Chapter Nine
As the door to the holding cell opened, Richard Atwater shook his head and started to stand up. Then he spotted Michael and Deacon behind another man he assumed to be a police officer. He squinted, still a little hazy.
“You!” he growled. “You…” He was still a little fuzzy on the details of what had happened, but he distinctly remembered that he was supposed to have been meeting Michael. “What did you do?” he demanded.
Detective Ramirez-Montague stepped between them, cutting off Richard’s line of sight. “Don’t worry about them. Right now, you need to worry about me.”
“And who are you?” Richard sassed, trying to regain some control over his situation. It didn’t work. When the man only glared down at him, he added, “What can I do for you…Detective…?
“Ramirez-Montague. You can tell me everything you know about Vires et Spiritu.”
“What’s that?”
The detective leaned over, his face inches from Richard’s. “Do not play games with me, Mister Atwater. You’re going to tell me what you know and then you’re going to set up a little get together. You cult boys do that now and then, right?” he said and then straightened up again.
“We’re not a cult,” Richard spat causing Deacon and Michael to snort.
The police detective’s eyebrows shot up. “So, you do know what it is?”
Richard’s mouth clamped shut and he grit his teeth. “No, I…I don’t know and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Ramirez-Montague smirked and played Michael’s recording. He watched as his suspect’s eyes widened and then leaned in again. “You’re going to tell me everything.” He handed the phone to Richard and added, “And then you’re going to call your friends and have them meet you.”
Deacon and Michael couldn’t believe how long a process it turned out to be. It turned out that Vires et Spiritu’s influence was much more far flung than they’d originally imagined. It took hours for Richard to spill everything and then there was the matter of getting in touch with them all.
“You’d think they’d have some kind of group mail box,” Deacon complained when Detective Ramirez-Montague finally suggested they go home until he contacted them. He wasn’t sure that Michael had heard. The younger man looked deep in thought. “Everything all right?” he asked.
“It just feels weird that it’s almost over. I don’t think I realized how much this was hanging over my head until now,” Michael answered.
“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Deacon mumbled. His lover looked up, curious, but he didn’t elaborate.
It turned out that getting that many important people together at one time was difficult to maneuver, but after a few days of waiting, the scene was set. There’d be no theatrics this time, just a simple police incursion. Deacon and Michael waited in the wings of the warehouse by the wharf with Richard, who was still unhappy about what they’d done. It was understandable, so they let him vent.
“Do you realize how many people’s lives you’ll be ruining?” he hissed as they waited for the other members to arrive. “These people aren’t just anyone.”
“You know, that was always Vires et Spiritu’s problem,” Michael commented. “You all thought you were better than everyone else and that other people’s lives didn’t matter.”
“You were one of us once,” Richard pointed out sarcastically.
“Not really. I tried, but I couldn’t stomach the cruelty and hypocrisy.”
Richard glared at him, but before he could say anything, the door to the old warehouse opened. They couldn’t see who it was, and the man quickly disappeared into the shadows. There were stairs, leading up to a balcony loft above them. They’d been told that the members would take places up there to watch as Richard held the floor below. It was one of their customs since he’d been the one who’d called the meeting.
“Could you tell who it was?” Deacon asked.
Richard shook his head. “They’ll all be in masks anyway.”
Before long, the upstairs balcony was full of men, about thirty in all. The only ones missing were the newest recruits that the police were certain hadn’t gotten involved in any criminal activities yet. The first floor of the warehouse had been cleared except for chairs off to the sides. The room was lit by candles and at the front of the room, where anyone on the second floor could see it, was a small stage with a pulpit. Before long there was a murmuring and Richard looked at Deacon and Michael.
“Go,” Michael said, and he and his lover watched as the man walked out, nervously.
“Brothers,” he said as he reached the pulpit and the shake in his voice was audible. “I…called you here today over a matter of grave importance.”
When he hesitated, a voice rang out, “Go on, brother.”
“I’m afraid…I have betrayed you.”
The murmuring started again, but this time it was loud and angry. Deacon and Michael walked out from the shadows and stood by the stage.
