Chapter 6
LANDRY used the T-shirt he was wearing under his dress shirt to clean us both up and then wadded it up and stuffed it into the garbage can beside the chaise. When we went back out to find his parents, I heard a song I loved and told him I wanted to dance.
“Whatever you want.” He smiled at me with his narrowed bedroom eyes.
I dumped both our jackets on the chair beside his mother and led him to the dance floor. Once we were there, my hands went to his hips and his arms locked behind my head. We swayed together to “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” the version I liked, the Lauryn Hill one. Staring into his eyes, I saw how they glowed and was certain that I looked the same way.
He stepped closer, pressing tight, and I put my hands up under the untucked dress shirt and slid them over his warm, sleek skin. His head went down on my shoulder, and he pushed his face against my neck as I began to sing softly under my breath.
“I love when you sing to me,” he whispered.
Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, I sang oldies to him, or stupid songs where “Landry” replaced some key repeated word. It was his favorite thing.
“And I love you.” He breathed the words over my face.
I squeezed him tight and then moved with him as Sade’s “Please Send Me Someone To Love” came on next. It was nice that no one cared that we were the only two men out there among the other couples. When Landry’s parents moved by us, I looked up and got a luminous smile from Cece and a nod from Neil. It was very nice.
When Janet Jackson was next with “That’s The Way Love Goes”—it was kind of an odd mix—Landry and I put space between us as we danced. I put it on for him, exaggerating my movements, and he started laughing, the deep, throaty sound coming up out of him. I sang Janet’s part and he did the chorus, and his face, the seven layers of happy that it was, made my whole night.
Landry’s parents had sat down, and we walked over after picking up bottles of water from the bar and joined them at their table.
“Oh,” Cece sighed, smiling at us. “You two are so adorable together.”
I turned and looked at Landry and then lifted my hand and pushed his hair out of his face. “Aww, your mama thinks you’re cute.”
He laughed, moved over into my lap, and drank his water as he grinned at his mother.
She could not stop sighing.
The Carter party concluded at eleven since the lounge was needed for other guests with parties that could ensure copious amounts of alcohol would be ingested well into the early morning. Everyone drifted down the elevators to the casino and to other clubs. Landry’s parents went home, but his brothers and their dates and their friends wanted to dance. Since Landry wanted to as well, I followed along with him. Trance music was not really my thing, so I watched him from a safe distance, sitting in one of the booths while he ground it out on the brightly lit floor.
Sitting there, I realized that Scott, Landry’s brother, was uncomfortable and so was his date. After a second, I realized it was because the people in the booth behind them were bumping against it. I got up and Scott reached for my arm to stop me, but I gave his hand a pat and moved by. There were two couples there drinking, and when the one guy slammed down an empty beer glass, he threw himself back hard.
“Hey,” I said, smiling down at them all before my eyes landed on the rambunctious guy. “Can you knock it off?”
“What? Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the guy on the other side of you, so if you could not slam backward, we’d appreciate it.”
“See, Brad,” the other guy said and squinted at him. “Just chill out already. You’re drunk, and this shit is annoying not just to us.”
“Oh, fuck you,” he told his friend, and then he looked up at me. “And fuck you, man. What kind of pussy comes over here and—”
I grabbed his shoulder hard, my fingers digging, and leaned down so that we were close, almost nose to nose. “I’m asking you nicely, Brad. You’re being a dick, and if I have to drag your ass outta here I will, because really, who’s gonna give a shit if I do?”
He looked at me, and I stared back.
“Whatever. You guys are all a buzzkill.”
“Thanks,” I said, straightening up and turning away. When I did, I saw a guy get pushed back from another booth. I wouldn’t have cared, would never have even given it a second thought, but he was one and they were many, and Benji Matthews was still weighing heavily on my heart.
“You little fuck, get out of here,” I heard as I got closer.
“Mr. Beale,” the guy began, “you just don’t—you owe me the juice.”
“It was a tie, you dumb fuck.” He laughed, and his table laughed with him. “Get out of here before me and my friends throw you out.”
“I—”
“Run, rabbit,” the guy barked at him, and there was laughter again.
All heads lifted to me as I stepped up beside the guy, my hand sliding gently over his shoulder.
