A Dangerous Game (21 page)

Wren lifted a hand in greeting, and Rufus returned it, quickening his pace. Finally Rufus stood before him, and Wren couldn’t help it—he launched himself into his arms, pulling Rufus tightly to him and hanging on, reveling in the feel of his lean, muscular body pressed up against his own. He listened to the rhythm of Rufus’s heart beating, grateful. Wren surrendered completely to his more basic, primitive senses, delighting in the clean, unique smell of Rufus, the slight undercurrent of sweat that was both tantalizing and manly. He lifted his hand and then ran his fingers through Rufus’s sheaf of wheat-colored hair, luxuriating in its silky texture.

Rufus pushed him away, but Wren was relieved to see a grin still playing about his lips.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” Wren blurted out.

“Dude, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see if you were all right. I heard about the second murder, and I didn’t know….” Wren’s voice trailed off, and he had to stop for a moment, breathing hard, trying to hold his emotions in check. He didn’t want to cry, standing here in front of Rufus. After a moment where he couldn’t speak, Wren started up again, talking slowly. “I didn’t know if that second person was you. Somehow I was sure it was. I tried calling—and calling!—but you never called me back. You prick!” Wren punched Rufus and then smiled. “But you’re here. And you’re okay.” Wren went silent again as he took in the full measure of Rufus, who somehow seemed more solid, more real, bigger than he had recalled. Wren put a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Sorry I didn’t get back, but what with you leaving, another dude dead, things are crazy right now. I’ve been working pretty much all the time. Barely have time to sleep.” Rufus shook his head. “I can’t believe another guy was killed. It still doesn’t seem real to me.”

Just then there was a blinding flash of light, a crack, and a deafening peal of thunder. A bolt hurtled down just across the street from them, slicing a big branch from a tree. The branch landed in the middle of the street, narrowly missing a parked Kia Soul.

The light and sound show was the signal for the storm to begin in earnest. It was as though the skies had opened. The rain poured down not in drops but in sheets, heavy and drenching.

“We gotta get out of this.” Rufus turned toward his door, fumbling in his jeans for his keys.

He said “we,” right? That’s an invitation.
Wren dashed through the rain and gasped as the cold water poured down on him, soaking him thoroughly in the seconds it took for Rufus to get his key into the lock.

They both practically tumbled into the cool tile-and-wood vestibule. The glass of the front door was blurred by the heavy downpour, which pounded all around them, punctuated by the grumble and roar of thunder.

Wren looked up at Rufus. “Can I come up?”

Rufus smirked. “What do you think?”

He turned and started up the stairs. Wren followed.

Rufus’s apartment was on the second floor. Wren waited while Rufus went through the ritual of unlocking three locks. Finally he opened the door and stepped aside to allow Wren to precede him.

Rufus crossed the living room and turned on a lamp, banishing the gloom. Wren felt like they were sheltered, in some kind of sanctuary, the two of them now safe, warm while the storm continued to rage on outside. Wren could hear the slick sound of car tires on pavement.

Rufus hurried around the apartment, closing the windows he must have left open that morning.

This gave Wren time to take in Rufus’s domain, and he was surprised by what he saw. He had expected Rufus to live in some kind of bachelor pad, messy, tasteless, with high-end toys like a big-screen plasma, a game system, and stereo equipment that would take an engineering degree to operate. Whenever he imagined Rufus, he saw him in a place littered with wadded-up and cast-off clothes on the floor, pizza boxes on the table, half-drunk bottles of beer nearby.

But Rufus’s home was none of that. With the view he had—and it was a good view, since it was an open floor plan revealing kitchen, dining area, and living room all in one glance—he could see Rufus didn’t live the way Wren expected, not at all. First, there was no television, but the walls in both the living room and dining room were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Wren would have to examine the titles later. And the place was extremely clean—dark cherry hardwood floors gleamed, and the kitchen, all granite and stainless steel, was pristine. The kitchen’s back door window gave a view onto a backyard with mature green-leaved trees. Even Rufus’s furniture, a combination of chrome, dark brushed suede, and animal-hide prints, all fit together and resembled a spread from some home interior design magazine or the after video of one of those shows Linda was always watching on HGTV. The prints on the wall were bold, colorful, abstract—and very large. Wren wondered if Rufus had painted them himself.

