by Anel Viz
(© 2008 by Anel Viz. All rights reserved.)
Zeke had whipped up a mess of scrambled eggs with ham, green pepper and onion to go with the crusty, home-made wheat loaf Abe had brought, a light supper before they went to the movies. They were putting the dishes in the sink when the police came to the door. Two of them – one with a pronounced paunch, the other in better shape and about ten years younger, both looking very grim. The dog raised a racket.
“That’s me. What is it?”
“Will you come with us, please?”
“Down to the precinct.”
“What for? Am I charged with anything?”
“Am I under arrest or something? Do you have a warrant?”
“No, it’s just to ask you a few questions.”
“Questions about what?”
“About Felix Keller.”
“I doubt I can help you there. I haven’t seen Flicks in almost three months. What’s he done? Has something happened to him?”
“He’s been murdered. Will you come with us, please.”
Zeke just stood there while the news sank in. “Murdered!”
He must have said it out loud, because the cop said, “We’re still waiting for the coroner to determine the cause of death, so it’s not officially murder, but the evidence all points that way.” Then he repeated, “Will you come with us, please.”
“Yeah, sure, of course. Can I sit down for a few minutes first? This comes as such a shock.”
“Yeah, that’s okay, go right ahead. There’s no big rush. Can we come inside?”
“Sure, go ahead. Have a seat in the living room. Don’t let the dog scare you. Samson’s big, but he’s all bark.”
“Thanks. We’ll stand.”
Zeke found it hard to think straight with the cops standing around watching him. It would have been hard enough to think straight without them. The dog was another distraction. He thought he should ask them something, but had no idea what.
“When did it happen?”
“We don’t know exactly. Have to wait for the coroner’s report.”
“How was he killed?”
“We’re not at liberty to say.”
“Do you want me to identify the body?”
“That won’t be necessary. Just answer a few questions.” The fat cop did all the talking.
Abe came into the living room and saw the cops. “What’s going on, Zeke?” he asked.
“Flicks’s been murdered.”
“Your old boyfriend? How did it happen?”
Zeke gestured that he didn’t know. “They want me to go down to the station and answer some questions. It looks like this date’s a bust.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Like what?” Then he asked the cops, “Am I under suspicion? Will this take long?”
“No more under suspicion than anyone else at this point. Can’t say how long it’ll take.”
“Abe, will you stay here and take care of the dog while I’m gone? Just in case.”
“Sure thing. And keep me posted, will you?”
“Okay,” Zeke said, “I’m ready. I can take my own car, right?”
“Sorry, we’re supposed to drive you.”
“And drive me back, too?”
“Don’t worry,” Abe said. “I can come pick you up if I have to.”
It was a good thing Abe was able to stay, because the interrogation went on till after one in the morning.
He saw no more of the two cops after they accompanied him into the police station. No one booked him or anything. No fingerprints, no mug shots. Someone led him into an interrogation room and told him to wait. It looked more like a cell, with bare gray brick walls, a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, the only furniture a wooden table with two chairs across from each other and not a thing on it, not even a notepad or a glass of water. He waited a long time, twenty minutes at least.
A man in plain clothes entered the room, but you could tell he was a cop. He looked like one. Not that all cops look the same; it was more a question of the expression on his face.
He sat down across from Zeke, took a notebook and a pencil out of his briefcase, and began.
“Zeke. I already told the officers that I haven’t seen Flicks… Mr. Keller… in…”
The detective ignored that he was speaking and interrupted him to ask for his address, age, place of work, things like that… stuff they already knew. When he finished the ID stats, he introduced himself as Detective Fallon.
“Am I going to need a lawyer?” Zeke asked.
“If you feel you need one at any time, all you have to do is ask and I’ll stop the questions.”
That would only mean he’d get home even later. “Okay. What do you want to know?”
“You knew Felix Keller?”
“Yes, I’ve said as much already.”
“You knew him well?”
