A Forest of Corpses (6 page)

"I don't have time to be watching spics in the parking lot."

"Spics?" I leaned toward him, crowding his space. I hadn't said they were Latino. "Describe them."

"Spics. What can I say about 'em? Dirty Mexis, shaved like they just come outta jail. Tattoos. Those baggy clothes all the kids seem to wear. Sneering all the time." If he noticed he was standing beside another of his 'dirty Mexis' in the form of a cop, he gave no sign. Thick. I'd give Miguel points. He showed no sign the name calling got to him. His face was as flat as I knew mine was.

"What did they do besides hang around?"

"Pick on my customers. Call them names. Try to pick fights with the men, the women...I called the police but no one ever did anything. They'd ask if the Mexis could come in the store and when I said no, they said it wasn't trespassing then and they couldn't do nothing until they did. Lot of damn good payin' city taxes gets me."

"Did you ever see them interact with either Momo or Simpson?"

Hardy gave me a disgusted look. "They 'interacted' with everyone. Business is down since they showed up, but fat lot of good you guys did me. Want to tell me why that was?"

I made sympathetic noises, which didn't mollify Hardy at all. I jerked my head and Miguel followed me toward where 52

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our car was parked, baking in the sun. The Escalade was gone. I didn't turn around to see if the angry manager was watching us. I knew he was.

Miguel was getting better at reading me. "What's up?"

"He's lying."

He thought about that for a minute and nodded. "Okay, I agree. But about what?"

I drummed my fingers on the wheel staring over the dash towards the rolling waves beyond the beach, crashing and churning on the shoreline. "That I don't know." I rammed the key into the ignition and cranked the engine on, immediately turning on the air. A blast of hot air was soon replaced by welcomed coolness.

"He's afraid of them."

"Anyone would be, if they're smart. But we're going to put a stop to it."

"How are we going to do that?"

"Haven't quite figured that out yet, either."

"But you will." He sounded skeptical.

"Yes," I said, slamming the car into gear and booting it out of the parking lot. "I will."

Back at the station we pulled out the latest briefs on gang activity in our area and started leafing through them, looking for the bangers we had spotted on the beach or at least some familiar tattoos. It wasn't long before my suspicions were confirmed. The tats I had seen were all Eastside with the exception of two, who were confirmed Westside bangers with long sheets.

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I took the briefs with me, then left for lunch around twelve-thirty. Over a corned beef on rye, I ran down what I knew so far. Bangers were up to something. Two opposing gangs showing up in Eastside territory, albeit right on the border between the two sides. Why? What would bring two warring factions together? Nothing good, I was sure. Add to the mix one dead, black indigent. Head shot, which suggested execution. So who executes a homeless old guy with no criminal ties? I went back to what I had told my class a good cop looks at. Opportunity? They had that—I'd seen them down there myself and had corroboration that they'd been there before. Means? I'd never known a banger that didn't have a surplus of weapons at his disposal. Motive? I was stretching there. Extortion? Common, but usually aimed at store owners or neighborhood dealers, not penniless street bums. Who expected them to have money? Or was there something darker at work here? There had been an increasing number of crimes against blacks by Hispanic gangbangers in the L.A. area. No one wanted to talk about it. Creating yet more racial tensions in a city that always seemed to be on the edge of another race riot was never a good thing. But the facts were there, buried in police reports from all over Los Angeles.

Bottom line: if there was anything to my suspicions, however flimsy they were, then it was even more imperative we find Momo. Both for her safety, and for our case.

That afternoon I contacted our gang specialist, Sergeant Thomas Paige, and caught him on his way out to a confab with some city people about handling graffiti showing up 54

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around town. He had about five minutes to spare and I had one question I needed answered above everything else.

"What about recent activity in the beach area?"

"Been an uptick all over the county. Assaults are up, a lot more violent muggings and home invasions."

"All gang related?"

"Far as I can tell." Paige was a laconic Angeleno who talked like he had a mouthful of nails. "Even a slew of shots-fired calls, nobody injured though. Word is there's talk of some new drug pipeline being set up with cartels and local bangers."

"Here in town?" Shit, that's all we needed, more drugs flooding the street.

"Haven't figured that part out yet."

"Keep me in the loop." I left him to his meeting and went in search of Miguel so we could get on with our own work.

Miguel and I returned to the beach and spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing everyone we found. A few talked of seeing an old black woman and her dog. But no one knew where they were. We saw the woman with the shopping cart, but she grew agitated again when we questioned her, so I was forced to back off without learning anything new.

There was no sign of Eastside or Westside bangers hanging around. Too bad, I was itching to get my hands on one of them. Find out just what they were doing hanging around the beach together.

At five we called it a day. I picked up my Toyota and headed home.

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This time I cooked; chicken on the barbecue with a variety of cold salads Jason picked up on his way home from school.

We sat in our cleaned up backyard, now bursting with flowers and bushes—another successful effort on Jason's part who, it turned out, had quite a green thumb. When he had first mentioned wanting to plant a few things in the yard I had indulgently said sure, figuring he meant to throw a few pots of marigolds or daisies out. Instead, he had bought a whole slew of garden equipment, bags of dirt and very smelly fertilizer. Within a month my scruffy backyard had been turned into a colorful oasis that was more of solace than I would have imagined. Or maybe it was sharing it with Jason that made it special. I didn't analyze it too closely. I simply enjoyed being out there with him.

After we ate, I lay back in the lounger with my feet up on Jason's lap. Idly, he massaged my soles and calves, working his way up my bare thighs, first with his fingers, then his lips.

