Together

Chapter 32

To Catch a Thief - Part 3

Brian wasn’t sure who had woken whom that morning, just that they had been caressing and kissing each other for a while when he reached full consciousness. He put a condom on, and slowly entered Justin from behind, covering him with his body, kissing him, loving him, holding Justin's cock lightly in his hand as Justin rocked with his thrusts, and Justin had moaned softly as he came, saying his name, “Brian, Brian, Brian…”. Brian had been surprised by the force of his own orgasm, unable to hold back a cry of satisfaction.

They showered and by the time Brian was done shaving, Justin had changed the sheets, brought in the New York Times and made Brian coffee. They got back in bed and worked on the Sunday crossword puzzle together, Justin’s head on Brian’s shoulder.

“180 degrees from it, in seven letters.”

“Opposite”

“Justin, that’s eight. N is the second letter.”

“Antonym”

“Good boy.”

Brian filled out two more words without calling them out.

“Hey! Feeling useless here!”

“These are easy ones. Disliked by the liver, that’s toxic. Lyon’s gefilte fish is quenelle.”

Justin chuckled. “Obviously…”

As usual, they got about halfway through before giving up. Then Brian read the financial pages, and Justin checked out the Arts and Leisure section.

Soon, Justin was stretching like a cat. That usually meant he was ready to start the day. Brian dropped the paper and caressed all that luminous silken skin, not in a sexual way, but just for the pleasure of it.

Justin smiled at him. “I’m going to go paint,” he said.

“OK. What are you painting now?”

“Amazingly, I finished one yesterday. Not so abstract. A mountain seen through snow-covered branches. I’ve no idea where that came from…It’s beautiful. Cold. So I’ll be starting something new today. A 5X5 I think, though I’m not sure what it’s going to be. It's weird. The other one I could see completed in my head before I even started. This one, I’m clueless…”

Justin rolled over on top of Brian and kissed him. His body was light but warm, his tongue soft and caressing. He moved back and watched Brian for a second.

“You are so amazingly beautiful,” he said, which is exactly what Brian had been thinking about him.

Justin kissed him again, his lips soft and elastic, then he rolled out of bed and put on some well-worn painting clothes.

“Are you working at home today?” he asked.

Brian did have some files that needed his attention, and he had done nothing for work yesterday.

“Yes, definitely. I have to do some serious thinking about Vail. I’m leaving Tuesday after next, remember?”

“No. I’d actually forgotten. When are you back?”

“Thursday the 25th, lunchtime, hopefully.”

“OK.” Justin looked at him with a wistful smile. “Fuck. I’m going to miss you like crazy…”

Brian smiled back. “Believe me, Sunshine. It goes both ways…”

After Justin left for Pratt, Brian removed his files from his briefcase, and started working. The second part of the Jo Sidoff campaign was about to be launched. It was very exciting. The first part had been remarkably successful. He did some projections and analysis to make sure they were still going to hit their target audience, and it all looked good.

For some reason he had now ended up with a second unglamorous product, some laundry detergent… For a man who had practically never done his own laundry, it was a bit of a joke. Sadly, that chore was a necessity for most, and he tried to think creatively. Did Cynthia do her own laundry? Probably. Emmett? Who was his target audience? The classic response was “Moms with kids.” But didn’t millions of single people do laundry as well? What were they looking for? Who was targeting them? Were they an important enough secment of the market to dedicate a whole category of detergent to? If he were doing laundry, what would he be looking for?

Good cleaning power

Work fast and at low temperature. (No one wanted to stay at the laundromat longer than necessary, and a lot of club clothes were “Dry clean only”, which as far as he knew meant wash on the gentle cycle.)

Smells clean, not perfumy. Or two kinds? Manly smell, and ladies? That was an idea…

Concentrated. No one wanted to lug 20KG of detergent to the corner place.

Softener included. One product was enough.

Made ironing easier. Was that even possible? Who had time to iron these days?

Brian chuckled and wrote, Prize in the box. Condom? Miniature lipstick? Goofy key chain?

He had to consult with the professor and with the company rep. He closed the file.