“What exactly was your relationship with him?”
“We were friends… and lovers.”
“But you’re not anymore.”
“How long ago did you break up?”
“Almost three months. No, a little longer than that. I saw him once or twice after we broke up. It’s been about three months since I saw him last.”
“I see. Why was it you broke up?”
“The usual. It was over. We weren’t meant for each other.”
“No, not really.”
“Not that I know of. The chemistry was gone, that’s all. Look, can’t you tell me how he was killed? Was he at home? Was it in the street? Do you know who killed him?”
“If we knew who killed him we wouldn’t be asking you questions. And I can’t give you any more information, just that we’re assuming he was murdered. It might prejudice your answers.”
“What answers? If you ask anything about the last three months there’s nothing I can tell you. I haven’t seen him, haven’t spoken to him, nobody’s told me anything about him…”
Fallon went on as if Zeke hadn’t said anything.
“How long were you together?”
“About two years. Maybe a little less.”
“Did you live together?”
“Did Mr. Keller live then where he lives now?”
“I don’t know where he lives now.”
“What was his address then?”
“Portage Avenue. Apartment 5E. I forget the house number. I remember his phone number, though.”
“Why? Have you called him recently?”
“I just said I haven’t spoken to him in three months.”
“But you remember the number.”
“I used to call him a lot. But when I went to see him I didn’t think about the house number, I just knew which building it was. Do you want me to describe it for you?”
“Why would I want you to do that?”
“I don’t know. It sounds like you suspect me.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Not believing me when I say I can’t remember the number of his building.”
“I believe you. Does 1580 Portage sound right?”
“Yeah, that was it.”
“What about his friends?”
“What about his friends?”
“Can you tell me who they are?”
“I can tell you who they were. We had the same friends; mine for the most part. I don’t know who his friends are now.”
“Why are you talking to me, anyway?”
“You were close to him, weren’t you?”
“Used to be. But how did you know that? You’ve talked to others about this?”
“We’re carrying on an investigation. We talk to everybody we can. We also found your name among his belongings. Also a bracelet you gave him with your names on it. And the photos.”
“Photos?” They’d both agreed they’d destroy the dirty pictures they’d taken one day early in their relationship. Had Flicks kept them?
Fallon put his briefcase on the table, opened it, and took out about a dozen photos. “Here, look these over. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The few minutes dragged out to half an hour. Zeke had nothing to do but look at the photos and think.
There was nothing special about the pictures. They were portraits mostly, face shots – of Flicks, of himself, of the two of them together. Some showed them doing things: a softball game, a picnic, washing the car. Just ordinary photos, the kind people keep to remember good times. Nothing compromising about any of them. What was he supposed to see in them?
Washing the car. It was supposed to be a chore, but had turned into one of the most fun afternoons they had together. Wearing only shorts and sneakers, they splashed water – turned the hose even – on each other, ran around flicking their rags at each other’s butts, behaved like a couple of silly kids. Their laughter brought the man across the street out to see what was going on, and he snapped the picture. Zeke had forgotten all about it.
The picnic, though, he would never forget. They’d gone off and made love in the bushes, the only time he’d had sex where there was any risk of being seen. Their friends teased them when they came back, and they never knew if one – or all – of them had spied on them. Whose idea had it been? Probably Flicks’. He liked doing crazy things like that.
Zeke’s eyes grew misty with nostalgia. He’d had some good times with Flicks, and now he was dead. He hadn’t missed him until now, but now he found himself wondering if he’d ever find someone to replace him. Abe? Maybe. He liked Abe a lot. A very different personality from Flicks’, but fun to be with. Older, more intellectual. He had more to talk about; they had wide-ranging, meatier, more grown-up conversations. He could cook, too. Not half as cute – no one had an ass as sweet as Flicks’ or bottomed with as much enthusiasm. The two were nowhere near alike in bed, not that one was better than the other, and Abe was handsome enough in his own way. Funny that he should be making comparisons now.
