community anchored by the county’s high school. Bradberry driving Highway 90 in lieu of the interstate, as he thought about the case and listened to Curtis’ commentary, at times frustrating in its repetitiveness, but on occasion there was some insight he had not considered.

As Bradberry negotiated the left from the cutoff road onto Highway 4, he listened to Curtis repeat the directions to Leroy’s house. He drove north, then swung left onto a road that angled along the western side of the community.

“It’s the second right,” said Curtis.

Bradberry turned and eased along the narrow road until at the address. It was a mobile home tucked along the edge of some trees. It was old, the paint faded, and an old Trans Am sat in the yard, the front stripped down to the unibody revealing it had no motor. There was no Mustang in the drive.

“Stop, and I’ll look around,” said Curtis.

Bradberry pulled to the edge of the road and watched Curtis move along the drive.

“Fresh tracks, so he hasn’t been gone long,” said Curtis.

“It’s like he’s avoiding us.”

“No doubt,” said Curtis. He moved up to the mobile home, knocked on the door, and looked through the windows. He looked back, shaking his head, then walked back to the SUV.

“Let’s get back to the station,” said Bradberry as he put the SUV in gear and pulled away.

 

 

Leroy sat at the window of the café on Highway 4, fidgeting with his phone, as he replayed the call from Troy.

The police are probably on their way to talk to you.

Who would have followed you to my place?

Leroy, you need to find out who is talking, or I’ll pin this on you.

An SUV drove by and he watched it, knowing it was an unmarked police cruiser. He would recognize one anywhere. He watched it until it was out of sight as he tried to think who could have talked. It had to be Tammy. That bitch hated him, and he knew she probably wanted to get him arrested. It wasn’t fair, for he didn’t do anything, not by his way of thinking. Yes, he had lured Ryan into Troy’s fun and games, but it was just sex, and no one got hurt.

Then he remembered what it had been like for him and he felt his face flush hot at the memory of Troy forcing him that first time, until he finally gave in and let him.

“Leroy, here’s your order,” said the waitress, setting a sandwich on the table.

“Thanks, Teresa.”

 

 

Leroy stayed out of sight until it was nearing five o’clock and he knew Tammy would soon get off work. He drove to Crestview then took Old Bethel Road, keeping to the west, then north, of town. He came to the apartment complex where Tammy lived and pulled in. As he drove up to her apartment building, he saw her getting out of her Miata. He pulled into the space next to her on the passenger side.

Standing at his door looking over the little convertible, he could see she was scared.

“Tammy, we need to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you. You need to leave.”

“Not until you tell me who you told Ryan and I knew each other.”

“What?”

He heard the trembling in the voice and knew she was lying. He moved around the back of the Miata and came up to her. He stood close, close enough to see the eyes darting back and forth, trying not to look at him.

“Who did you tell?” said Leroy, pronouncing each word distinctly.

“I just told that Mason boy. Okay. I just told that kid because he was trying to help Dylan Mitchell.”

“Who is this, Mason?”

“Just some high school kid. He’s harmless.”

“Well, someone talked to the police and now they’re looking for me again.”

“Why, Leroy? Because you did something to Ryan?”

“Shut it. I didn’t do anything to Ryan.”

“Well, he’s dead, ain’t he, and you were probably the last one to see him alive.”

Leroy grabbed Tammy by the arm and pulled her closer. “You need to watch your mouth or maybe you will be floating down Yellow River.” He shoved her back and went back to his car. He barked the tires when he reversed out of the space, then barked them again as he accelerated away.

He dialed Troy on his cellphone as he waited to pull out of the complex.

“What have you found out?” said Troy as soon as he answered.

“Tammy told some high school kid that is friends with that Mitchell boy. Last name is Mason.”

“Fucking Ryan; I knew that boy would be a problem. Who is this Mason boy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out.”

 

Getting Real

Philip climbed out of his car and walked across the parking lot heading toward the cinema. Halfway there he came alongside Noah and Dylan. They moved to the sidewalk in front of the cinema where Debbie was waiting.

“I hope this movie is good,” said Debbie.

“Me too,” said Dylan.

“Let’s go find out,” said Noah, leading the four of them into the cinema.

Out in the parking lot, Leroy McCullough climbed out of his Mustang and walked over to the blue Civic Si. He took out his cellphone taking pictures of the car from the front, side and rear, close enough to get a good image of the tag. He pulled up Troy and messaged him the images. Then he sent a text message: This is Philip Mason’s car. I don’t know his address but I’m sure one of your contacts in Pensacola can help you with that.

Got it. Now you need to hide somewhere until I get this taken care of.

Leroy frowned. Where was he supposed to hide. Then he remembered the old hunting lodge just across the state line in Alabama, one his uncle had been a member until the group disbanded when they lost their hunting rights to the property. He would go there. There would be no electricity or water, but he could drive over to Brewton for food and water. He climbed into his car and eased out of the parking lot.

 

 

A jet rose into the nighttime sky over the Naval Air Station and the bay waters reflected the lights of the base and city. Troy sat on his pier, feet rocking back and forth while he smoked his evening cigar. He had sent the photo of the Mason boy’s car to his contact, one who could access the state’s driver records. In the past, it was a way to find out some guy’s name, one he wanted to get to know. This time it was to protect himself from more scrutiny. He couldn’t afford to have the police snoop into his life too much. His family still had too much control over his business and life.

His cellphone lit up then rang with a text message. He opened it, seeing it was the address for the home of one Philip James Mason, eighteen years old, and soon to be a graduate of Crestview High School. He smiled, thinking the boy wouldn’t make it to graduation.

 

 

The next day, Philip came out of his home to find Dylan waiting in the street for him.

“Come on, let’s go,” cried out Dylan.

Philip climbed into the Land Cruiser and buckled up as Dylan pulled away.

“The deli still good with you?” said Dylan.

“Yes, but what’s the hurry.”

“I’m just…”

“Horny?” said Philip, smiling while he shook his head. They had been getting together as much as possible, having sex in the back of the Land Cruiser, at one of their homes when parents were away or more daringly, somewhere on the school property after dark.

“Yes,” Dylan replied.

Philip looked at Dylan, wondering how Dylan viewed him. He knew they didn’t have a real relationship because there was no dating ritual of going out to dinner or just the two of them going to a movie. Instead, they hung out with friends, then when they could alone, it was sex. Just sex. But for now, it was enough, for they were still exploring what they really liked, he admitting to liking to be sucked off first to make his fucking last longer. But it seemed as if Dylan was still holding back, not truly revealing himself.

“I thought we could go for a drive after lunch,” said Dylan.

“Your parents are home too.”

“Yes,” Dylan replied, and they chuckled at how they had to sneak around.

 

 

An hour later, Dylan was negotiating down a fire lane in the woods to the west of town, somewhere north of Blackwater River.

“Where are you going?” said Philip.

“Somewhere we can be alone.”

“I can see that.”

Dylan moved along the fire lane until he came to another fire lane, one recently cleaned up, and he drove along it until they were out of sight of the other lane.

“This is good.”

“Okay, let’s get in back,” said Philip.

“Wait,” said Dylan, then he sighed and looked ahead of them. “Can I ask something of you?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“I want you to do what I ask and not say anything about it. I don’t want you to make fun or anything.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll get in back and you’ll do as I ask?”

Philip wondered if Dylan wanted to do some role playing, something where he played master making him submit to him, and it felt odd to him, but if that was what Dylan wanted to try, he would do it.

“Okay. I’ll do what you want.”

They climbed into the rear and sat looking at each other, Philip waiting to see what Dylan would want to do, and Dylan looking like he was building up his courage.