Now for Vail…

Brian jumped when the phone rang. It was Mikey. 8:30 already. Brian had worked all day, skipping lunch, dinner, and working out. Mikey wanted to watch Alien, which started at 9:00. That was fine. As they talked, Brian made himself a bagel sandwich, like the ones Justin made him, and on further thought made two in case Justin came home hungry. He also peeled himself an apple and cut it in slivers. Then he went and sat on the couch for his usual Sunday night date with Mikey.

Hunter was having a hard time. His last girl friend had told everyone about his past and people were treating him like a freak again. He was threatening to lie next time and say he’d gotten infected from a transfusion. Of course he was too young for that.

The movie had started, and Mikey was chatting his ear off as usual when Brian realized he was listening for Justin coming home.

He had no reason to believe Justin would not have dinner at the brownstone, or go to Essengy, so he should quit it. By ten, he was jumping at every siren, at every sound. He apologized to Mikey, put him on hold and dialed Justin. An unknown voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Who is this?”

“My name is Sophie. This phone just rang under my car and almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Where are you located?

“I’m a student at Pratt. I’m in the Fine Art parking lot.”

“Do you know Justin Taylor?”

“I know of him. He is really gifted, and cute too…”

“This is his phone. Would you mind going into the Studio and see if he, or Lilah, or Rory are still painting?”

“Lilah with the red hair?”

“Yes, please.”

“I could have easily driven over that phone, you know… He must have dropped it. Here we are. Wow, there’s a big hole in the wall, like someone punched it…” Then, in the background.

“Excuse me. You’re Justin Taylor, aren’t you?”

“I am. What can I do for you?” Brian thought he was going to pass out with relief.

“I found your phone in the parking lot under my car when it rang. There is some man calling…”

“Thank you so much. Let me come with you. I want to make sure there’s nothing else of mine under your car… Brian? Brian?”

For a second, Brian couldn’t even speak. “Brian!”

“Yes, Sunshine. I’m here.”

“My bag is here, where I put it.” There was the sound of a bag being turned upside down. “This is weird Brian, I used my phone an hour ago to call Andrew and it was in my bag…”

In the background again, What’s your name? Sophie? Thank you so much for coming to find me Sophie. I’m pretty sure nothing else is missing. I really appreciate your kindness. Yes, if you find something else under there, let me know. Oh, thank you. Yes, I like it too. It’s called “Cold” Yes, Lilah thinks it feels that way too. Sorry, I… right. See you.”

“Sorry Brian. It looked like she was on her way home. I didn’t want to delay her anymore than I already had… I packed up my paints a while back. I was just hanging with Lilah. I figured you were having your usual date with Mikey and that you wouldn’t mind…”

“I don’t. I was calling to ask if you were coming home or maybe going to Essengy.”

“I’m coming home, and getting some rest. I’ll be there soon actually. My new painting looks fantastic, Brian. It’s nowhere near done, but… I hope you’ll like it. I wonder why my phone was in the parking lot. That’s just bizarre…Later.”

“Later.” Why had he called? Since when did he check on Justin? Who had taken his phone and why?

Brian switched back to Michael.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

“I was talking to Justin. There was a mix-up with his phone.”

“Justin, Justin, Justin… It’s always all about Justin,” joked Mikey.

“Yes. Yes it is. Just like everything is about Ben, Ben, Ben, and Hunter, Hunter, Hunter, and JR, JR, JR… They are our families, Mikey, the people we love, the most important people to us.”

“Brian, this is so not you. Since when do you love anyone?”

Brian smiled. “I love you, Mikey, always have, always will.”

“I mean really love, love. Someone else than me.”

“You just don’t think I can say it, do you? Well, you are wrong. I love Justin. More than anyone or anything in the world, I love him.”

Mikey laughed. “Oh, my God. It’s so weird. In a good way, but it’s so weird. Emmett said that Daphne said you don’t trick anymore.”

“Are we in grade school, Mikey?” Brian answered with a smile. “They are right. I don’t trick. No sucking, no fucking, no kissing… It’s all for Justin now, and I am so fucking happy, it’s a disgrace.

“You guys should get married.”

“You just want to be best man.”

“Would I be?”

“Mikey, I promise you, if I ever get married, you will be best man.”