Flicks was the more imaginative lover. Or might be. He’d only had sex a couple of times with Abe; with Flicks, hundreds. Still, he couldn’t imagine Abe going along with some of the crazy role plays Flicks thought up. On the other hand, Abe was more of a take charge kind of guy. Not “You do this… You do that….”, just doing it, doing it to him, and doing it well, or letting him know through his body language what he wanted done to him. He wasn’t one of those unbearable macho types, the kind of man who thinks sex is something you do to your partner and not something the two of you do together. In that way he was like Flicks, except there was something conspiratorial about the way Flicks involved him in their shenanigans. They joked around more, giggled more. All in all, Abe’s lovemaking was more serious and more intense.
So what had he got out of looking at the pictures? Nothing he could share with Fallon, and nothing he would share with Abe, at least not in words.
When Fallon came back Zeke asked if he could call his friend.
“The one waiting for me at home. He’s dog-sitting. He must be wondering what’s taking so long.”
“So you knew enough to get someone to stay with your dog?”
“Abe was there already. We were on our way to the movies when the police came to bring me here for questioning.”
“I see. And your friend’s name?”
“Abe Masters. Hey, what did you mean by that – ‘I knew enough’?”
“This Abe your current boyfriend?”
“Does it matter?”
“Is he your current boyfriend?”
“He’s a current boyfriend.”
“How many do you have?”
“A couple. I’m not promiscuous.”
“But you currently do have more than one sexual partner, am I right?”
“Let’s say that I’ve had more than one in the past few weeks.”
“I see. How serious are you about Mr. Masters?”
“I’m serious about all my partners. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I go around picking people up indiscriminately.”
“So you are serious about Masters, then?”
“It could turn into something permanent, yes. I asked if I could call him. You didn’t give me an answer.”
“I’m afraid we can’t let you use the phone for social calls.”
Zeke started to protest, “This isn’t going to be a social call…” Then he realized that Fallon was afraid he wanted to fill Abe in on some story he was about to make up. “I thought I was supposed to be allowed one call,” he said sulkily.
“That’s if we book you. We haven’t done that.”
“Do you intend to?”
“Not that I know of. Your friend Abe, does he know Mr. Keller?”
“He knows of him. I don’t think they’ve met.”
“But you’re not sure. Is Mr. Masters at your address at the moment?”
“That’s what I said. I hope so.”
“Does he live there?”
“I already explained that he’s dog-sitting. I really don’t like the direction this is going in.”
“I’m not going in any particular direction. I’m just trying to get a feel for things. You looked at the photos?”
“And I remembered them all. Where and when we took them, everything.”
“Good. This one, for example. Tell me about it.”
The photo from the picnic. Zeke remembered every intimate detail, the intimate details especially, but he wasn’t about go into that with the cops!
“It was taken the summer before last. At a picnic. I have a copy of it too somewhere.”
“Where the picnic was, who else was there, what you ate, what you did there…”
“In a park close to the beach. Just a batch of friends. We played volleyball. Or maybe it was frisbee. Sandwiches. For Christ sake, it was almost two years ago! What can it possibly have to do with Flicks’ murder? Do you have any real questions to ask me? Something specific?”
“Okay. Was Mr. Keller a substance abuser?”
“Not when I knew him. Why? Do you think drugs are involved?”
Once again Fallon ignored his question. “Do you take drugs?”
“No. I have a prescription for migraine. That’s it.”
“Can you tell me where you were the evening of the 18th?”
“When was the 18th?”
“I can’t remember off hand. I’d have to go home and look at my calendar.”
“You can’t remember as far back as Thursday? That’s hard to believe.”
“What’s so hard to believe? I’m upset. A good friend, or someone who used to be a good friend, has been murdered. I don’t know what’s going on, I’ve been sitting here for almost two hours answering questions without so much as a cup of coffee…”
“Would you like coffee?” Fallon interrupted.