“What is this?” a voice demanded.
“He’s the one who betrayed us,” another yelled. “He wrote the song!”
The murmuring turned to shouts as Detective Ramirez-Montague came through the front door with a handful of uniformed police officers. As they started for the stairs, a shot rang out from the balcony.
Michael had turned to Deacon, a relieved smile on his face, but it slowly faded when they heard the shot. “Deac,” he breathed and then glanced down as blood began to spread over his shoulder.
“Michael!” Deacon yelled and grabbed his lover as the man’s knees began to give way. He held him up and desperately looked around for help. The room was in chaos by then, though. Men in robes and masks were trying to come down the stairs in the front of the room and the back. Police quickly came through the back door as well, though, catching the men before they could sneak out. He tried to hold Michael up, but they both ended up on their knees and watched as stray candles were kicked over, igniting the material covering the chairs.
“We’ve gotta get out of here,” Deacon growled and hauled Michael to his feet. He put an arm around the younger man’s waist and the two of them limped toward the back door. There seemed to be less chaos there, though the fire was quickly spreading that direction. Deacon pulled his coat up over Michael’s face to shield him and stumbled through the heat as quickly as he could. Suddenly, a police officer was there beside them, having spotted them through the commotion.
“He’s been shot,” Deacon yelled over the noise.
Once outside, they lay Michael down on the concrete and the officer called for an ambulance. Everything else disappeared as Deacon held his lover’s hand and tried to soothe him.
“You’ll be all right. It’s barely a scrape,” he teased, but tears streamed through his laughter.
“I don’t feel so well,” Michael choked out. “It’s hard to breathe.”
“There’s probably blood putting pressure on your lungs, but that’s OK, the doctors can fix it,” he quickly added to the younger man’s frightened look. He glanced up, looking for the ambulance and squeezed Michael’s hand harder. “Hang in there, OK? I don’t wanna lose you.” With a shock, he realized that he’d gotten to the point where he couldn’t picture life without the man. The very idea of going back to his lonely, solitary life caused his stomach to knot. When he looked back down, Michael’s eyes were closed. “No, no, no,” he yelled and shook him. “Michael!”
***
A strange smell wafted through the air and there was an incessant beeping in his ear. A flood of chaotic memories threatened to overwhelm him, and he opened his eyes with a start. Everything was white at first and so bright that it hurt his eyes. He couldn’t see the fire, but he knew there had been one. Suddenly, a blurry face appeared above him and someone took his hand.
“Calm down, there, champ,” a voice teased, and he blinked a few times before Deacon’s face came into focus.
Michael lifted his head and started to ask what was going on, but, “What?” was all he could manage. It had been a colossal effort. His body felt like he’d been body slammed through a wall.
“It’s all right. The surgeon said you’re gonna be fine,” Deacon said with a grin.
“Surgeon?”
“Yeah, the bullet nicked a lung, like I thought.”
“Bullet?” he repeated and Deacon only chuckled. The take down of Vires et Spiritu came back to him in a flash. “Did it all work out?” he choked out.
“More or less,” Deacon answered nodding to the side. “The only one we lost was Richard.”
“What?” Michael asked in disbelief. “He was right there.”
“Yeah, well, I was focused on other things,” his lover grumbled and then slowly smiled. “Good to see you’re feeling better. You’ll have to stay here a few days though.”
“Great.”
Michael’s condition improved quickly and within a few days, the doctors released him with the promise he’d take care of himself as he recovered. As he and Deacon left the hospital though, they weren’t sure what to do.
“I guess we can go back to our apartments now,” he said, glumly.
“We could,” Deacon agreed, but his heart wasn’t in it, either. “I have a better idea, though.”
The two of them did go back to their respective apartments, but only long enough to pack up their things and give notice to their landlords. Then they stuffed Deacon’s car with as much of their stuff as it would hold and drove out to the cabin on the bayou.
“You sure this won’t dampen your edge with the locals?” Michael teased as he watched Deacon unload the car.
“You’re lucky you can’t lift anything,” he answered with a glare. “Actually, I have you now too. That’ll help with the so-called edge.”