“You the gambler?” I asked the guy sitting dead center of the booth, even though I knew he was Mr. Beale already.
“Yeah, who the fuck are you?”
“I’m his collector,” I said flatly. “And a tie, as we told you when you started, is different at each house. At ours, it’s a push, but you still have to pay the juice. So pay up or you lose your line and your winnings. Your fuckin’ choice.”
“You think you can—”
“Yeah, I can,” I assured him.
“Listen, asshole,” he barked at me. “My friends and I will fuck you up if you don’t—”
“Oh, shit,” I cut him off with a chuckle, “did you think it was just us? Him and me?”
He looked confused.
“’Cause it ain’t. It ain’t just us. You don’t owe Rabbit,” I said, using the name he’d given the runner, “you owe the house. We ain’t shit, but them? The house?”
The first flicker of concern crossed his face.
“We’re talking about guys who know what your car looks like, where you work, and who you know. It’s them knowing that you wouldn’t want everyone to know your business. I mean, what would your boss think if he knew? What would your family think? Maybe nothing, maybe they don’t give a shit about gambling—unless they do.”
His eyes were locked on my face.
“Do whatever you want, we’ll go, but just so you don’t think it’s just us—’cause we ain’t shit, right?”
I had no idea who he was, but looking at his clothes, the girl sitting on his left, and his friends and what they were wearing, I got the frat boy vibe off them. They were young; they smelled like trust fund assholes to me, so I tailored my conversation to meet the needs of the moment. And then I waited. And stared.
The way he was looking at me, right into my eyes, I got the idea that the gaze was supposed to be intimidating. I wanted to tell him that I was from Detroit. I knew third graders scarier than him.
After another minute, he went into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out cash. He passed ten hundred-dollar bills to my nervous friend and then looked up at me.
“I’ve never seen you before.”
I shrugged. “You’ve never given Rabbit trouble before.”
There was a quick nod of agreement.
“Thanks,” I said, and I left and would have made it back to my booth, but the hand on my arm stopped me.
“Hey.” Rabbit was smiling at me, hand raking through his thick black hair, a wicked smile that showed dimples on full display. “Thank you. You saved my ass, here and back at the house.”
I crossed my arms. “You need muscle to go with you. I mean, yeah, you get the whole ten to twenty percent of whatever you collect if you don’t, but you’re—what?— five ten, one forty, one fifty. Man, you need somebody backing your play.”
His eyes got huge and excited.
“No, I’m a runner too, and even I have backup, so really, think about it.”
He nodded, offering me his hand. “Rush Howard.”
I took his hand in mine. “Trevan Bean.”
He was taking me all in, his eyes everywhere. “Thank you so much,” he told me again, not letting my hand go, lifting the wad of bills toward me. “I want you to—”
“Oh fuck, no.” I scowled at him, dropping his hand. “You never, ever, use your collection for anything. All of it gets back to the house, and then and only then do they take your money out of it. How long have you been doing this?”
“Three months.”
“Okay,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “You need a separate clutch or something with a zipper to keep your money in. Do you keep your totals on your phone or—”
“No, just on a piece of paper.”
I growled at him, and he laughed.
“Baby, you need an electronic spreadsheet so you can just punch in a number and it adds and subtracts for you. Gimme your e-mail address and I’ll send it to you now,” I said as I pulled my iPhone from my pocket.
He took a shuddering breath. “You called me baby.”
My eyes flicked back to him from the screen of my phone. “Sorry,” I said, withdrawing, moving around him.
“No no.” He stopped me, both hands around my bicep. “I didn’t mean….” He swallowed hard, licking his lips. “I liked it—you don’t wanna be my collector, fine, but you wanna come back to my place with me and fuck my brains out? You’ll like it: I bottom good.”
If I were single, I would have been all over that offer. He was so pretty with his full lips and dimples and shiny black eyes. His head would notch right under mine, and he was lean and sinewy, with a rakish grin and chiseled features. “Appealing” didn’t do the man justice.
“I have no doubt.” I smiled at him, pleased that he was not a homophobic asshole. “And I am sorry about the ‘baby’, but what’re you? Sixteen?”
“Oh no.” He smiled at me, moving closer, one hand tightening on my bicep, the other flat on my chest. “I’m twenty-one, just turned.”