“No, I just want this to end and for me to go home.”
“What are you getting angry about?”
“This interrogation, that’s what. Why are you asking me all these questions? This isn’t going anywhere.”
“You’re the only lead we have.”
“What kind of lead am I, anyway? I told you I haven’t seen him in three months.”
“You were involved with him, weren’t you?”
“Yes. What does that have to do with anything? Do you think that’s a motive? Am I under suspicion?”
“Everyone who had any connection with him is under suspicion.”
“Is that all you have? Detective Fallon, are you married?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“And did you have other girlfriends before you were married?”
“You’re not here to ask me questions.”
“They’re rhetorical questions. Listen. If one of your old girlfriends was murdered, would you be under suspicion?”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
“I want to see a lawyer.”
“Do you have a lawyer?”
“No. Any lawyer will do for now. Can you get me one?”
“That’s not our responsibility.”
“But I thought…”
“You thought wrong. I’ll show you where the phone is and bring you the Yellow Pages.”
“At eleven at night? I’ll have to call all around to find one now.”
“I thought I’m only allowed one call.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“I dunno,” he said sheepishly. “TV, I guess.”
Fallon chuckled, which irritated Zeke. “If I can’t find one, will I have to stay here all night?”
“You’ll find one. I’ll get you some coffee. Cream? Sugar?”
“Just black, thank you.”
In the end, Zeke only made one call – to Abe. He was to tired and harried to deal with search for a lawyer. Abe sounded almost as upset as he.
“Zeke! What’s going on? I thought you’d be coming right back.”
“Yeah, so did I. Abe, do you know any lawyers?”
“Lawyers? This sounds serious.”
“They tell me it isn’t, but it’s a pain in the ass, they way they keep dicking me around. I’m hoping that with a lawyer I can get out of her quicker. How’s Samson taking it?”
“You know – like a mutt. Pacing, sniffing, whining. I don’t think he liked those cops.”
“Did you? Anyway, can you get me a lawyer. I’m just not up making a lot of phone calls right now.”
“Sure. What precinct are you at?”
“How should I know?” He called out to one of the cops, “What precinct is this?”
“They say the 8th. How long do you think it will take till one gets down here.”
“I dunno. I’ll get right on it. And don’t you worry about anything here. I can stay all night if I have to.”
“Thanks, buddy. I’m sorry about our date.”
“It’s not your fault. Anyway, the night is still young.”
“It sure doesn’t feel it.”
“What the hell are your yakking about there?” one of the cops yelled. “You’re supposed to be getting a lawyer.”
Now he was back in the interrogation room, just him and the photos. Him and Flicks. Without Fallon there, Zeke’s anxiety subsided. Being grilled was nerve racking, but there was no way in hell they could connect him with Flicks’ murder and he knew it. He wouldn’t need to hire a lawyer. He’d asked for one because he knew that a professional lawyer would only have to say two words and they’d release him. The same two words out of his mouth and they might lock him up for the night. Could they do that without booking him? If not that, then the questions could go on for hours, which would be just as bad.
He’d thought that his relationship with Flicks was a closed chapter, and perhaps it had been. He hadn’t thought about him in the last couple of months; as far as he could tell, he’d let go. Now it had all come flooding back. To what end? It was over now; no two ways about it. Death was more final than a break-up. There was no chapter to go back to, only a funeral.
He should have asked Fallon for a box of Kleenex. There were tears on his face. Was he crying for Flicks or for himself? He asked himself if without realizing it he had still secretly entertained the possibility that he and Flicks would get back together someday. If Flicks had suggested they have another go at it, what would he have said? No, of course, if he were in another relationship, a serious relationship; but it hadn’t come to that with Abe yet, and maybe it never would. And if he was unattached? He didn’t know what he’d say. Flicks wouldn’t be asking anyway.