“Are you asking me to partner in your detective agency?”
“I don’t have an agency,” Deacon huffed. “Nothing so formal, but yeah, you’re good at it.”
Michael ran a hand through his hair and frowned. The last case had nearly cost both of them their lives and there was still the testifying bit. He had to admit, they’d had some fun though. “Yeah, why not? As long as I get to keep my day job.”
Deacon grimaced. He’d almost forgotten about the piano playing. “I’ll talk to Stan. When he knows what’s been going on, he’ll take you back.”
“Thanks! I’d really appreciate it.”
The two of them spent a blissful two weeks moving in and fixing up the cabin. They even received a check in the mail for their work on the case. It was something Deacon hardly ever saw, especially from the police.
“Maybe we’ll get one of those merit medals too,” he quipped. “After all, we did deliver the case into their laps.”
Michael helped him tidy up his affairs, something else Deacon never did, and the man was a bit skeptical about all the neatness, at first. Still, he had to admit it was nice to have someone to look after these things and was grateful that his lover truly seemed to enjoy doing it.
Two weeks later though, they were due in court. Michael seemed just as nervous as they’d been during the sting. Deacon only had a small part to testify about, but Michael also had to answer questions about his involvement years ago and the things he’d seen and heard.
The courtroom was packed with reporters and onlookers. The case was the biggest thing to hit New Orleans in years. Deacon had even gotten a few prospects lined up out of it. His testimony went fast and soon it was Michael’s turn. He’d put on another casual suit and his lover tried to hide his smile as he stepped into the witness box. As he was sworn in, though, Deacon noticed something strange out of the corner of his eye. There was a man, creeping closer through the standing room only crowd at the back of the room. As he got closer, Deacon could see it was Richard Atwater and he was reaching for his pocket.
Deacon jumped to his feet and yelled, “Gun!” just as Michael finished taking the oath. He ran through the panicked crowd, trying to get to the man he loved and let out a sigh of relief when he saw him duck behind the wooden partition of the witness box.
“Coward!” Richard yelled and lifted his gun, but officers of the court got to him before he could fire and dragged him away, kicking and screaming.
The rest of the trial went off without a hitch. Three men, including Richard, went down for murder, while twenty more were convicted of conspiracy, tampering with evidence and accessory, including the Senator from Alabama and two judges. It became a nationwide story and scandal, which gave Deacon that much more publicity. He didn’t seem to mind, but Michael quickly grew tired of it.
They retired back to the cabin on the evening of the day the convictions had come down. Michael walked through the door and tossed his jacket onto the back of a chair.
“Are you okay?” Deacon asked.
Michael shook his head and plopped down on the sofa. “I’m just glad that’s over. I don’t think I could take much more.”
“I thought you liked the limelight?” Deacon teased. “You are a musician and all.”
“If I liked the limelight, do you think I’d be playing at The Hungry Alligator?”
His lover chuckled. “Good point. About that, I talked to Stan while we were waiting for the verdict. He wasn’t hugely happy about all the press you playing there might get him, but he’s willing to give it a shot.”
“That’s great!” Michael said, finally perking up. He stood and grabbed Deacon in his arms, lifting him up and hugging him tight.
“Um, okay, whoa there,” Deacon squeaked in surprise.
“Sorry,” Michael said and put him back down. “It’s just…I know I said I’d like to work with you, but I kind of like the idea of my life getting back to normal too.”
Deacon frowned. “Does that mean you don’t want to help me investigate?”
“No, but I was thinking I might, you know, run tech support or something. I don’t think I can take being shot at or drugged or almost burned to death again.”
“Believe me, that isn’t something I look forward to either.” Deacon ran a hand through his raven black hair, thoroughly messing it up. Then he smiled. “Whatever makes you happy is good with me.”
It took a few nights before Michael got a good night’s sleep again, but soon enough the news of the trial began to die down and life slowly got back to normal. Except for their living arrangements. The two of them decided to stay at the cabin permanently. It wasn’t that far from the city and they’d grown accustomed to the peace and quiet.