“Don’t take off your clothes, just yet,” said Dylan, as he tugged off his T-shirt, tossing it into front seat. He kicked off his shoes, then undid his jeans, slipping a hand down inside them touching himself. He looked at Philip. “Strip for me.”

“Okay,” Philip replied and he began to undo the buttons of his shirt to get it off.

“Not like that.”

Philip stopped, looking over at Dylan.

“Do it like a stripper. Take your time. Tease me.”

“Seriously?”

“You promised.”

“Okay…I’ll try,” Philip replied, wondering if he could do and stay serious. The thought about what it meant, to slowly reveal himself to Dylan, to take his time in removing his clothes. To tease him, make him so horny he had to want sex with him.

He turned to face him, left leg up on the seat, and he began again, only this time slowly, one button, then another. He worked his way down until the last button was slipped free and he let his shirt open down the front revealing his lean chest and stomach. He ran a hand over his chest, then down over his stomach, all the while watching Dylan. He saw how it was beginning to affect him. The way the eyes stared back and the hand down in the jeans manipulated the cock trapped within.

He leaned forward, as if he was going to kiss Dylan, only to slip the shirt from his shoulders and down his arms. He draped it over the front seat and leaned back against the door. He rubbed his crotch, fingers working his cock until he was responding to the manipulation.

“Yeah, play with that cock. Get it hard,” whispered Dylan.

“You want me hard,” whispered Philip.

“Yes,” Dylan replied breathlessly.

Philip leaned back and undid his jeans, slipping the button free, then slowly dragging the zipper down. As his jeans spread open, he watched Dylan slide down lower on the seat, spread his own jeans open with one hand while the other stayed inside the boxers.

Philip raised his ass and worked the jeans down his legs, slipping each foot free. When he sat back, his boxers tented with his growing arousal. He manipulated it through the thin fabric watching how it affected Dylan. The eyes glued on his hand manipulating his cock. Dylan manipulating his own cock and starting to push up with the hips. The movement was primitive, erotic, adding to his own arousal. He mimicked Dylan, worked his hips, manipulated his cock, and slid lower, ass scooting closer to Dylan.

“Take them off. Take them off for me,” said Dylan with an urgency Philip had never heard before during their sex.

Philip raised his ass and worked the boxers down. His cock smacked his stomach when freed and Dylan moaned. He worked the boxers down his legs and off each foot. Sitting back, he stroked his cock, slowly, moving his hand from the head down to the base of it.

“You want this?” said Philip in a low whisper.

“Yes.”

“You want to suck it?”

“Yes.”

“You want it to fuck your ass?”

“Yes.”

Philip realized he was the one in control, that Dylan was submitting to him.

Right knee raised and against the seat back and the left leg spread as wide as possible, his foot in Dylan’s footwell. He dragged it up the right leg making Dylan shudder and moan.

“You want to suck this?”

“Don’t ask me, tell me,” said Dylan.

Philip stroked his cock then held it up. “Suck my cock.”

Dylan shifted around, dropping down into the footwell on his knees and moved up between Philip’s legs. He dragged his tongue up the left thigh, over the loose nut sac, and along the length of the cock. He took it into his mouth and worked his mouth down on it all the way.

“Fuck, suck my cock. Suck it. Suck it,” Philip uttered fighting the urge to shove upward.

The head bobbed up and down as Philip felt the slick mouth on his cock. He felt how the tongue worked the head of it and dragged down its length. He felt how the nose pressed into his abdomen with a hot exhale of breath.

He ran his hand through the wavy dark brown hair seeing the dark brown eyes look up at him, pleading with him to keep going. He balled his hand into a fist holding Dylan by the hair and he worked the mouth on his cock at a pace that pushed his arousal. Up and down, he worked that drooling mouth on his cock. Dylan was getting noisy, sucking and gasping for breath between moans and grunts.

“I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum in your mouth,” said Philip as he pushed Dylan’s head down. When the nose pressed into his abdomen, he came, hard, shuddering with release. He felt the mouth swallowing around his cock until finally spent and he released Dylan, letting him sit up.

Philip saw how it affected him. The jeans pushed down enough to reveal how the cock was pushing above the waistband of the boxers, flexing and drooling as Dylan wiped his mouth, then rubbed his bare chest and stomach.

“Do you want to fuck me?” said Dylan.

The tone was not like one used before. It was lower, seductive, and Philip watched Dylan slide down until his head was bent against the door. Dylan took each leg behind the knee and pulled them back. The jeans and boxers were covering the ass.

“Fuck me. Fuck my ass.”

Philip got on his knees and worked Dylan’s jeans and boxers around the ass until it was fully exposed. The loose nuts slipped into view, but the cock stay pinned within the boxers and jeans.

“I’m going to fuck your ass,” said Philip.

“Do it. Fuck me. Shove your cock into me.”

Philip took each leg behind the knee and pushed them down against the chest. He looked into the dark brown eyes as he shifted into position. He let his cock drag across the ass then pumped it along it, leaving a slick trail where he was leaking. “Take my cock,” said Philip as he aligned it with the tight opening and pushed. He stared into the eyes seeing them go wide as he breached the tightness and squeezed his cock as he pushed it into the ass. He pushed slowly, sinking fractions of an inch into Dylan.

Philip never felt his sexuality with such intensity. He was naked, fully exposed to Dylan, and he pushed his cock into him, slowly, until hips pressed against the ass.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Dylan.

Philip began to fuck, to work his cock through the tightness. Faster and faster until in a steady fuck.

“Fuck, take me. Take me,” exclaimed Philip.

“Do it. Fuck me. Fuck me harder,” said Dylan.

Philip knew if he fucked much harder, he wouldn’t last long, but he didn’t care. He wanted to hammer Dylan’s ass. He wanted to give him what he asked. He pushed up, pressing the legs down harder, and fucked. Fucked as hard as he could. He hammered the ass until he saw Dylan’s nut sac tighten. He fucked until the ass opened to him, letting him pump cock easily into it. He fucked until the muscles in his stomach burned from the exertion and sweat dripped down on Dylan.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” exclaimed Philip as he heard Dylan gasping for breath.

The truck rocked on its suspension and Dylan rocked against the door as Philip kept up his brutal pace. He fucked until smacking against the ass and the surge of release swelled within him.

“Take it. Take it,” Philip uttered breathlessly, as he shoved into Dylan’s depths and came. He shuddered and jerked as his cock ejaculated each wad into the upturned ass, then he slowed. Pumped his cock in the ass with his spent cock just to feel the overly sensitive head move inside it.

“Don’t stop. Keep going,” said Dylan.

Yeah, keep going, Philip thought realizing he was still horny. He wasn’t ready to stop, and he kept fucking, feeling his cock stay hard. Only this time, he fucked in a slow steady pace. He worked his cock inside the ass until he felt his first load pump out of it, and he kept fucking. He fucked the slick cum smeared ass until his own cock ached for release. He sped up, fucked harder, driving himself to cum.

“Jesus, fuck me. Keep fucking me,” exclaimed Dylan.

Philip braced his hands on the door to change his position, and he fucked, harder, faster, built up his pace as before, hammering Dylan’s ass, only this time he lasted a long time. He lasted until he was covered in sweat and gasping for breath. Then he buried cock into Dylan’s depths and shuddered with release like none he had ever felt before. It was exhausting. This time he was truly spent.

Philip slipped out of the ass and saw his load dribble out of it. He grabbed the jeans and boxers and pulled them down, thinking he would suck Dylan off, but when the cock came into view, it was flaccid, and wet, along with the stomach where Dylan had gotten off.

“You fucked it out of me,” whispered Dylan, sounding pleased with how he had cum untouched.

 

 

They were halfway back to Philips before they talked about it.

“So, you like it a bit rough?” said Philip.

“I don’t think I’d like anything rougher, but yeah, I liked it when you fucked me really hard.”