I nodded. “And school?”
He squinted at me. “School?”
“What’s your big picture plan?” The confused look I got was funny. “You need to have a goal in mind or the money, and maybe the drugs, the sex, it’s gonna go to your head. Don’t just flush your cash down the toilet.”
He nodded. “What’s your plan?”
I moved his hand gently from my chest and smiled at him. “I’m gonna open a restaurant. I’ve always wanted to. I have a cousin who can cook like a dream, and she and I will do well.”
“No bullshit.”
I shook my head. “You have to have a goal. Promise me.”
“I promise,” he agreed, nodding, and he wasn’t smiling, which was good, because maybe his brain was actually working.
“So you want the Excel sheet or not?”
“I don’t know what Excel is.”
“It’s a spreadsheet program. Gimme your e-mail.”
He gave it to me, had me put his name and number into my phone, and I gave him mine.
“So gimme a call before you leave.”
“Sure.”
“And gimme a call if you change your mind about anything, anything at all.”
I nodded.
When I got back to the booth, only Scott’s date was there.
“Where’d he go?” I asked her.
She was resting her cheek on her elbow as she looked at me. “He went to get me another drink.”
I looked around and saw Landry still gyrating out on the dance floor. He was having a good time—his flushed face and sparkling eyes told me as much.
“That was impressive.”
I looked back at her. “What was?”
“You just got up and handled it, no second thoughts, just took care of things.”
I had no idea why any of that was cause for interest, but I heard that comment a lot. My father had once stood up in a movie theater, turned, and asked the man behind him to please stop talking. The guy rose up, bigger than him, and said no. My father then quietly asked him to step outside away from his children so they could talk about things. The man, who was really very big, looked at my dad, the intent on his face, the solid set of his eyes, and the stillness, and sat back down. My father thanked him and that was it. I had always been taught to just take care of whatever the problem was right then.
“What’s your name?”
“Trevan,” I told her.
She nodded, appraising me as she lifted up off the table, uncoiling. “I didn’t really see you before.”
I gave her a slight smile.
“Would you like to dance?”
“Here we go,” Scott said as he reached the table, putting some sort of blue frou-frou drink in a martini glass down in front of her and a Heineken down in front of me. “I wasn’t sure what to get, but I figured it was a safe bet.”
“Thanks,” I told him, taking a sip before Landry came charging up to the table, falling down into the booth, more on me than next to me. “Hey,” I greeted him, passing him the beer. “Thirsty?”
“Yeah, but not for that.” He shook his head. “I think I want a margarita or something.”
“Okay, lemme out and I’ll get it.”
“I’ll go with you,” Scott’s date offered.
“No, I’ll go with you,” Landry told me, sliding back out, grabbing my hand and pulling me up beside him. His eyes were hooded, and the smile he gave me was just a curl of his lip. I couldn’t resist.
I slid my hand over his jaw, tipped his head up, and bent and kissed him. It was soft, just barely a press of my lips to his, but it was enough, I saw when I pulled back, to make the man glow.
“I might be ready to just go home,” he whispered, staring at me.
“Let’s get your drink and you can roll the dice, since you love that; then we’ll get a cab and go home.”
He nodded and I took his hand, turned and grabbed my suit jacket, thanked Scott for the beer, and tugged Landry after me.
“That girl wanted to fuck you.”
“You think everyone wants to fuck me,” I corrected him, leading him to the bar. “And it’s not true.”
He cleared his throat. “I saw you talking to that guy too, and I watched you move his hand off you.”
“You know how I am about my personal space.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said thoughtfully. “And you know how I am about your personal space.”
“Yes, I do,” I answered as I leaned on the bar and ordered his drink.
It was fun watching Landry roll the dice. He did it for an hour, and the look on his face, like he really thought he’d win, the expectation, was a joy to see. And the pout when he didn’t made my heart flip over. As we crossed the floor to the exit, a man stepped in front of me, bringing me up fast. Instantly, without even a thought, I moved in front of Landry.
“What the fuck, man?”
He put up both hands. “Sorry. I yelled but you didn’t hear me. You’re Trevan, right?”
I squinted at him. “Who’re you?”