In spite of being so neat, the place had an air of being lived in, a home, and Wren wondered, for the first time, if he really knew Rufus at all.

He noticed Rufus’s laptop across the room, open on the breakfast bar, and felt a wave of shame. Heat rose to his damp face.

“What are you staring at?”

Rufus appeared next to him silently, startling Wren. He held out a towel, thick and white. Wren took it, drawing his eyes away from the computer that, just a few weeks ago, had revealed to him so much about Rufus.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, applying the towel to his wet hair and body.

“Those clothes are going to have to go. You’re dripping all over my nice hardwood.”

Rufus was grinning, and Wren suddenly felt on surer footing. Immediately he began pulling his shirt over his head, unzipping, kicking off his shoes.

Maybe finally he could show Rufus how much he cared for him in one of the only ways he knew how.

But Rufus disappeared into what Wren assumed was a bedroom. In a minute he was back with a black T-shirt, boxers, and a pair of gray sweatpants. He handed them to Wren.

“I’m gonna go do the same. Get out of these wet clothes, and then we can talk, if you want.”

Rufus went back into his bedroom, and Wren changed out of his clothes and then took them, dripping, into the bathroom, where he dumped them in the tub. He returned to the living room and sat down on the couch.

He noticed, on an end table, a portable music dock for an iPhone. Rufus’s phone was docked, and Wren wanted to bring it to life, see what kind of playlists the man had. Would he be surprised again? Bach instead of Black Eyed Peas?

Another surprise emerged from behind the couch—a jet-black cat with eyes that were almost yellow hopped up on the couch next to Wren and began sniffing him and rubbing its forehead against him, marking him as its own.

“Who are you?” Wren whispered to the cat, stroking its silken fur. He thought he might well ask the same question of Rufus.

The cat eyed him with those amazing irises, almost as if he or she understood the question.

Rufus returned, clad in a pair of loose-fitting workout shorts and an oversized T-shirt with the image of a phoenix emblazoned across the chest. He was barefoot, and Wren couldn’t help but admire his strong, hairy legs, the calves of which appeared to be secreting grapefruit within the taut skin.

“That’s Lucifer. Or just Lucy, if she’s behaving. You’re not allergic, are you?”

“I don’t think so.” One thing Linda had never allowed was a pet. They moved around too much, or maybe she simply didn’t need yet another mouth to feed on what was always a meager paycheck.

“You’d know. She seems to like you.”

Lucy had settled into Wren’s lap, a place he wished her owner was instead. Wren could feel the vibration of her purring against his crotch.

Rufus sat down next to him. He reached over and mussed Wren’s hair.

“So you were worried about me?”

Wren thrilled at just the simple touch. “Yeah. Worried sick. And I mean that literally. You should have called me back. Why didn’t you?” In spite of his happiness at being here, Wren couldn’t suppress the tiny flame of anger growing in his belly due to Rufus’s lack of consideration.

Rufus looked away, staring at the opposite wall for so long Wren looked too, wondering what captured his attention. But all that hung there was a large canvas, bright white, with a big red ball in the center.

“It’s hard to explain,” Rufus said softly. “I don’t wanna cop out like some would and plead being busy or some shit like that. I wanted to call you. I did. But I just, I don’t know….” His voice trailed off, and he turned to Wren, his expression looking somewhat helpless.

“You don’t know what?”

“Maybe I thought it was better we have no contact.”

Wren swallowed hard. The sting of the statement hurt as much as if Rufus had slapped his face.

“There’s a lot you don’t know.” Rufus let out a long breath, almost like a sigh. “About me.”

Wren thought of all he knew. Again, he cautioned himself about letting on that he was aware of what he had read while Rufus was missing. So he said, “You can talk to me, you know. I realize we’re not best friends or that we haven’t known each other long at all, but you know something? I’m pretty good at picking up right away whether or not I click with someone, and I know we clicked.”

“Boy, did we ever,” Rufus said, so softly that Wren questioned if he had actually voiced the words or if his own wishful thinking had supplied them.