“But nothing rougher? You know, like spanking or bondage.”

“No, I don’t think I want to do those things. Did you like it?”

“Yes, but…”

“But?”

“I think I like it when we’re more…intimate. You know what I mean?”

“Yes. You like the kissing and touching,” Dylan replied playfully.

“Yes,” said Philip feeling his face flush with the admission.

After a silence, Dylan tone of voice changed. “Do you think the police are making any progress with the case?”

“I think so,” said Philip, wondering if his little talk with the lieutenant was being taken seriously.

When Dylan pulled into the drive next to Philip’s car, they sat for a short time.

“College will be different,” said Dylan.

“Yes. I think we’ll each find what we’re looking for.”

“You think so?”

Philip nodded, then climbed out. He closed the door and watched Dylan back into the street and drove away. Then he went inside to clean up, afraid his parents could smell the sex on him.

 

When darkness finally came, Philip was pacing back and forth in his room. He went from the sex earlier in the day with Dylan to thinking about the case, and if the police had made a solid connection between Benjamin Benson and Ryan. He looked at his notebook that had all his notes on the case, the facts as he knew them and the speculations he had made, tying everything back to Benjamin Benson who liked young men, young men he now understood Benjamin could control. It was more than just sex, but the power over them.

He was surprised Dylan had turned Benjamin Benson down, for it seemed at first glance a perfect arrangement. But there was the issue of trust, of it being mutual between them, and Benjamin didn’t want it to be mutual. He wanted the boys to feel more than just controlled but abused by it. To feel humiliated. Dylan had the smarts to recognize it and walk away. Was there something about that rejection that got Ryan killed. Was Benjamin Benson uncontrollable when he didn’t get what he wanted.

Then he wondered about his own desires. What did he really want? He wanted a boyfriend. A relationship with a sense of stability, a relationship like his parents had. He wanted what he considered normal.

He paced back and forth, thinking of everything, trying to process it all. He needed some way to calm his mind, something to let him focus. He looked at the car keys lying on his desk. It was nine o’clock, too late to call someone to do something, even if it were Saturday night. He thought after his afternoon with Dylan, he would be satisfied to just stay in for the night, but now he wanted out. He would tell his parents he was meeting Noah and Debbie for ice cream. He slipped his shoes back on, grabbed up his keys and headed out.

 

 

Philip drove down to Highway 90 and headed west. He had no destination in mind, as he shifted through the gears. He drove along with traffic until past Yellow River, and he turned right on Old River Road. He wanted less traffic, to have the road to himself as much as possible, so he drove north. When he came to where Old River Road changed names, he continued on what was now Vinson Ray Road, not sure where it would take him. It was a place he had not been before. He followed the road as it curved hard to the left and carried him further west. He came to 189, knowing a turn back to the south would take him through Baker, a place he wanted to avoid, so he turned right, heading north.

He noticed headlights were still behind him. For a while it was the high headlights of a pickup, but these looked like a car, and he wondered where they were going. Were they out driving aimlessly like he was or were they going home after being at the beach or in one of the towns for dinner. He drove with more authority, driving up 189 as it carried him though woodland and fields, with gently curves and long straights. When he came to the old country store with its faded red walls and metal roof, he slowed, preparing to turn on County Road 2, that would take him east back across the Yellow River. He accelerated away hard, shifting through the gears quickly, getting up to a speed far exceeding the fifty-five mile per hour limit.

Headlights came upon him, fast, much faster than he was going. Philip knew as soon as they drew close, it was someone following him. He sped up, wondering if he could outrun them. He kept glancing in the rear-view mirror as the car continued to close the distance between them. The car drew closer, and he realized it looked like Benjamin Benson’s Mercedes. When the narrow two-lane road straightened, he floored the accelerator, pulling away from the car momentarily, but it quickly gained on him.

Philip wondered if he could keep ahead of the Mercedes until he could get back into Crestview. He would drive to the police station, all the way to the front door. But he was miles north of town and had a ways to go before he could turn to head south.

Suddenly a construction sign and orange cones lined the shoulder of the road. The county was finally working on the old bridge over Yellow River. With no traffic approaching, Philip pulled to the center of the road, pushing the little Civic, the speedometer pushing ninety, ninety-five, one hundred. The lights in the rear-view mirror got brighter.

“Shit,” Philip uttered, feeling helpless. He couldn’t shake the car. Suddenly the car was on him, right at his back bumper. It tapped him, then hit him harder. He struggled to keep the Civic straight and didn’t know whether to slow down or try to speed up more. Both seemed dangerous.

The shoulder became red dirt where the road work started, and the big Mercedes bumped into him again, this time maintaining contact. Philip struggled to maintain control as the car hit him hard enough to bust out one of its headlights.

He tried to speed up, pull away from the big car, but it kept pace. It moved to his left and hit the back corner.  Philip lost control. He skidded off the road, along the shoulder with the brakes locked trying to get the car to stop. In the bottom of the ditch he ran through the silt fencing, hearing the metal spikes holding it place raking the underside of the car. Then the car got sideways, and everything began to roll. The car rolled sideways then got twisted around as it came to the drop to the river, going end over end, finally coming to stop upside down with the front of the car resting in the water.

 

 

Troy Benson pulled to a stop on the bridge. He looked back but could see nothing in the darkness. No headlights or taillights were visible. The little car had rolled then flipped in the ditch, sending parts and debris flying. There was no way that punk survived. No way, for people died in far less serious wrecks. That punk had been doing over a hundred miles per hour. But he had to see, to make sure. He reversed, pulling back to until he could see smoke rising up from the side of the bridge. He got out and walked to the guardrail, looking down into the dark. The car was dark. He looked at how far back he would have to walk to get to a place he could get down to the car. He didn’t like it. It would take too long. He went back to his car, climbed in, took another drink from a bottle of bourbon, then pulled away. He grimaced, for he knew even in his drunken stupor the police would question him about it. He would be a prime suspect, the one with a motive. He took another drink to try to settle his nerves.

He needed to pin it on Leroy. He could do it. A few phone calls, telling everyone Leroy had stolen his car and took off, and then he would just have to get the attorney set up.

 

Miles to the northwest, Leroy left Brewton after grabbing dinner then making a stop at a grocery store for food that didn’t need cooking or refrigeration. He drove south, then swung on 29 heading east back to the old hunting lodge.

He changed the radio station, then tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the old rock ‘n roll song. He sped up as he left the town enjoying the sound of the engine revving up. As he passed a church, blue lights came on, and he saw a police cruiser pull out behind him.

“Fucking hell,” Leroy exclaimed. At first, he was tempted to floor it, but he wasn’t wanted by the police, so he slowed until he could pull to the shoulder of the road.

 

 

Ten minutes later and a speeding ticket in hand, Leroy was back on the road, driving the speed limit, fearful of pushing his luck. He didn’t want any more bad luck.

 

 

A Reckoning

Preston and Emily Mason were watching a movie or trying to watch it. They were listening out for Philip for he had been gone too long just to be going for ice cream with his friends. It was 11:30 and he should have been back long before now.

“Maybe they went to a movie?” said Preston.

“He would have called us to let us know,” said Emily

“I know but he is a teenager, and they don’t always think things through.”

“We’re talking about Philip.”

“Yeah, but—”

The doorbell rang, and they looked at each other, knowing something was wrong. They got up, Emily following Preston into the front foyer. Preston turned on the foyer light, then the porch light, and opened the door. They inhale sharply for a police officer is standing on the porch.

“Can we help you?” said Preston, the fear evident in his voice. He knows it is about Philip.

“I’m officer Simmons and I’m sorry but this is about your son. He’s been in a wreck and—”

“A wreck? Where? How bad—”

“Mr. Mason, I’m sorry, I don’t’ have a lot of details. It was on County Road 2 at the bridge over Yellow River.”