He grew more focused, leaving a trail of heat along the inside of my calf, tracing the knobs of my kneecap then nipping the skin above my right knee. I spread my legs, bracing one foot on the patio stones. His mouth was hot; I shivered under his touch. "If I do this..." he nibbled again, then followed it with his lapping tongue. A wave of desire so hard I groaned washed over me. "...I can make you do that."

My dick pressed painfully against the denim shorts I had changed into after my shower. "And if I do this..." he continued his torturous path up my inner thigh until his lips caressed my swollen balls through the fabric. I sighed and closed my eyes as he worked my fly open. I wound shaking 56

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fingers through his thick hair. One of the first things Jason had done, even before the garden came, was talk me into replacing the old chain fence that separated my property from the other two houses at the end of my cul-de-sac. Now we had true privacy in our little retreat and it wasn't uncommon for us to take advantage of it. Though even with the fence, there was still that slightly kinky feeling of doing something forbidden. I had never been one for public sex, but with Jason I found I stretched my boundaries. "Oh, yes," he sighed, his mouth pressing into my balls and I rocked, thrusting my hips up. "Look at what I can make you do."

His hot breath caressed my erection, then the tip of his tongue licked precum out of my slit, his lips exploring and enclosing the swollen head with wet heat. I moaned and pressed the back of his head down, wanting him to swallow me to the root. My nerves thrummed and my balls tightened in preorgasmic tension. A strange vibration started at the base of my dick and grew. It was several moments of unbelievable bliss before I realized Jason was humming, and the vibration from his throat was going straight to the core of my cock.

I shouted out his name and shot my load. He swallowed and it felt like he was taking my whole dick right down his throat, milking me dry. I collapsed back against the lounger struggling to get my breath back.

He crawled up my body and I hugged him close, petting his back.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

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He grinned against my throat. "Would you believe TV?

Some sex show on
here!
They were talking about how to give mind blowing head."

"Wow, finally paying through the nose for cable pays off." I nuzzled his throat. "You're a keeper, Jason Zachary."

"Yes, Sir."

Darkness fell and fireflies come out, enchanting us. We shared the lounger and one more beer before retreating into the house to watch one of our favorite Lauren and Bogey movies.

* * * *

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After the final credits rolled, I bounced to my feet. "Got something for you. Stay here."

I hurried into our bedroom where I scooped up the things I had picked up today on my side trip to Santa Barbara. I came out carrying them in both hands. He watched me approach with his usual intense scrutiny. No one I knew could stare down a person like my Alex.

I handed him the Maxpedition backpack first. He turned the desert-tan bag over in his hands, examining all the various pockets and compartments it had.

"You're serious about this trip, aren't you?"

"I'm always serious about hiking. Here..." I handed him the Merrell boots. "I measured your work boots—these should be a perfect fit. Comfortable, too. You won't get blisters in these babies."

He felt the weight of the boots and looked pleased. "Could kick some serious bear ass with these things."

I had made the mistake of telling him there were black bears in the Wilderness area we were going to. Bears and mountain lions, too. Now I had an even harder thing to say to him.

"Uh, can I ask you something?"

His gray eyes met mine and he frowned. "You know you always can. What is it, Jay?"

"Can you... can you not take your gun with you on this trip?"

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"You know I don't like going anywhere without it," he said softly.

"I know, and I respect that, Sir, but do you really think you're going to need it up there? It's only for a few days..."

His frown deepened. Finally, all he would say was, "I'll think about it."

I let it go. He'd either do what I asked or he wouldn't.

Nagging him would only lead to punishment and while I usually enjoyed that, sometimes he picked something I didn't like one bit, like sleeping on the couch, away from him. I wasn't going to push the matter.

I tugged his hand, pulling him off the leather couch. "Come on, try it on."

He shrugged the backpack over his broad shoulders and let me help settle it into place.

"How's it feel?"

"Comfortable. Balanced."

"Wait'll it's full of supplies. You'll get a good workout from it."

He patted his belly and grinned ruefully. "Maybe work off some of this, you think?"

I replaced his hand with my own, stroking his stomach through the thin T-shirt he wore. His muscles clenched under my questing fingers and he sucked in his breath. "I love every inch of you, Sir, don't ever think otherwise."

He grabbed my hand, shoving it against his swelling cock.

"Maybe you should try the boots on," I whispered as our eyes met, his shiny with deepening desire.

"Maybe I should."

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But he made no move to do so. My hand squirmed around his growing erection, matching the one I had never quite lost since he had come home.

"Go get yours," he ordered. "We're going to do something together."

I hurried to obey and pulled my boots out of the front closet, following him into our bedroom.

"Strip," he said.

Again I obeyed, and soon stood in front of him naked, my cock already standing out from my shaved pubic area. He followed suit then put his new boots on, ordering me to put mine on. Within seconds we stood facing each other, dicks thickening in anticipation, clad only in our hiking boots.

He leaned forward and slid my collar around my throat, clamping my nipples in the slender chains attached to the brass ring. Pain lanced straight into my groin, I closed my eyes against the sudden rush of remembered desire.

"Arms behind your back."

I did as he ordered, the movement sending new bolts of pain through my pinched nipples to the base of my cock. I was leaking precum now. He smoothed his fingers over my engorged helmet, making it slick and strokeable.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You, Sir. Only you."

He used the soft leather restraints to cuff my hands behind my back. The last thing I saw before he slipped the leather hood over my head was him standing in front of me, wearing only his brand new Merrell's, his swelling dick rising out of his thick bush of red hair. Then darkness enfolded me and I was 61

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plunged into a world of smells and sounds and touch. Oh God, how he touched me. Pleasure and pain all mingled into one.

It was a long time before we got to bed that night.