Big smile as two other men stepped around us, close. “I’m José Cruz, and this is Armando and Che. We all work for the same people.”
I nodded, not really understanding, but in my line of work I met new people all the time and in stranger ways than this. When he offered me his hand, I took it, shaking first his and then the others. “Who are you, José?”
He gripped my shoulder as he studied my face. “I’m Rush’s boss.”
“Oh.” I nodded, figuring something like that. “He’s a good guy.”
“He’s young, but he’s learning. I liked that spreadsheet you sent him that he showed me. You make that yourself?”
“I did, yeah.”
“I like it; I figure with the changes, we’ll all be using it.”
I was lost.
He cuffed my shoulder. “What I meant before, when I said we all work for the same people, I meant us and you, kid.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m from Detroit. I work for Adrian Eramo.”
“You used to work for Adrian Eramo, but now you work for Gabriel Pike.”
“No, I’ve always worked for Gabriel, and he works for Adrian.”
He smiled at me. “You need to call home. Eramo’s dead.”
“Oh God,” Landry gasped beside me, clutching my arm.
“Who’s this?” José asked me.
“My boyfriend, Landry.”
“Nice to meet you, Landry,” he said, offering him his hand, the smile genuine, his warm coffee-colored eyes glinting in the light. “It’s a pleasure.”
“And you,” Landry returned, smiling, shaking the offered hand, squeezing mine tighter.
“I’d love for you both to have a nightcap with me.”
“Absolutely,” Landry agreed fast.
José led us out of the casino, around the corner, and down a hall to a very elegant restaurant. We walked in; the maître d’ saw us and immediately led us to a small booth near the back. It was quiet, but the jazz in the background was sultry and rich, and the feel in the room, like you could just relax, was soothing. It smelled vaguely like fire and hazelnut.
“Is this your place?” I asked him, inhaling.
“It’s one of my investments, yes. You like it?”
“I love it,” I told him.
“You want your own,” he said, smiling at the server who came to our table. “Cognac or scotch?” he asked Landry.
“Cognac, please.”
He looked back at the server. “Bring a bottle of the Hennessy Ellipse, please,” he ordered before turning to me. “You do, right? Want your own place? Rush told me that was your dream.”
“I just told him that a little while ago.”
“And he told me. Were you telling the truth?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged, leaning back in the booth between Che and Armando. “You can be an owner or you can be an investor, but you’re in this business now, just like I am. It’s not about just being a runner anymore, Trevan. I mean, I know your name and I’m all the way here in Vegas. You have to think about that.”
I leaned forward. “I’ve only been gone a day.”
He nodded as the waiter returned and poured five glasses of cognac, just a small portion in each snifter, putting one down in front of each of us. He then lifted a box from the tray he had brought the glasses and cognac on and put it down in the center of the table, along with a lighter and a cigar cutter.
“Would either of you like one? They’re Maduro, which I enjoy.”
I shook my head, and Landry politely declined even as he shifted closer to me, his hand on my back.
We both watched José lift the lid of the box and offer cigars to Che and Armando, who both declined, before he took one out and began the long process of smelling it, clipping the end, and getting ready to smoke it.
“So, Eramo’s dead,” José told me as he took a sip of his cognac and told Landry to try it.
“Oh, it’s very good,” he complimented José after he took a sip.
“Good.” He smiled at him. “I’m glad you like it.”
“How do you know?” I broke in because he was talking so civilly, and I was ready to lose my mind. “About Adrian, I mean. How do you know?”
“I work for the Masada family,” he told me, “and now so do you. Eramo’s dead because the Masada family moved in on him, and he decided to fight instead of either work for them or sell. And I understood; he thought it was a battle he could win, but there’s no winning against our resources, which stretch across continents. So now Eramo’s dead and Zahir, that’s my boss—yours too, now—he doesn’t like how Kady handled things with Eramo. He thinks maybe if Kady had taken our offer to Eramo without the bloodshed, without killing his runners, then maybe Eramo would have been more open to negotiation.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. All I do know is that killing fucks with business and brings cops and attention where none is needed.”
“I agree.” I nodded.
“See, so you understand.”
“What do I understand?”
“Kady hurt your people; Zahir didn’t like that, so now Kady’s gone too.”
Jesus.