“What? He was just going for ice cream,” said Emily.

“Is he alright?” said Preston.

“I know he is alive but not sure of his condition. They’re sending a helicopter to pick him up and take him to Sacred Heart once they get him cut out of the car.”

“Oh no,” uttered Preston, knowing the wreck is far worse than the officer is telling him. 

“I suggest you head to Sacred Heart. He should be there by the time you arrive.”

“Okay…okay, thanks,” said Preston, shutting the door and rushing to get their shoes on and out the door.

 

 

Officer Simmons got back into her cruiser and radioed she was back on patrol, when a notice came out to be on the lookout for Leroy McCullough, having been accused of stealing a 2024 black Mercedes S 500 from Benjamin Troy Benson of Gulf Breeze. As she pulled away, she tried to recall who had been talking of Philip Mason and Leroy McCullough, then remembered it was Lt. Bradberry. He was involved with the Ryan Thompson murder case and now people of interest were involved in wrecks or stealing cars. It was crazy and she knew something was wrong for she didn’t believe in coincidences. She radioed the station for Bradberry’s home number.

Number in hand, she dialed it and listened to the ringing. After five rings, the call was finally answered.

“Hello?” said sleepy voice.

“Is this Lt. Bradberry?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I’m Sgt. Simmons and I thought you would want to know. Philip Mason was discovered on County Road 2 at the bridge over Yellow River. They’re cutting him out of the car and will be flying him to sacred heart.”

“Philip? In a wreck?”

“And Leroy McCullough has a warrant out on him for stealing a car, one belonging to Benjamin Troy Benson.”

“What! That’s…”

“I thought you would want to know.”

“Yes, thanks Simmons. When did the Warrant go out on McCullough?

“About fifteen minutes ago.”

“And when did the wreck occur?”

“Not sure. It was discovered by a motorist about forty minutes ago. You think they are connected?”

“I’m sure of it.”

 

 

Philip feels the movement of flight and hears the noise of the rotating blades above him. He hears beeps and voices then the abrupt stop of motion. He hears the door slide open and he is moving. Lights increase in intensity, then he passes out.

 

 

Preston and Emily rush into the hospital and to the nurse’s station for the emergency ward.

“We’re looking for our son. He was flown in…he…he…”

“What is the name?” the nurse asked in a calm voice.

“Philip Mason.”

She checks her monitor. “He’s arrived five minutes ago and is in surgery. I’m sorry that is all I have at this time. The waiting room is…”

Preston and Emily heard the directions to the waiting room, and they followed them despite being unable to repeat them. They took a seat and stared into space wondering what they would do if something happened to their son. How long they waited they had no idea. But after some time had passed they looked up to see Lt. Bradberry coming into waiting room.

“How is he?” Bradberry asked.

“We don’t know,” said Emily.

“Damn,” Bradberry uttered then he looked around the room as if expecting someone.

“Why are you here?” said Preston.

Bradberry sighed then sat down opposite them. “This doesn’t make sense, none of it really, but—”

“What did Philip do?” said Emily.

“He didn’t do anything wrong but…you know about Ryan Thompson?”

“Yes,” said Preston.

“We think it was murder and up until a few days ago we had no positive leads, until…”

“Until?”

“Until your son stopped me at the police station and told me to look into someone in Gulf Breeze.”

“What? How would he—”

“He did his own investigation,” uttered Emily.

“It would seem so,” said Bradberry.

“And now he is in there struggling to survive and, and, and…” said Preston.

“I’m having his car impounded so we can look at it more closely, but not sure we’ll get much from it.”

“What do you expect to find?”

“That it might have been forced off the road. That’s just a hunch but the main suspect reported his car stolen and by one of the other suspects, and…doesn’t make sense.

“No, it doesn’t,” Preston replied in a tone Bradberry knew he needed to stop.

 

 

An hour later, the doctor came out. Preston, Emily, and Bradberry came to him desperate for a status of Philip’s condition.

“He’ll be alright but will need time to recover. He has a concussion, so we have him sedated. He also has a fractured left arm, both the ulna and radius, two broken ribs, a punctured lung, lacerations on the face, arms, and chest, and a lot of bruising. From what I was told of his car, he’s lucky.”

“When can we see him?” said Emily.

“He’s in recovery but we’ll have him in ICU in an hour or so, then you can see him, but we are keeping him sedated for now.”

“Thanks doctor,” said Preston.

 

 

Morning arrived with cloudy skies and drizzling rain. Preston, Emily, and Bradberry were in the cafeteria having breakfast while the doctors did a check on Philip. Bradberry looked up to see Curtis in uniform coming their way.

“Curis? What have you got?” said Bradberry.

Curtis looked at the Mason’s then back at Bradberry.

“Go ahead; don’t worry about them,” said Bradberry.

Curtis took the chair next to Bradberry and leaned back. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense?”

“Philip had his wreck about ten fifteen last night. Around eleven forty Benjamin reports his car stolen, accusing Leroy McCullough. But Leroy McCullough got stopped for speeding at five after ten outside Brewton, Alabama.”

“Leroy was in Brewton?”

“Yes, and in his Mustang, not a Mercedes.”

“So, Benson lied.”

“Why?”

“It’s obvious, he was the one driving his car last night.”

“You think he ran Philip off the road?”

“I’m beginning to think it wasn’t an accident, and it would explain why Philip was traveling at a high rate of speed.”

“How do we prove it?”

“We got his car?”

“Yes.”

“Have forensics go over it, especially the rear end, looking for black paint.”

“It’s going to be tough. I saw the car this morning,” said Curtis looking over at Preston and Emily.

“It’s bad?” said Preston.

“Philip is lucky to be alive,” said Curtis. He turned to Bradberry. “If we can find that Mercedes, then it’ll be easier to prove.”

“Better get everyone looking for that car in a chop shop somewhere. My guess is it is back in Pensacola somewhere getting taken apart.”

“Then we might not ever find it.”

“But look anyway. Maybe we can get lucky.”

 

 

Preston and Emily headed back to ICU and as they passed the waiting room someone called out to them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Mason.”

They turned to see Noah with Debbie and Dylan standing behind him.

“Hey guys,” said Preston.

“How is he?” said Debbie.

“He’s banged up pretty bad, but he’ll be okay.”

After telling the three it was best for them to go home for as long as Philip was in the ICU visitation was restricted, eventually Noah and Dylan agreed, pulling Debbie to follow them.

When they got back to Philip’s room they saw he was still asleep. The bruises looked worse, having darkened even more. They took a seat and watched him sleep, each wondering what their son had been up to.

 

Troy had been berating himself since Saturday night, wondering what he was going to do. The car was stashed in a storage facility he owned on the west side of town. He wondered how long he could get away with it, knowing the police were being suspicious, for he had heard nothing about them arresting Leroy.

One of his contacts told him Leroy hadn’t been found, but the problem for Troy was Leroy got stopped for speeding sometime on Saturday, but not sure what time. It spelled trouble and he knew he needed to do something.

He felt trapped. Made worse by the fact that kid was still alive and in one of the hospitals in Pensacola. He heard the kid was in bad shape and hadn’t told the police anything, but how long before the kid woke up and told how he got run off the road. He contemplated going to the hospital and smothering the bastard with a pillow to shut him up but being in an ICU no doubt meant someone was watching him all the time, and if the police were involved, they could be watching him too.

The doorbell rang, and he looked toward the front door, wondering who was there. He moved through his house until in the foyer, seeing two dark clothed people through the frosted glass in the door. He opened the door and tried to put on his most innocent smile.

“Benjamin Troy Benson,” said one of the police officers.

“Yes.”

“We have warrant to search the premises.”