There was no point thinking of Flicks in that way. If anyone, he should be thinking of Abe. But he couldn’t get Flicks off his mind. He was dead, and there were those photos, right in front of him. He hadn’t taken any pictures with Abe yet. Maybe it was time they did.
Pictures of them doing what? They hadn’t done all that much together yet. Gone for coffee or a beer, played virtual baseball – that was how they met, when Zeke had been roped into the weekly virtual baseball game after breaking up with Flicks – driving Abe home when his tire had gone flat, making out in the car and then following him into his house and up to the bedroom, another date somewhere or other, sex a couple of times more. Promising, yes, but not enough to call a past they had in common. Whereas with Flicks…
It was an hour and a half before the lawyer arrived. Fallon came back briefly during that time to tell him a lawyer was on his way, and asked if he’d answer any more questions while they were waiting for him. Zeke said no.
“Fine by me. Any more coffee?”
“What about a magazine? It could take a while.”
“A newspaper, if you have one.”
Fallon brought a third chair for when the lawyer got there, and also a local paper. Zeke had hoped to find something about Flicks’ murder in it, maybe a short article, but there was nothing. He read the funnies and the letters to the editor, put his head on the table and tried to sleep, gave up, and went back to looking at the pictures and remembering.
The lawyer introduced himself as Grant. Zeke didn’t know if that was his first or last name. Grant asked what he was being held for.
“He’s not being held,” Fallon said. “He’s just here to answer a few questions.”
“I’ve been answering your questions since eight o’clock,” Zeke cut in.
“Questions about what?”
“An old boyfriend of his has been murdered.”
So Fallon hadn’t told the lawyer anything! Were they going to have to start all over again?
“We can’t say for sure until we get the coroner’s report.”
“Is there any connection between the two other than they used to be…?” He hesitated, not sure what word to use. Zeke wondered if he’d be unsympathetic to him because he was gay.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“What have you found out so far?”
“That he – your client – has another boyfriend now.”
“That sounds reasonable enough if he’s broken up with the first. People break up all the time without one of them killing the other.”
“That’s what I keep telling him,” Zeke cut in again.
“Is that why they broke up?” Grant asked. “Because he had another boyfriend?”
“I already told him no,” Zeke said.
“Let me handle this, will you?” He turned back to the detective. “So is that all you’ve found out since eight o’clock? It sounds to me like you’ve been wasting your time. What can you tell me about this murder?”
Fallon left and came back half a minute later with photos from the crime scene. Grant looked through them, shuddering at each, and one by one he passed them on to Zeke. “Robbery or police search?” he asked Fallon.
“I couldn’t say. Maybe a robbery, maybe a fight. Not a search. That’s how we found him.”
It was a grisly scene. Flicks lay naked on his bed in the Portage Avenue apartment, his throat slit, dead eyes staring blankly, blood everywhere. He could see what prompted Grant’s question. Someone had rifled through his dresser drawers.
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
Fallon called for an officer to take Zeke to the bathroom. He sat on the floor with his head over the toilet, gave a few feeble chokes, but couldn’t heave.
What a difference it made, between hearing that Flicks had been murdered and actually seeing it for himself! Before it had been little more than news that he had died. It had taken time to sink in, for him to realize what it meant, but this was a nightmare. Seeing that beautiful body naked again, the body he knew so well, and like that! All he could remember of the photos was the blood and Flicks sprawled on the bed as if waiting for him to join him, looking out at him as he had so many times in the past, but with lifeless eyes. Had he been beaten, too? Was his body covered with bruises? Zeke hadn’t noticed.
“Are you all right now?” the cop asked.
Zeke pulled himself slowly to his feet and nodded. “I want to wash my face,” he said. “And can I have a glass of water?”
When they got back to the interrogation room, Grant said to Fallon, “Now I want to speak to my client. Alone.”
The photographs had been put in two piles, the old ones from their relationship and the crime scene pictures. “I don’t want to see those,” Zeke said, pointing to the second pile.