Wren smiled and resisted the impulse to fill the silence with words. He knew if Rufus wanted to share something with him it would have to be Rufus’s own decision and not something Wren could pry out of him.

For a long time the only sounds in the apartment were the rain, which had slowed to a steady but less violent downpour, beating against the windows, and the purring of Lucifer. It was calming, and Wren let his head drop tentatively to Rufus’s shoulder. When Rufus made no move to dislodge him, Wren settled in more comfortably. It had been a long, anxiety-ridden day.

When at last Rufus began to speak, his sonorous and manly voice filling the room, Wren closed his eyes and simply listened.

“Yeah, little man, we clicked. More than you know. When I was with you that night with the old dude watching, I forgot all about him. I was completely into you, both literally and emotionally. I forgot he was even there. I don’t ever have sex like that, or at least not in a long, long time. Truth is, I thought I could never have sex like that again.”

Without moving, without opening his eyes, Wren asked, “What do you mean?”

“Complete, you know?”

Wren nodded. He knew what Rufus meant yet longed for him to continue.

“What we did satisfied me in every way. Sure, it drained my balls, and that’s always satisfying, even at work, but for me that kind of satisfaction is bittersweet, empty. It doesn’t last. But with you I was satisfied up here and here.”

Even though Wren couldn’t see it, somehow he knew Rufus tapped first his head and then his heart. “I was fulfilled, you know? And that scared the shit out of me.”

Wren did open his eyes then. He lifted his head and looked at Rufus. “Why?”

“Because I’m working so hard on myself, I don’t know if I have room for what you surprised me with.”

The two fell to silence again. Rufus stood and turned off the single lamp he had illuminated when they entered. The room was bathed in a pale yellow light from the streetlamp outside. Every once in a while the furniture would turn blue-white from a flash of lingering lightning.

Lucifer jumped from the couch and stalked away, tail held high, heading toward the bedroom. Wren wished he could take Rufus’s hand and follow the cat, but he knew this was a time to be still and open.

In the darkness Rufus sat back down and let his arm loll atop Wren’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

He let out a long sigh.

“See, I got into this business because I was a drug addict. Coke and me were inseparable friends.”

Wren relaxed. It was coming out. He didn’t need to reveal his duplicity.

“I got so fucked up on that stuff I looked like a scarecrow, a bean pole. Bags under my eyes, dirty. I looked fifty. That’s when Dave found me.”

Wren was prepared to hear how Dave had rescued him, but he soon realized a tale of salvation was not in the works.

“You said you ‘clicked’ or not with people right away. I assume that means you’re a good judge of character?”

“I guess.”

“What did you think of Dave?”

“I didn’t trust him.” Wren thought for a moment. “I thought he was a creep, even more because he was so clean-cut and well-spoken. Something is off with that man.” Wren realized he was sticking his neck out here, that Rufus could very well be an ally of Dave’s, and he might be poisoning his own well.

But Wren had to be honest. It was the only way they would get anywhere.

“You’re right,” Rufus said. “Dave uses people. He looks for vulnerabilities and weaknesses and exploits them to get you to do what he wants. He’s a Svengali. You know that word?”

Wren didn’t; he shook his head.

“It’s someone evil, man. Someone who controls you.”

“You think that’s what Dave is?”

“Oh, I know that’s what Dave is.” Rufus laughed, but there was not one ounce of mirth in it.

“Then why stay with him?”

“Because, even though he manipulated me and uses me to this day, he helped me get clean. I was to the point where all I thought about was how I would get money enough to buy my next eight ball. You know what? I had gotten to where I didn’t care anymore if the next line would stop my heart. In a way, I welcomed that idea.

“So, see, Dave found me. At that bar, Tricks? I hung out there because the dancers always had coke, and sometimes I could get some from them or at least hit up a dealer. That place is full of hustlers, druggies, and dealers. It’s a shit hole, breeding ground for all sorts of bad shit. That’s why Dave goes in there. He scoops us up, makes us think we’re being rescued.”

Wren remembered back to the day when he met Dave and how, on top of losing his job, his pocket had been picked. Perhaps Dave had orchestrated that whole thing. Wren thought about how fast he had moved in when Wren realized he didn’t have the money or ID to procure a drink.