“I’m not holding my breath.”

“Wise of you…”

Brian could not help a huge feeling of relief when Justin walked in, tiptoeing to not disturb his conversation. He pointed him in the direction of the sandwich and Justin gave him a huge happy grin, but showed hands that were covered with paint. Brian had learned that his lover liked to use old fashioned pigments in his oil paint and that many were dangerous. A few minutes later, Sunshine returned for his sandwich wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. He looked so good.

He just sat at his computer, and typed with one hand while eating with the other. Brian was paying no attention whatsoever to Alien, just enjoying watching Justin’s perfect reflection inconspicuously in the window. Justin, finished, got up to take his plate to the sink, and halfway there the towel fell off. He picked it up, put it on the bar and continued, naked and unselfconscious. He opened the fridge, and for a moment the light shone on his front. He bent down and reached for water, then turned around to go back to his computer picking the towel up again. He moved with natural grace, his body perfection in Brian’s eye. His pale skin seemed to reflect the moonlight.

He put the towel down on the chair, and sat back down. Suddenly, he seemed excited by something on the screen, and typed something quickly, waiting impatiently for the result. He typed something again. An email? And pressed send. He paced back and forth as he waited, his lovely dick swinging from side to side, making Brian salivate. Then, once again, he looked excited and opened something. Then he sat back down, and Brian could not tell if he was disappointed or relieved. Brian did not want to continue speaking with Mikey. He wanted to know what Justin was doing.

“Mikey? I’ve got to go.”

“So soon?”

“Sorry. I’ll call you soon and explain. Bye.”

“OK. Bye.”

Brian got up and put his arm around Justin. “What’s up?”

“We’ve all started suspecting this guy who had befriended Andrew, but has been missing in action since Wednesday in the theft of my paintings. Blond, 5’7”, longish hair, hazel eyes, nice smile.”

Aidan, thought Brian.

“I have been wracking my brain trying to find someone by that description in my past. It’s not the youngest Tuscan, or anyone related to Phil… Molly thought it might be Mark Hobbs, Chris Hobbs’ brother, the guy who bashed me. She just finally got her hand on a photo, and I passed it on to Andrew, Lilah, and all the others. It’s not him. I’m not sure how I feel about it. On the one hand I’d like to know who it is. On the other, I’m so relieved it has nothing to do with Hobbs. That bastard still scares the shit out of me…”

Brian caressed the side of Justin’s face. “Let’s find him next time we’re in Pittsburgh, and you can beat the crap out of him.”

“I…uh…No, I…”

“You could, you know. You could beat the shit out of me. You beat the shit out of Phil, and that guy Hugh, with the bat. Chris Hobbs is just a man, Sunshine. You would flatten his ass. He can never hurt you again, not even with a bat.”

“I’d prefer if he didn’t have a bat…” said Justin, grinning.

“OK. But it might be more fair, though even with one, he doesn’t stand a chance. Especially if he comes after me.” The fierce light in Justin’s eyes told him how right he was.

Then Justin smiled again. “I don’t have to be afraid of him anymore, do I?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s not him or his brother, anyway…” But somehow a semi smile stayed on Justin’s lips. “You’re off the phone already? I’m for bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Care to join me?”

Considering he was naked already and was playing idly with his stiffening dick, it was a very unfair question. They got ready for bed, and lay next to each other, smiling. Brian put lube on his hand, and asked Justin, “Yours or mine?”

“Mine,” said Justin, lubing his hand and grabbing Brian’s dick.

Hand jobs are really hot when after a while you are making out without restraint, and your fingers find their way up each other’s ass. After about twenty minutes they were rubbing come into each other’s chest, kissing fiercely, and Brian, recuperating faster of the two was sheathed and up Justin’s ass making him cry out in pleasure. Another fifteen minutes later, and he himself shot come into the condom deep in Justin. By some freakish trick of nature, Justin got hard again in the shower, and the evening ended on a marvelous blowjob under warm water, Brian gluttonously swallowing first his cock, then his come.

Both Monday and Tuesday morning, LaShaun passed a note to Brian with his coffee, being extremely circumspect. The first said, ‘Talking to Alfonse from the Crypts’, the second one, ‘Talking to Pedro of La Familia’. Brian assumed those were links in the chain that was going to bring them to the Chinese Gang’s information.