Grant nodded and handed the pile to Fallon. “We won’t be needing them.” Fallon took them with him back to his office or to put in the files. Wherever.
Grant immediately asked if they had a tape recorder going while he was being questioned.
“None that I saw.”
“Then they didn’t. What I can’t figure out is why they brought you into this room. They generally just do this kind of thing in someone’s office.”
That made Zeke mad. “They’re assuming Flicks had sex with whoever killed him. That’s why they brought me in, isn’t it?” He figured that by now Grant must know more about the murder than he did. He felt more like asking questions than answering them.
“Could be. It makes sense, but only as a theory, and it doesn’t implicate you. They’re grasping at straws. He could have picked someone up who was just out to rob some gay guy. It could have been a bashing. They won’t know for sure until…”
“Yeah, I know. Until they get the coroner’s report.”
“What did you tell them?”
“A lot. Nothing of any use, though. It’s been three months since we’ve seen or spoken to each other.”
“Did they ask anything that could have to do directly with the murder?”
“If he took drugs. He didn’t.”
“Where I was on the 18th.”
“And you said?”
“That I couldn’t remember. I can’t. I’m sure I will if I think about it, but I can’t concentrate right now.”
“Probably a good thing. It might have been a trap, trying to get you to use up your alibi for the wrong day.”
“I don’t need an alibi. They do things like that? That’s scary. Maybe there were other traps I fell into. I should have kept my own shut. I mean my trap.”
“Could be, but I doubt it. Not if you really haven’t seen him in three months.”
Grant stood up and called into the outer office. “I want a transcription of your interrogation. Now.”
A detective, not Fallon, came to the door and said, “It’s not ready yet. Hasn’t been typed up. We weren’t sure it was finished.”
“It is. And I want a copy faxed to my office first thing in the morning. Give me a few more minutes with my client and then we’ll all go home.”
The officer didn’t contest that. It seemed the interrogation really was over. Zeke asked Grant if that was so.
“It’s over, I’m sure that’s the end of it.”
“So I can go home?”
Grant looked surprised. “You could have left whenever you wanted to. You weren’t in custody.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me that?” Zeke blurted out, seriously angry.
“They didn’t? I’ll have to keep that in mind. But they have nothing to go on except some fingerprints in the victim’s room that could be months old. And they’re not the only fingerprints that aren’t his. Far from it. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about.”
“So there’s no reason for me to retain you?”
“Not for the time being. Let me have your address so I can send you a bill. For my time.” He looked at his watch. “Shall we say an hour? I did have to drive down here and it is the middle of the night.”
Zeke nodded. He couldn’t argue with that.
“We’ll count it towards my fee if something unexpected comes up and they press charges, but I don’t see that happening. Are there people who’ll vouch for your having broken up with the victim three months ago?”
“Plenty. Do you want their names?”
“It wouldn’t hurt. But I won’t bother calling them for now. Take my word for it. They’re not going to pursue this. How often do I have to tell you that? We won’t have to invoke Miranda.” He smiled so Zeke would know it was a joke, and said, “Fallon was just being a prick. Excuse the language. I should have said, ‘He was just doing what he thinks is his job.’ Let’s get out of here.”
“I can just leave? Just like that?”
“They’ll give you something to sign that says you’re leaving and that you promise to come back if they want ask more questions, which I’m fairly certain they won’t. But read it carefully and don’t sign if it says they read you your rights. Let them see they’ve wasted their time as much as they’ve wasted yours. Do you have a way to get home?”
“I can call Abe, my boyfriend. He’s dog-sitting for Samson. Unless he’s dozed off and doesn’t hear the phone. He’s a heavy sleeper.”
He’d called Abe his boyfriend. Were they? He’d like that. Should he say something to Abe, or was it too soon to suggest they go permanent?
Abe came to pick him up with Samson in the back seat.
“Gee, that took a long time,” he said. “You look like a wreck.”
“I feel like it, too.”
“I suppose you know all about it now.”