“Why?”

“Is there anyone else here?”

“No, but what is this about.”

The police officer ignored him, instead turned, motioning a crew standing by a white van. “Come on, let’s get this done.”

Troy stepped back as the forensics crew came in to search his home and he called his attorney.

“John, the police are here searching my house!”

He listened to the attorney’s reply shaking his head.

“What do you mean, not just my house. What?”

He turned white and moved to a chair to sit down as his attorney informed him searches were going on at his office and at a storage facility he owned on the west side of town.

 

 

A couple of days later, Philip was sitting up in bed, slowly eating lunch. His left arm was still in the plastic cast, and bandages still covered parts of his face and arms. His mother sat watching him while his father was down in the cafeteria getting lunch. The door swung open and Lt. Bradberry and Sgt. Powell came into the room.

“Can we talk?”

“Hey Lieutenant Bradberry, Sargent Powell, come on in,” said Philip causing his mother to realize he knew the two officers.

“Are you feeling better?” said Bradberry.

“Yes, but still sore.”

“Not surprising,” said Curtis, “have you seen your car?”

“No.”

Curtis opened his notebook and pulled up an image. He held it out to Philip who took it.

“Whoa…it’s totaled,” said Philip looking at the ball of wreckage, the driver’s door cut off, laying on the floor next to it. “Mom, you want to see it?”

“No, I don’t need to see that,” she replied.

“We’ve arrested Benjamin Benson and Leroy McCullough,” said Bradberry.

“Did you find Benson’s car?” said Philip, showing he understood the importance of having it for evidence.

Bradberry and Curtis smiled. “He made the mistake of hiding it in a storage facility he owns,” said Bradberry.

“Seriously, he thought that was a good idea,” said Philip.

“It seems he was intoxicated that night.”

“Why did he come after me?”

“He found out you were the one that tied him to Leroy McCullough.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I hope you learn not to do something like this again. Now confirm something for us.”

“Okay.”

“What happened Saturday night.”

Philip recounted how he had gone for a drive, and drove to other side of Yellow River and up to County Road 2 and along the way realized he was being followed. He talked about being chased, then ran off the road, sliding down in the ditch then losing control.

“You sure it was a Mercedes Benz?” said Bradberry.

“The headlights had the right shape, but I couldn’t swear it was a Mercedes, no.”

“We’d be surprised if you claimed to be able to do so.”

“But his car had damage on the front, right?”

“Yes.”

“And the passenger side headlight was busted out?”

Bradberry smiled for it confirmed what they found. “Yes.”

“What about paint? Any blue paint on his car?”

“No, but we found black paint on your car,” said Curtis.

“Really? I’m surprised you could do that.”

“You had to be looking for it.”

“Okay, that is what we need,” said Bradberry.

Lt. Bradberry and Sgt. Powell got the door, about to go through it when Philip stopped them.

“What about for Ryan’s murder? Have you been able to tie Benson to it?”

Lt. Bradberry looked like he wasn’t going to answer and Powell looked flummoxed.

“No, not yet,” said Bradberry.

“Do you think it might have been someone else?” said Philip.

“We need to go,” said Bradberry ending the conversation.

 

 

Curtis came into his home seeing a few empty boxes sitting around the living room. He could hear Aiden stirring around in the bedroom and he smiled. He tossed his keys on the side table and went down the short hall to the primary bedroom. Aiden was trying to get his clothes into the closet, one too small for the two of them. He looked at the familiar body, most of it visible with Aiden in just a pair of gym shorts.

“Aiden, we can buy a wardrobe for the room to hold some of our clothes,” said Curtis, as he thought about sex, not how to accommodate the clothes in the closet.

Aiden stepped back and looked over his shoulder, smiling. “Are you still glad I’m moving in?”

“Of course. I just have to tighten up to give you room.”

“A wardrobe would be nice.”

Curtis circled the bed and came up behind him, hugging him around the waist. “I think you need to take a break.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” said Curtis then he kissed the right shoulder. He moved along it until kissing up the neck. As he kissed the neck, he slipped a hand into the gym shorts, pleased to find no underwear, allowing him to fondle the cock and manipulate the nuts.

Aiden moaned and pushed back against Curtis’ groin.

Curtis pushed the gym shorts down and guided Aiden to the bed. He stripped quickly as he watched Aiden stroke a hardening cock. He tossed his boxers to the side and eased down on the bed. They kissed and touched and uttered intimacies.

Curtis slipped down until able to take Aiden in the mouth and he manipulated the cock until Aiden was pumping the hips, working the cock through his lips and over his tongue. As he sucked Aiden moaned and squirmed, and at times pushed upward. He kept it up until Aiden was undulating in a familiar way. He knew Aiden was close and he increased the intensity of his manipulation

Aiden cried out then shuddered with release as Curtis captured each ejaculation.

 

 

Aiden clutched at the bed as Curtis penetrated him, slowly, gently, pushing inch after inch into his depths. Curtis held the legs against his chest while working his hips, a tug outward, then another push inward going deeper each time until pressing against the ass.

“Aiden,” Curtis uttered when he began to fuck, to work his cock through the tightness until it loosened to his penetration. He kissed an ankle while driving cock into the ass then he looked down at the familiar body stretched out before him. The lean build with its long torso and small nipples and covering a small scar on the stomach, a tattoo of a sea turtle.

Curtis fucked until sweat trickled down his face and torso and his arousal was pushed to the edge. He slowed, let his arousal subside. He let the legs slip around his waist as he moved down and kissed Aiden. He worked his hips, pushing into Aiden’s depths, fucking until once again on the ragged edge, but he didn’t slow, not this time, instead he fucked for release.

 

 

Aiden lay against Curtis, head on the chest as the sunlight moved up the wall. Curtis was lost in thought, trying to get past something he and Lt. Bradberry had talked about that morning. He tried to shrug it off like the lieutenant, but there was something he couldn’t let go.

“Okay, what’s bothering you,” said Aiden.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been laying here mumbling to yourself and sighing heavily. What is it? Some case got you stumped?”

“It’s nothing really.”

“It’s something or you wouldn’t be dwelling on it.”

“It’s the Ryan Thompson murder.”

“I thought that case was solved. Didn’t that asshole from Gulf Breeze do it?”

“Troy Benson lured young teens into abusive situations and Ryan helped him, and he tried to kill Philip Mason.”

“And he killed Ryan too.”

“Philip Mason told the lieutenant Troy didn’t kill Ryan.”

“What? How would that kid know?”

“I don’t know, but he hasn’t been wrong so far.”

“You think he’s right. You think someone else killed Ryan Thompson.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Troy Benson had no reason to kill Ryan, that I know of. It doesn’t make sense. Ryan was helping him.”

“Okay, Sherlock, who had a reason to kill Ryan Thompson.”

“That’s just it. I don’t know.”

 

 

“I’m telling you it was for one of the oldest reasons in the book,” said Philip to Dylan and Noah, sitting across from him in the diner.

“Prostitution?” joked Noah.

“No, not exactly, but I think it was about a sense of betrayal, a betrayal that seemed unforgiveable,” said Philip.

“And who would feel betrayed by Ryan?” said Dylan.

“Tammy?” said Noah.

“No, not her. She was upset with him, but…she’s not the one,” said Philip.

“Well after nearly getting killed and your car destroyed, I would think you would leave it alone,” said Noah.

“What about a car? Are you going to replace the Civic?” said Dylan.

“The insurance company settled and is cutting a check this week,” said Philip.

“Will it be enough to replace the Si?”

“The check is what my parents paid for it. It seems having a policy holder trying to kill someone and the threat of a major suit makes them settle quickly.”

“Have you started looking for a car?” said Noah.

Philip smiled at his two friends.

“You have,” said Noah.