Though Justin and he talked about it a lot over the next two days, they could not figure out why Justin’s phone had been taken from his bag and thrown on the parking lot. Tuesday was the first day Jasper manned the camera since the previous Saturday, and he was kind enough to describe to Brian what he saw that night. A blond guy arrived at about 9:15 pm, entered the building and came right back out and seemed to be searching for a number on his cell phone. Then he looked as if he just pocketed it while passing between two cars before walking off.

Brian called Justin’s direct line to let him know what he’d found out, but Justin already knew. He’d just had another phone call on his direct line at Plexus asking him if the money was ready. Very few people knew that number. The partners, the other creative managers, and that was it. Even Justin didn’t know it by heart. He had it in his phone. Everybody else wanting to talk to him would have had to go through the general number and Sarah, and ask for him by name.

The money was ready. Brian had called the bank Monday morning, and just like in a bad movie, had picked up a briefcase containing $100,000.00 in twenties on Monday night. Brian did not really want to give the money to Justin. He had a feeling Justin was going to go give the ransom on his own and did not want that. However, when Justin showed up in his office Tuesday with a promissory note he had had Gerard from legal kindly write for him, there was nothing he could do but give up the cash or ruin the fact that Justin had asked him for it.

“Are you dropping it off today?” asked Brian, trying to act calm.

“No. I said I didn’t have it yet. He’ll call back.” Thank God for that.

“When?”

“He didn’t say, and no, I didn’t recognize the voice, he was speaking through a cloth or something. I just want to be ready.”

“OK.”

“Brian, if the situation were reversed, I would be scared that you would try to go alone, without telling me. So I promise. I will tell you before I go, and I will be as cautious and prudent as I can. I am not going to get hurt for $100,000.00, even if it is yours. It’s just money. I’m not even going to get hurt for my paintings. They are just wood and cloth and paint. I want them back, because they are important to me, but you and our life together are so much more important.”

Brian took Justin in his arms and whispered, “A year ago I did not even know you. I have changed more in a year than any person can be expected to change. You have demolished every defense I had by giving me a love I can believe in, that I don’t need to fear. I am the happiest I have ever been, but I am also more vulnerable than I ever thought possible because… I love you back. I try to be rational, but sometimes, I get so fucking scared…”

As soon as Justin left, Brian dialed LaShaun.

“…”

“It’s Brian”

“I’m working, man.”

“They called about the ransom, we don’t have much time.”

“Can’t tie up the line. It’s rush hour for me. I’m off at 3. Call then. I’ve got news. Click.”

Brian looked at the time. It was 12:30. He might as well go work out. At 1:30, he met with the Sidoff people, and they signed for the new phase of the campaign. At 2:30, Sam who had assigned himself to the detergent campaign, Marcus who had the numbers, and the company rep met to consider Brian thoughts about the single person’s detergent. It passed the first storming session; they would reconvene in two weeks.

At 3:05, Brian dialed LaShaun again.

“…”

“Brian”

“Dude, you’re five minutes late. Call your pal with the Porsche, we need us some wheels. Meet you in twenty minutes in front of your work.”

“You know where I work?”

“Click”

Jesus… Brian called Jason.

“Kintzer.”

“Can you meet me in front of Plexus in twenty minutes?”

“Brian?”

“Sorry, yes.”

“No. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

“LaShaun requested your presence. Apparently, and I quote, we need your wheels.”

“Cool. I’m there…See you.”

Brian chuckled. Hopefully LaShaun wasn’t just in the mood for a drive… He went to talk to Cynthia.

“I'm sorry, Cynthia, but I need to absent myself for a moment. It might be an emergency. I am hoping to be back by five…”

“Is Justin involved in this emergency? Because if you just need to fuck, take pity on me, and just fuck here, so I don’t have to reschedule extra people. I’ll guard the door…”

“Uh… That’s good to know, but no, this is not that kind of emergency…”

“And am I still supposed to pretend that you are working and booked for the week of the 29th?”

“Absolutely. Please. And show up on the 26th or I’ll never forgive you.”