“The Masada family doesn’t get involved in personal bullshit. Kady fucked up your runners, killed men that Zahir thought would be working for Rigel, his cousin. He counted on those men, and now they’re dead. That’s a waste. So Rigel, because he’s smart, he goes to see Gabriel Pike. Gabriel, unlike Eramo, he’s smart too. He sees into the future, not just right now.”
“Yes, he does. He can look at someone and see what they could be.”
He snapped his fingers, his smile big as he pointed at me. “Yes. Eisa, that’s my boss, he said that Rigel liked Gabriel right off, said he could tell a man who could see the big picture. He said Pike is that man. So now your old boss is the new big boss in Detroit.”
One day. I had only been gone one day. I could only imagine if I’d been gone two.
“So Eisa, he asked Gabriel for names, and three guesses whose came up.” He grinned evilly, waggling his eyebrows at me.
“Okay.”
“You get Gabriel’s job when you get home. You’re number four man. I’m number four man here. When Rush said he ran into Trevan, who was a runner from Detroit—I mean, how many fuckin’ guys could that be?”
“Sure.”
“I work for Eisa, who works for Donovan, who reports to Zahir. You work for Gabriel, who works for Rigel, who reports to Zahir. Are you following this?”
“Yeah.”
He tipped his head at me. “Ask.”
“So,” I said and cleared my throat. “Your boss never wanted the runners killed. That was all on Kady?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I mean, come on, that makes no fuckin’ sense. Why would you kill the guys that everybody knows bring in the money? From what Eisa told me, Rigel had a fuckin’ fit. I think he cut shit off Kady before they buried his stupid ass.”
I nodded. “He deserved it.”
“Fuck yeah, plus he owed you guys a ton of cash.”
“He did.”
“Well, everything he owned belongs to Gabriel now, so… whatever the hell you guys want to do with it.”
I took a breath. “I… the Masada family, they’re what?”
“How do you mean?”
“Their ethnic background.”
“Oh, Arabic.”
“Muslim, then.”
“Yeah, so?” He bristled. “You got a problem with that?”
I coughed. “No, but… I’m gay. Here’s Landry with me, so you understand what I’m asking.”
He scowled at me. “It ain’t shit, man; we’re not the fuckin’ mob, you know? This is modern times.”
“Not really,” I told him.
He gave me a head tip. “Yeah, maybe not, but Zahir, he’s got a wife, right, and he’s got his half brother, and we know but we don’t say and he don’t say, and so…. Gabriel told Rigel about you already, and he don’t care, so nobody else does neither.”
I just looked at him.
“Things will change when you get home.”
It sounded like it.
He leaned forward again, studying my face. “Ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Is Conrad Harris really your guardian angel?”
I smiled. So even José Cruz knew Conrad. “He’s my friend.”
His eyes flicked to Landry. “Because your boy’s here I don’t wanna say, but I’ve seen Conrad do some seriously fucked-up shit.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You should be careful.”
I shrugged. “I’ll say it again—he’s my friend.”
Palms up to show me he meant no harm. “Whatever, man, all I’m saying is that ain’t nobody gonna fuck with you whether you’re in or out, ’cause no one wants to see Conrad Harris up close, you know?”
“I know.”
“So I guess it ain’t as done as everybody thinks. It’s your choice, I guess, and you get to make it because you’re friends with the fuckin’ angel of death.”
All of them were scared of the man who would come and sit with me at the hospital and drive me to my mother’s house. It was so weird. A chance meeting that could grant me freedom if that was what I wanted.
“It’s not romantic to kill people,” I told José. “Or do any of the things your family does.”
“No,” he agreed. “But people get rich off illegal shit every day. Ours is just easier to see.”
“It’s still a rationalization.”
“Of course it is. So what?”
I finally took a sip of my cognac. “God, that’s good.”
“That’s the difference between the shit you drink and five grand.”
A five thousand-dollar bottle of liquor…. Christ.
“That’s gonna be you, man.”
In for a penny, in for a pound. “Okay.”
He grinned suddenly. “Come on, have a fuckin’ cigar.”
“Pass it over.”
His smile was huge and lit his face. “Atta boy.”