“You already found a car,” said Dylan.

Philip smiled more broadly, then he pulled out a printout, sliding it across the table. “We’re going to pick it up this afternoon. Dad is going to pay up front so someone else doesn’t get it.

Noah slid the sheet of paper between Dylan and him, and he flipped it over. “It’s the current body style!”

“A 22 model Si,” said Philip as Dylan and Noah looked at the image of a white Civic, the Si badge prominent on the front grille.

“This has to cost more than your old one,” said Noah.

“A little more. Dad is covering the difference.”

“But you’re not going to be able to drive it until you get that cast off, are you?” said Dylan.

“I could but dad said I couldn’t drive until this cast is off my left arm. Which brings me to a request.”

“What?” said Noah.

“Can one of you drive a stick shift?”

“Not me,” said Dylan.

“I can,” said Noah.

“You can drive a stick shift?”

“Yes. My grandfather taught me to drive his old Jeep.”

“That won’t be the same,” joked Dylan.

“Noah, what are you doing tomorrow morning? Say around seven.”

“Seven! In the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing, but can’t it wait until later in the day?”

“No.”

 

 

Lt. Bradberry climbed into his cruiser and after getting the car started, pulled up the onboard computer. He checked his day’s schedule, then eased out of the parking space heading toward the street. He eased down the drive, replaying a conversation with Sgt. Powell from that morning.

What if the Mason boy is right?

He’s just looking for something that is not there.

What makes you so sure Benson killed Ryan Thompson?

What makes you so sure he didn’t?

Benson killed Ryan Thompson; case closed. That was all there was to it. He was sure of it. The simplest answer was Benson did it, and ninety percent of the time the simplest answer was the correct one.

So, why did it nag at him the Mason boy didn’t believe it. Was it because he got Sgt. Powell believing it too?

As he neared the end of the drive a white Honda Civic pulled across it and stopped, blocking him. He stopped, not sure what he expected, but when Philip Mason climbed out of the passenger seat, he frowned. “Fuck,” he uttered under his breath, wondering how long it would be before that kid let it go. He climbed out and came face to face with him at the front of his car.

“Get in your car and leave,” said Bradberry.

“Hear me out.”

“No. I’ve listened to enough of your nonsense. Troy Benson killed Ryan Thompson, just as he tried to kill you.”

“Benson had no reason to kill Ryan.”

“So, you’ve said.”

“Don’t you want to know who I think did it?”

“No. Now get in that car and leave, or I’ll write up whoever was foolish enough to drive you over here.”

“Come on, Philip! I can’t afford a ticket,” yelled Noah from the driver’s seat.

“You heard him. He can’t afford a ticket,” said Bradberry, taking out his pad.

“Okay, I’m going, but think about it. The real killer is getting away with murder.”

Sgt. Bradberry stared at Philip until there was a nod of the head and Philip went back to the car and climbed in. He watched the white car pull away, then went back to his car to start his patrol.

 

 

“Boy, is he mad at you,” said Noah.

“Yeah, he’s convinced the case is solved.”

“Where to; back to your place?”

“No. Go to this address,” said Philip as he pulled up a pre-selected address.

“Whose address is that?”

“Sgt. Curtis Powell.”

“Philip, no, let’s just go back to your place and—”

“Are you going to drive me there or not?”

“Okay, okay,” said Noah. He looked at the directions on screen, then drove as directed until pulling up in front of a modest ranch house. A police cruiser and a 4Runner were in the drive.

“Good, he’s home. Wait in the car,” said Philip as he climbed out.

Philip strolled up the narrow concrete walk to the small porch. He rang the doorbell and waited, hearing voices inside. The door swung open and it was Aiden Merrell, a guy who had been five years ahead of him in school. Aiden was shirtless and Philip’s eyes went from the muscular upper body to the tattoo on the stomach, then back up to the green eyes.

“You’re that Mason boy?”

Philip grimaced, for everyone who called him a boy would dismiss anything he had to say. He was about to ask for Curtis when he saw him approaching.

“Who is it, Aiden?” said Curtis coming behind him, also shirtless.

Philip suddenly realized what he was seeing and he smiled at Curtis.

“What do you want, Philip?”

Philip smiled at Curtis and Aiden, making Aiden smile back and Curtis look away.

“Fuck,” uttered Curtis.

“Curtis, you need to listen to me. Lt. Bradberry refused to—”

“And with just cause. The case is solved. Let it go,” said Curtis.

“But why would Benson kill Ryan. He had no reason to do it.”

“So, you say. But we don’t know everything, not yet anyway. Wait until the trial.”

“Trail? That will prove nothing,” said Philip. He stepped closer to the two men and looked straight at Curtis. “Benson didn’t do it and I’m going to prove it.”

“No, you’re not. You leave it alone. Haven’t you caused enough trouble? Look at you. Your arm in a cast and I can see two scars on your face. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not if the murder is still out there.”

“So, who did it?” challenged Curtis.

“I’ll tell you when, I’m sure.”

“What? You’re not sure? You just guessing and—”

“But it is a good guess, one based on—”

“Based on your bullshit. Let it go.”

“Come with me on Monday and I’ll prove it.”

“No, you’re not to do anything.”

“Monday. I’ll get proof and—”

“Go home,” said Curtis, pulling Aiden back into the house and closing the door.

 

 

Curtis entered the police station and went to Lt. Bradberry’s desk.

“You got a minute?”

“Yes; what’s up?”

“It’s that Mason kid.”

Curtis saw the frown, then the slow shake of the head.

“You know he thinks Benson didn’t kill Thompson,” said Curtis as he took a seat in the chair by Bradberry’s desk.

“I know.”

“He says he is going to prove it.”

“Fuck.”

“Do you think he’ll try something?”

Bradberry nodded, giving Curtis a worried look.

“Do you think we should do something?” said Curtis.

Bradberry leaned back and looked up for a second then back at Curtis. “I want to lock that kid up until it is time for him to go to college.”

Curtis smiled. “But that won’t work.”

“Nope.”

“He said he would prove it today.”

“Today? Fuck. Okay, here’s what we’ll do.”

 

Reveal

Philip sat in a parking lot across the street from the place he was watching. He shut off his phone knowing his parents would soon be texting or calling wanting to know where he was at. He was frustrated how no one would take him seriously. Benson was guilty of a lot but not killing Ryan Thompson. The news sites had reported Benson’s protestations and claims he was innocent of Ryan’s murder. But not once had Benson denied the other crimes, and Philip knew it indicated someone else murdered Ryan. The question became why?

Why someone killed was various, but the main reasons, old as time, left few options. Across the street was the one he just knew had to be the one who did it. The one person who probably had a reason, one that left them feeling ashamed and angry. Angry enough to lash out at anyone who asked questions about Ryan.

The shop began to close, doors going down and people beginning to file out. Philip started his car and pulled out, driving down to the next street to do a U-turn. Once back at the entrance to the auto repair shop, he had to ease into the drive because the truck pulling out was too close to the center. He saw the look, how the driver wondered why he was pulling in when they were closed, but he eased past, parking in a space on the right, opposite the building. He took note of the four garage doors that were down, only one remaining up, and he saw an old CJ-5 in the bay. It was faded blue, with signs of rust on the bottom edge of the tailgate, and Philip knew it belonged to his suspect. It explained why they were not leaving on time. Instead of confronting them at their home in the nearby mobile home park, he would be doing it at the shop. He wondered if it would be safer, worried how they would react when confronted.

Philip watched someone come out of the office, lock the door, then cut across the drive to a Camry. When they pulled out of the parking lot, he climbed out of his car and headed to the open garage bay.