***
The Hungry Alligator was packed to the gills. Michael Deveraux had been playing standing room only crowds ever since he came back, and Stan decided that, maybe, the extra business wasn’t so bad. “Strength and Spirit” had become his biggest hit, with people requesting at least one encore of it every night he was there. He kept his old schedule of just a couple of nights a week, though. He liked performing and the attention well enough, but he still had no intention of giving in to fame.
Deacon Jameson sat at his customary table by the side of the stage and sipped at some fruity concoction Michael had convinced him to try. Michael had been convincing him to try a lot of new things these days. Secretly, he still preferred his Old Fashioned, though.
Michael had managed to replace the cream-colored coat that had been lost when he was attacked and, like always, Deacon chuckled when he saw him wearing it. The piano player stepped out from the wings, in basically the same outfit he’d had on the night their fates had intertwined. He was donning a light scarf this time, though, as it was winter, after all. Deacon glanced around as the crowd cheered and quietly smirked to himself. He kinda liked the idea of having a semi-famous boyfriend.
Michael waved the crowd’s affection away and though most of them probably thought it part of his act, he knew there was one man in the crowd that would know he was sincerely embarrassed by the accolades. Then he sat down at the piano and gave a thunderous rendition of a local favorite. The show went long into the evening, but eventually, his set was over, which was good because he was exhausted. As fans and patrons began to either trickle toward the door or make their way over to the bar, he noticed that Deacon wasn’t there. He tried not to think the worst. He’d put most of what happened behind him, but he couldn’t help but worry now and then. He quickly made his way back to the dressing room to see if he’d snuck back there.
“What’s your hurry?” he heard a voice schmooze as he burst through the dressing room door.
Michael hung his head in relief and gave him a sideways grin. “I thought, maybe, I’d bored you.”
“Never,” Deacon announced with a sassy grin of his own. “You sounded beautiful as ever. Come here,” he said and crept closer. Then he tugged on Michael’s scarf, pulling the taller man down for a kiss.
Michael took Deacon’s face in his hands and deepened the kiss until they were both breathless. When he came up for air, he frowned at the mischievous look on his boyfriend’s face. “Here?” he said with a nervous snort.
“Why not? It is your dressing room, after all.”
Michael’s grin returned and then he quickly stripped off the scarf and tossed his jacket onto the back of his vanity chair. He laughed as Deacon did the same and then shoved everything from the vanity onto the floor. Luckily, none of it broke as the floor was some strange, plush carpet from the 1970’s. He picked up the smaller man, who was now shirtless and pushed him onto the vanity. By then, they were both laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
“Not sure this is what I had in mind, but I like it,” Deacon admitted.
Michael only laughed, mischievously, and then slowly began to unbutton Deacon’s pants. He’d already dropped his own and felt himself quickly growing hard. Before he could dip his head in for a taste of his lover’s cock, though, the door burst open again.
“Jesus Christ, Stan,” he spat out and almost fell over trying to pull up his pants.
“Oh, no, no. Come on guys, not in my dressing room, okay?” Stan said, quickly turning around and waiting while the two of them frantically redressed.
“Okay, Stan, you can look now,” Michael grumbled, annoyed and now, sexually frustrated.
Stan peeked over his shoulder, in case there was any funny business, and then turned with a smirk. He shook his head at them, which only seemed to irritate them more.
“Yes, Stan?” Deacon asked. “Was there a purpose in your …interruption?” he said with a sigh and a sideways glance at Michael.
“Yeah, you’ve got a customer, Deac.”
“A customer?”
“Uh-huh. I think someone’s just brought you a new case and it sounds juicy too.”
All thoughts of Stan’s ill-timed intrusion were forgotten as Deacon practically skipped over to the man and snatched a note out of his hand.
“You’re welcome,” Stan grumbled as he turned to leave. “And, gentlemen, try to keep your pants on in my joint, okay?”
Deacon ignored him as he quickly read over the note. A grin crossed his face and he turned to Michael. “Ready to go to work?”
Michael rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Yeah, why not?”