“SO WHAT do you think?” I asked Landry as I lay in bed beside him hours later. We had both showered and changed and were lying in the darkness side by side. José had put us in his own car with his driver to take us home, which was very nice of him and saved us a small fortune.
“I dunno,” he said, rolling over against me, pressing into my side, his arm sliding across my chest. “What do you think?”
“I don’t want to ever hurt people.”
“Not on purpose without provocation, no,” he agreed. “But it’s stupid to think that it won’t happen. The business you’re in, c’mon, Trev, your hands will get dirty.”
“Yeah.”
“And if it’s ever between you and someone else… you better come home to me, you understand?”
“No, I know, I just, I’m not gonna shoot someone because of money,” I said, my hand on his ass, rubbing gently and then sliding up to the small of his back.
He moved, groin against my thigh, his leg draped between mine, his head on my chest, under my chin. I wanted him really close, tight around me so I was feeling his presence, the beat of his heart. There were times, like this, when it was hard to tell who the needy one really was.
“I would kill anyone that tried to hurt you or my mother or—”
“I know,” he interrupted me gently. “But that’s not what we’re talking about.”
“This is a big deal. I have to figure out how deep into this I’m gonna be. And you, I mean, you have a legitimate business that maybe shouldn’t be tainted with ‘oh, that’s the guy with the thug boyfriend’.”
He started giggling.
“I’m serious.”
“I’ll be a gangster’s moll.”
“Listen, wise guy—”
“Oh! A pun.”
I groaned so he’d know how annoying he was, but when I tried to shove him away, he just tightened his hold on me.
“Gimme a kiss.”
“I’m being serious here; I don’t ever want to taint your success with who I am.”
“Don’t worry about that. Let me handle my business, all right?”
“Lan—”
“If anything, it will make me seem more romantic.”
“Crime is not romantic.”
“Did you see The Godfather? It is romantic.”
“Did you see Donnie Brasco? It’s not.”
He started laughing again.
“You need to listen to me. I—”
“Just,” he said with a sigh, squeezing me tight, “you’ll talk to Gabriel when you get back and you’ll tell him what you’re scared of and you’ll see what’s what. You don’t even know what he really wants until you get home.”
And he was right. “Yeah, I guess.”
“We’re not breaking up because you want to do the noble thing for me,” he said, his voice dropping low in warning, the edge there, dark and twisted. “You will never get away from me; you should resign yourself to that now.”
“Lan––”
“I’ll kill you and then myself, that’s a promise.”
The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, I really should have worried.
“Trevan?”
“Idiot,” I grunted, kissing the whorl of his ear. “Never want to leave you. I’m just worried.”
He exhaled out his worry.
“I’m concerned about what’s going on with Gabe.”
“We should go home, then.” He sounded so hopeful. “We could go tomorrow.”
“You need to talk to your folks, and then we can.”
“Tomorrow at brunch I’ll talk to them, and then we can leave tomorrow night.”
“Unless something changes, that’s a plan.” He yawned loudly, and I chuckled. “You’re really cute.”
“I am not,” he barely got out since he yawned again. “And thank you.”
“For what?”
“For explaining to José who I was.” He sighed happily, his lips brushing over my jaw. “You always tell people that I’m with you, and I love it.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Just take the damn compliment.”
“Yessir,” I said, moving my hands, sliding them into his hair, pushing it out of his eyes so I could see his face, however faintly, in the darkness. “Hey.”
The sound he made was almost a purr.
“Kiss me.”
He lifted, and his soft, wet lips slid over mine. He tasted like toothpaste and a hint of cognac and like himself, like Landry.
I trembled under him, and he smiled against my mouth. I whimpered just a little when he pulled back.
“Scott’s date, she wanted you to fuck her,” he said as he kissed me again.
I groaned because it didn’t matter, she didn’t matter, but he was stuck on her for whatever reason.
His hand slid across my abdomen and made my stomach flutter.
“You know—” I kissed him and nibbled gently on his succulent lips, then sucked on his tongue, the kissing becoming hard and aching the way I liked it. I loved that he never said it was too much or complained that I was rough. “—I only fuck you, you know that.”
“I know that,” he said, shoving me down under him. “Hey, what are the odds if I keep kissing you you’ll end up tearing my clothes off?”
“It’s a safe bet.”
His evil chuckle made me smile.