He could hear rock music and from the poor quality of the sound he knew it was a portable radio. Then he heard someone at the front of the CJ-5. He couldn’t see them for the hood was up, leaned back against the windshield header. He eased down the passenger side, seeing someone standing on the front bumper and leaning over the engine.

“What’s wrong with it?” said Philip.

“Fucking carburetor. It’s so old I’ve got to replace it,” said Jeffrey Fowler. Then he looked over at Philip, suddenly aware of his presence. “What do you want?” The tone hardened.

“I’ve got a couple of questions.”

“If this is about Ryan, that asshole from Gulf Breeze killed him. Case closed, so you can fuck off.”

“Benson didn’t kill Ryan, but I think you know that.”

For the longest second in time, all Philip could hear was some 1970’s rock song and traffic passing by through the open door. Jeffrey jumped down from the bumper and began to wipe his hands on a blue towel.

“What are you saying?” said Jeffrey, taking a step toward Philip.

Philip stepped back, maintaining their separation.

“I think Ryan was killed because he was gay. Maybe it was as simple as that, or maybe something happened that freaked you out.”

“You shut the fuck up.”

“Did Ryan come on to you? Did he try to get you to do something with him?”

Philip saw the face redden. Jeffrey was staring at him with such anger, but there was no push back. Jeffrey wasn’t denying it.

“What happened Jeffrey? Did Ryan try to get you to suck his dick or let him fuck you?” Philip knew he was pushing Jeffrey.

“You need to leave.”

“Did you reciprocate then regret it?”

The blue towel was tossed across the room and Jeffrey rushed to the Jeep passenger door as Philip backed to the open bay door. He knew Jeffrey would get angry. He was prepared for it, but how far he could push him, he wasn’t sure. He saw Jeffrey reach under the passenger seat.

“What happened Jeffrey?”

Jeffrey stepped back from the Jeep, raising a gun toward Philip. He recognized the it. A 10mm Glock, fifteen rounds in the magazine, and it was pointed at him.

“Jeffrey, don’t do anything you’ll regret later.”

“I’ve done a lot I regret; one more thing won’t matter.”

Philip moved to the right one step. “Jeffrey, what happened between you and Ryan?” he uttered in a low voice, trying to sound calm. “It couldn’t be that bad, could it?”

“He…he was my friend, or so I thought. He…”

“He what?” said Philip taking another step closer to the Ford F-150 sitting in the next bay.

“We were at his place, watching the game and drinking and…”

“And?” said Philip taking another step.

“I fell asleep and when I woke up, he was…he was…”

“Touching you inappropriately?”

“Yes. He was between my legs and had gotten my jeans undone and was…he was…goddamn it, the faggot was sucking me,” exclaimed Jeffrey, his voice rising in volume. He raised the pistol higher. “You should have left it alone. He got what he deserved,” Jeffrey exclaimed, firing the pistol.

Philip jumped behind the truck as the bullet tore into the rear fender.

“Being gay is no reason for you to murder him,” said Philip, as he moved around to the passenger side of the truck. He bent down and looked underneath it at Jeffrey’s feet walking toward the front of the truck. He quickly eased back and behind the old Mercury in the next bay.

“Come out Philip.”

Philip moved behind the next car, a Subaru sedan, and he went to the passenger side, looking for something he could use as a weapon. He picked up a large wrench, then a hammer. Then he saw a larger hammer, one that had some weight to it. He gripped the handle and tested it, satisfied it was the best he could do.

Philip heard Jeffrey make a noise, accidentally kicking something on the floor. “Fuck,” Jeffrey uttered, then his tone softened. “He took advantage of me, his best friend.”

“So, you killed him and dumped him in the Yellow River.”

“YES! He was a faggot and he touched me…thinking I was too.”

The voice trailed off. Philip got down on the floor and looked under the vehicles, seeing Jeffrey between the Mercury and truck about to round the back of the car. Then he saw two more pairs of feet easing into the shop behind the old Jeep.

“Ryan showed you some pleasure and you freaked out about it,” said Philip.

“He had me in his mouth. In his mouth! I thought he was my friend, but he was just a faggot.”

Philip came to his feet and eased up, standing at the C-pillar for the most protection and he looked over at Jeffrey at the back of the Mercury. Jeffrey looked surprised he had stood up, then he smiled.

“I’ll dump you in the inner coastal,” said Jeffrey, raising the pistol.

Philip looked past Jeffrey at two police officers standing at the back of the truck aiming guns at him.

“Don’t move!” yelled one of the police officers.

For weeks to come, Philip would relive the next few seconds, replaying it over in his mind always wondering what he could have done differently. Jeffrey spinning around and aiming at the police officers. He fired once, hitting the rear window of the truck, causing the glass to explode out of it. Then there were two more-gun shots, one by each officer, both lethal. Jeffrey was dead before he hit the floor.

But at that moment, it was over before he could yell ‘no’ at Jeffrey, desperate to get him not to do it.

One police officer quickly got to Jeffrey, kicking the gun away and the other came around the other way to Philip.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yes,” Philip replied to the young officer. “How did you know to come here?”

“They called us,” the officer replied, motioning toward the open garage door where Lt. Bradberry and Sgt. Powell were coming in dressed in civilian clothing.

Bradberry came around to Philip as Powell stopped to talk to the other police officer at Jeffrey’s body.

“You said you didn’t believe me,” said Philip.

“I didn’t, but we couldn’t let you do this alone.”

“You followed me?”

“We traced your phone, then called these guys as we drove down.”

“Curtis and I were in the academy together,” said the officer who stood next to him. Philip looked at the name tag. Sgt. Harrison, then he looked at the young officer. “He called in a favor I owed him.”

“I see,” said Philip, turning to see Powell come around the Subaru.

“I’m going to kick your ass for coming down here alone,” said Powell as he came to stand next to Bradberry.

“But you guys blew me off. You didn’t take the case seriously. You were going to let a murderer get away.”

“I see what you meant,” said Harrison.

 

 

Summertime Before College

Philip came into the old bowling alley in Fort Walton Beach with Noah behind him. They stood next to the counter for renting shoes and checking in, looking for Debbie and Dylan. A waving hand caught their attention and saw it was Debbie standing next to Dylan at a rack of bowling balls.

“There they are,” said Noah.

“Let’s get some shoes,” said Philip.

Shoes in hand, they went to the seating area where Dylan was at the scoring screen putting in their names and Debbie was seated, waiting for them.

“Pick out a ball then we can do our practice shots,” said Debbie.

“Okay,” said Philip.

“I’m going to change shoes first,” said Noah, taking a seat opposite Debbie.

Phillip moved to a rack of balls, looking at the different colors and noting the different weights. He had no idea what to look for in a ball, so he went with which one he liked the looks. He picked up a blue one, then a green and blue one. He looked over at the next rack and saw an orange one and he went over to it, picking it up and testing the finger holes. It seemed like a good fit. Then he heard a familiar voice and turned to see Curtis coming from the lane and being congratulated by Aiden and sitting with them was Bradberry and a woman he assumed was his wife. He smiled at the irony of seeing them together at the same bowling alley.

“Hurry up Philip. Noah has a ball already,” said Dylan.

Philip waved at him and started back, looking one more time over at the two police officers and their partners. Curtis must have heard his name call out, for he saw him looking his way. He waved and Curtis shook his head and smiled back.

“Who were you waving at,” said Debbie.

“Sgt. Powell from the police station.”

“I heard they were able to show Ryan and Jeffrey Fowler were together on the night he died,” said Noah.

“Yes, but they didn’t need it. Everyone heard Jeffrey admit it,” said Philip.

“You were an idiot confronting him on your own,” said Debbie.

“I didn’t think anyone believed me.”

“I heard that Benson’s trial will start next winter,” said Dylan.

“Will you have to come back for it?” said Debbie.

“Yes,” said Philip.

“You worried about it?”