“The murder? They slit his throat. Jesus, Abe! They slit his damn throat!”
“So I heard. I turned on the TV after you left. It was all over the news. It sounds ghastly. Do you think it was someone he knew? Someone we know?”
“I can’t imagine anyone we know doing something like that. They showed me the pictures.”
“Pictures I didn’t see. Just a reporter standing outside his building. Was it that bad?”
“Worse. You can’t know what it’s like seeing a guy you’ve had sex with lying on the same bed and looking just like he did when you made love, except with his throat slit.”
“He was naked?”
“Not a stitch on him. I just about lost it. They’d pretty well worn me down already with their questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Stupid questions. How long we were together, when we broke up. That kind of stuff.”
“And that took five hours?”
“It would have taken all night if I hadn’t asked for a lawyer. He told them they had nothing to go on and they let me go right away. I should have asked for one the moment I got there.”
“It’s over now. We’ll go home and take a hot shower…”
“Why not? It’s something we haven’t done yet. And after that I’ll give you a nice long massage.”
“I don’t know about a massage. I just want to get some sleep. I feel wrung out.”
“All the more reason for me to give you a massage. That’s another thing we haven’t done. You’ll see. I give a great massage.”
That would be another talent that he had and Flicks didn’t. “There’s a lot we haven’t done yet,” Zeke said.
“All that means is there are a lot of things we’re going to do for the first time. And second, and third…”
“I was thinking about that too. Part of remembering Flicks and what it was like being in a relationship. Wondering if what we have going – if we really have something going – could turn into something permanent.”
“I have those fantasies whenever I’m dating someone new. It hasn’t happened yet.”
“Well, we have no way of knowing if the little bit we have qualifies as ‘something going’, do we?”
“But you’re willing to find out? Does that mean you’re up for a massage?”
“That depends on what you mean by ‘up’.”
“You know damn well what I meant. But yeah, that too, if you’re up for it.”
Abe hadn’t exaggerated his abilities as a masseur. Both naked from the shower, glowing from its warmth and the new intimacy of soaping each other down, Zeke stretched out on his stomach while Abe sat on his buttocks. His slightly swelling genitals nestled gently in Zeke’s crack, he leaned his full weight against him and with firm strokes kneaded away the knots in his neck and shoulders. Then, kneeling between his legs, he slowly worked his way down his back, over his rump, his thighs, his calves. Zeke was half asleep when Abe rolled him over onto his back to massage his chest and stomach.
The pressure above his pubic bone made Zeke hard. And then the feel of Abe’s wet, warm mouth on his shaft, swallowing all of him. Definitely Abe’s mouth. He had his own style, not at all like Flicks’.
Zeke sighed and relaxed utterly, if were possible to relax more than he had already.
“Thursday!” Zeke sat up with a start, suddenly awake. He almost yelled the word.
“What’s this about Thursday? Here I am, trying to give you the best blowjob of your life, and you think ‘Thursday’. You really know how to make a guy feel good about himself, don’t you?”
“They wanted to know where I was Thursday. I couldn’t remember. I have to look at the calendar.”
“Thursday was baseball night. How could you forget that? Now lie down and enjoy it.”
“Do you know what it’s like being grilled by the police? Your mind goes blank. So you can take it as a compliment. Your blowjob made me forget all about that shithead detective.”
How could he have forgotten baseball night? About half a dozen of their friends got together every Thursday to play virtual baseball, putting together teams, trading players, rolling dice to see who scored and who struck out. Last Thursday was at Mike’s. He had his alibi, and plenty of witnesses.
Unless Flicks hadn’t been murdered on the 18th and Fallon was just trying to trap him.
Why worry about that now? Why worry about it at all? Kick back, relax, and let Abe show him his stuff.
“Go for it,” Zeke whispered. “Let’s see what you can do. Tonight I’m your boy toy. Just don’t expect me to exert myself too much. There’ll be other occasions.”