“All dolled up, and you are not telling me why?”

“Because you love me. That’s why.”

Cynthia laughed. “Oh, well then…”

“I’ve got to go.”

The red Porsche was parked out front, and a young black drug dealer was coming their way. From twenty feet away he called “Shotgun”, and Jason, laughing, folded the front seat forward. The back seat was a joke. Brian had to stoop, and fold his legs up on the seat next to him. LaShaun sat in front and turned to him with a smile.

“All right back there, white boy?”

“Very comfortable, thank you…”

“So first we go talk to Jimmy Chung. You two be nice. He kills people.”

“For a living?”

“No. For fun.” LaShaun laughed. “I had you going, didn’t I? Yeah, o’course fo’ a livin’. He ain’t no runner, he an enforcer…”

“I feel so much better,” said Jason.

They stopped in front of a hotdog stand. “We all get out. You leave the keys in and the engine running. Trust me on this. Brian, keep the seat down so you can get back in right quick…” There was a little Chinese girl sitting on a folding chair next to the hotdog stand. “Jason, give the girl ten bucks. She guards the car.”

Jason did, and walked away after LaShaun. “What is she, six?”

“Nah. She jus’ little. She Li’l May. She nine. She sitting on a 38 special. Nobody steal your car. She a really good shot…”

There was a young Asian man who looked like a physics student leaning on a chain link fence around the corner. He was reading the third Harry Potter.

“Jimmy, these are the gentlemen I spoke to you about. Misters Jason Kintzer and Brian Kinney. They are regular honest citizens who can vouch for the contents of the white van. Gentlemen, this is Mr. Jimmy Chung.”

“This white van has been a problem. You see, an unknown young man, who is lucky to be alive, stood at a corner where my family has interests, and waited for over an hour for said van to appear. Because our young man was born under lucky stars he immediately proceeded to move the van to a different neighborhood. It was followed and was seen being stored in a garage. However, certain members of my family regard the contents of said van as our property, should they prove to contain a certain product our family is known to procure. The neighborhood where the van is now located in under the protection of a group of individuals much less restrained than ourselves when it comes to street violence, so we would be extremely disappointed to take the risk to retrieve the van, potentially beginning some sort of feud with these people if the van only contained say… paintings for example.”

“Mr. Chung, I am a rather well known agent for artists. Painters to be exact. This van contains twelve paintings by an as of yet almost unknown painter who still attends school at the Pratt Institute. If you’ll allow me, I can reach for my wallet and give you my card.”

“If you don’t mind, I would prefer Mr. Pettigrew to do so.”

“That’s me, Jason. Please do not move your hands.” LaShaun carefully reached in Jason’s pocket, retrieved his wallet, extracted his card, and gave it to Jimmy Chung, before replacing the wallet just as carefully.

“Mr. Kinney? What is your relation to these alleged paintings?”

LaShaun was about to cut him off, but Jimmy raised a manicured hand to stop him. “Mr.Kinney?”

Brian had a feeling LaShaun did not think it was wise to admit being gay to this young man, but damn if Brian was going to lie about it.

“The artist is my lover,” he said.

“And you wish to return the paintings to her?”

Painter, artist, lover. All ambiguous words.

“No, I wish to return the paintings to him,” Brian clarified.

Jimmy Chung nodded with a smile. “Justin Taylor. A brilliant young artist, I understand. Thank you for not lying to me, Mr. Kinney. I would have had to erase the insult to my family. Homosexuality is not a perversion my grandfather admits into our own ranks, though it is tolerated in others. Lying however is not. You made the right choice. My aunt married a Vietnamese man but they are respectable people. Their youngest daughter is an artist as well, by the name of Phuong Hoang. She is a good friend to Justin Taylor and my favorite cousin. I saw her last Sunday. She discussed the theft and the suspicious blond man. We started suspecting the van contained nothing of interest to our family. You have confirmed our suspicions.” He handed a piece of paper to Jason. “This is the address where you will find the van. It is not, per se, in Blood territory, but in a quiet old neighborhood, however, we would have had to cross the Bloods' territory to get to it. It is very possible the Bloods are maintaining some sort of surveillance of the location. You may want to be quick in your retrieval.”