“No, I’m more worried about starting fall semester in the fall.”

“Me too,” said Dylan.

“At least you guys will be at the same college,” said Noah.

“That will be convenient,” said Debbie as she picked up her ball and moved to the lane. Noah looked at Dylan then Philip and they laughed.

Philip considered it again. His relationship with Dylan and what it meant for the two of them to be roommates come fall. They were still messing around but the two of them knew something was missing. They just didn’t click in a way to develop a real close relationship. Looking over at Curtis and Aiden, he knew it would never be like their relationship. Eventually the two of them would go their own way. Looking at the muscular body, how the torso tapered into the jeans and the ass filled out the seat enticingly, he knew until that time arrived, they would enjoy themselves as much as they could.

Dylan leaned close to Philip to speak in a whisper.

“Are you coming over after we finish? Mom and dad are still up in North Carolina.”

“Yes, if you want me to,” Philip replied.

“Of course.”

 

 

The house was quiet, just music playing over the sound system in Dylan’s room breaking the silence. On the bed, Philip moved over Dylan, his body undulating in a slow fuck. Dylan’s hands moved along his sides and over his back as his hips pumped cock into Dylan’s ass. He fucked slowly, gently, then sped up, working his body until glistening with sweat and Dylan pleaded with him to fuck harder. Then he teasingly slowed, barely moving his hips so his arousal would subside. He kissed the neck, along the smooth jaw, until pressing lips against lips. He ground his hips against the ass, ran his hands along the sides of the body, then laced their fingers together and held Dylan down, pushing himself up. He looked down at the eyes staring back.

“Fuck me, Philip,” whispered Dylan.

Philip began to move again, to tug outward, then push inward, until fucking with an urgency. Fucking for release. He hammered Dylan’s insides until gasping for breath. He felt his body’s heat, the feverish nature of it, as he pumped cock into Dylan’s depths. The bed began to squeak, then rock with the rhythm of their fuck. And Philip fucked harder.

“Fuck. Fuck me...harder!” Dylan cried out.

Philip felt the surge of release, how it shuddered him, made him slam cock into Dylan’s ass. Then he shoved into Dylan’s depths and jerked and shuddered with release.

 

 

Across town, Aiden moved up and down on Curtis’ cock. He rode it until sweating and his own cock slapped down on Curtis’ stomach. Curtis couldn’t take it, how it pushed him to the point of release, and he sat up, hugged the body, and rolled them over, putting Aiden on his back. He hooked the legs in his arms and folded the body in half and pushed inward all the way.

“Fuck! Curtis. Fuck me,” exclaimed Aiden.

Curtis fucked. Fucked hard. He worked his hips until the muscles in his stomach burned with his exertion. And he kept fucking, not slowing, not this time.

“Aiden,” Curtis uttered breathlessly as he shoved cock into the ass.

The bed squeaked and rocked until it was banging into the wall. The sound echoed in the room, mixed with their utterances and the sound of flesh smacking against flesh.

Aiden took his own cock in hand and stroked it as best he could in the confines between them. He shivered with the manipulation of it and Curtis fucking him. He arched his back and cried out, then gasp for breath as cum roped up his chest. He gasped for breath as his cock ejaculated wad after wad.

“Fuck!” Curtis cried out as he slammed into Aiden’s depths and shuddered with his own release.

 

 

Philip lay on his stomach as Dylan moved on top of him. The undulation of the torso on his back, the lips that kissed up his neck, and the hips driving cock into his ass, made him feel his sexuality. The masculine nature of it and how he wanted Dylan’s cock, to feel it pumping in his ass. He clutched at the bed and pushed his ass upward, desperate to feel the cock bore into his depths. His own cock hardened beneath him, flexed with his renewed arousal as Dylan pushed into him.

He relished the fullness of the penetration, how the cock felt inside him. “Don’t stop; keep fucking,” he uttered as he shivered with the feel of tongue swirling around his ear.

“I’m going to cum inside you,” Dylan uttered.

“Do it. Do it. Pump it in me,” Philip exclaimed as he worked his ass against the hips hammering it.

Dylan bearhugged him, and ground hips against his ass, then shuddered with release.

When Dylan finally rolled off, he rolled to his back and took his cock in hand, desperate to get off again. He stroked it as Dylan watched, faster and faster, until he was pushing upward at the hips. He stiffened, then shuddered, as cum erupted from his cock. As it ejaculated wad after wad, Dylan’s lips closed over the head taking his load.

 

 

Aiden braced himself on the tiled wall as the shower ran hot, steaming up the small bathroom. Curtis held him by the waist, pumping cock into his ass. Curtis leaned to him, kissing the neck then along the shoulder. He playfully nipped the skin, then stood tightening his hold on the waist.

“Fuck, Curtis, don’t stop,” said Aiden.

“I’m not,” said Curtis. Instead, he fucked faster, harder, slamming cock into Aiden’s depths until trying to shove deeper as he came again.

 

 

Philip came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He found Dylan’s bedroom empty and headed downstairs, assuming he would find him in the kitchen getting something to drink or snack on. He moved down the main hall to the kitchen at the back of the house, where he found the kitchen empty. He went to the sliding glass doors to look outside. Dylan was sitting in a lounge chair facing the backyard.

Philip went out to him and moved around the adjacent lounge chair. He saw Dylan was naked, not bothering to cover himself, and he eased down next to him.

“It always feels good late at night. Have you noticed?” said Dylan.

“Yes. It’s still warm but not unbearably so.”

“I love to sit out here naked.”

Philip looked over, smiling at the admittance. “You do it a lot?”

“Sometimes late at night when mom and dad are in bed.”

“You jack off out here too.” Philip stated it as fact, knowing Dylan would do it.

“Of course,” Dylan replied.

They sat back and stared up at the star filled sky. There were no sounds of traffic or a neighbor stirring around outside. Just the sound of insects.

“You found who murdered Ryan Thompson,” said Dylan.

“Yep.”

“And got that abuser arrested.”

“And Leroy, who was helping him.”

“And we’ve graduated from high school and have the summer to goof off before college.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to be able to stand it?”

“What? The summer?”

“No, not having something to investigate.”

“After being run off the road and nearly killed, I’ll not have an issue with it.”

“Good.”

“I’ll just enjoy the freedom from grade school and the anticipation of college.”

“So, you’re going to leave it alone.”

“Leave what alone?”

“The robberies.”

“What robberies?”

“You said you’d leave them alone.”

“I’ve not heard about any robberies.”

“It was reported this afternoon. Someone is breaking into area homes. The police haven’t released anything about it, but rumor is the thief is taking collections, like coins or sports memorabilia.”

“That would be tough to sell if the police have a good description of what was taken.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure the police will figure it out.”

“Maybe?”

Dylan looked over at Philip, seeing the way he was staring up at the sky without seeing it. He knew he had tripped Philip’s innate curiosity. “Before you start your own investigation, you want to mess around again?”

Philip looked over to see Dylan tugging on his cock getting it hard. He watched him as the cock thickened, elongated, until Dylan could slowly stroke it. It aroused him, and he tugged the towel open as he watched. He took his own cock in hand, getting it hard.

“You want this?” said Dylan as he playfully waved his cock at Philip.

“Yes,” Philip whispered. He climbed to his feet, cock sticking straight out rock hard, and he straddled Dylan. He moved over the waist and down until pinning the cock beneath his ass. He worked his ass over the cock until Dylan lay back and moaned with the stimulation.

“Fuck, Philip, sit on it.”

Philip rose on his knees, held Dylan’s cock, and lowered his ass to it. He let his weight carry him as his ass stretched open once again to take Dylan’s cock.

“Yeah…summer is going…to…be…grand,” uttered Dylan as Philip moved up and down on his cock.

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