“Thank you,” said Brian. Jason and LaShaun nodded. They returned to the car, and left.

“That was fun,” said Jason. “Let’s not do it again.” All three started laughing.

“Now, the good news is, the Bloods don’t even know nothing about no van.”

“LaShaun, your hood is showing,” said Jason.

“Dude?”

“You just used a triple negative. I notice your grammar was exquisitely correct as you spoke to Jimmy Chung.”

“They get insulted easily , these people. It’s always wise to be as correct and precise as possible with them. You’all don’t even own no gun…and frankly, after Brian gambling with our life by being honest about enjoying butt sex with the artist in residence, I need to relax a little. Scared the shit out o’me, you did…” He shook his head in disbelief. “Anyhow… I asked around the Blood runners. They don’t go in that ol’neighborhood. All old white people in there, happy trigger finger, and always calling the cops on niggers. So I’ll be staying in the car, thank you very much…”
Ten minutes later, they were pulling up in front of an old house with a separate garage.

“We’re here,” said Jason.

“Now, here is what’s going to go down. One of you is going to force the garage lock and open the door. The other is going to hot wire the van if the keys aren’t in it. Then we’re going to get the fuck out of here without passing through Queens. All right?”

“I don’t know how to do either,” said Brian. “You’re going to have to help.”

“Does a nigger have to do everything around here? Fuck that shit. You know Gladys Kravitz is watching from across the street. You’all be white and wearing suits. She’ll be coming to offer you tea if you take too long. I come out, I’ll be lucky if she don’t shoot my black ass with salt just for crossing the street!” He took a large screwdriver out of his pocket. “Brian: this is a 30’s garage lock. It’s made to keep the door closed, not the thieves out. You shove this thing as far as it can go, and you turn to the right as hard as you can turn. It will pop, you’re in. Jason: you used to drive a cab. Don’t tell me you can’t hot wire a car!”

“I know how to hot wire a car. And I suppose you’re driving the Porsche out of here?”

LaShaun looked at him with a big smile. “Somebody has to…”

“How do you know I drove a cab?”

“I seen you drive, man. I seen the little hand signals and shit. I seen how you know the city. I ain’t stupid.”

Jason came out of the Porsche and took out his cell phone as Brian dislodged himself from the back seat. LaShaun handed him the screwdriver. “Go to it.”

Thirty-four years without getting arrested, thought Brian. He walked to the garage door, shoved the screwdriver in hard, and turned harder. There was a metallic sound, and the screwdriver fell out in two pieces. Of course. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted. The door had been open all along. He took his time, and opened both sides, making sure to engage the little guards that kept the doors open. Jason was already inside the van. Brian walked back to the Porsche, where LaShaun was laughing his ass off.

Brian sat in the passenger seat, grinning.

“I can’t believe the door was open. You owe me a screwdriver,” said LaShaun.

“It was a piece of shit,” said Brian. LaShaun was still laughing when he turned over the engine and followed the white van down the street. Brian honked the horn of the Porsche and asked LaShaun to drive up to the window of the van.

“Really discreet, Kinney!” griped Jason.

“Did you check the paintings are still in there?” asked Brian.

“Shit!” said Jason. He stopped the van, came out, walked around to the back, opened the door and looked. Once again, LaShaun was about to wet himself he was laughing so hard.

Jason came back to the front. “Still in there. Twelve of them… Now follow me, and LaShaun, don’t grind the gears.”

Forty minutes later, they were pulling into Jessica’s garage on Fifth Avenue. “Well,” said LaShaun, “the cops certainly won’t be looking here…”

As soon as he was out, Brian looked for his phone to call Justin with the good news. His phone was not in his pocket. He bend down and looked on the back seat. He had done so many contortions to get in there he was not surprised to find it on the floor. His phone had been on vibrate and he felt a cold shiver down his back when he realized he had missed eleven calls from Justin, the last one almost thirty minutes ago.

He dialed Justin.

“Justin Tay…click” He had hung up.

Brian dialed again. It rang and went to voice mail. He dialed again. It went directly to voice mail. He listened to the messages.


To be continued...
 

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