Bad Influence (4 page)

“I work in a restaurant that stays open late.” He was up to thirty legit hours a week. Since he’d started waiting tables at With Relish, he earned enough to pay for the room on Tyson Street.

Zeb was silent.

Silver bit his lips against swearing it wasn’t a lie. “I’m good if you want to rest,” he said instead. He doubted Zeb would be any help if shit got started—not that Silver was a badass fighter. He had stayed alive this long by not being where trouble happened. He just hoped Zeb was snoring whenever these pricks got their shit together enough to bring him his meds. Though he doubted Zeb would sleep through someone yelling,
Who here’s got HIV?

Zeb didn’t snore, but his eyes closed eventually. At some point during the night, the meth head passed out with his face on the toilet.

By morning, no one had shown up with meds, but at eight seventeen, the guard called them up one at a time for breakfast. There was a tiny bottle of no-name water and a plastic-wrapped sandwich, which was either made with rubbery cheese or rubbery egg.

It was hard since the chains didn’t let his hands get above his temples, but Silver found the best thing to do with breakfast was to stuff it behind his head to cushion it as he leaned against the wall. More comfortable and he’d still have it in case anyone did show up with meds.

Despite advice from the new inmates, Zeb bit into his.

Nine thirty was when Silver always took his meds. An hour couldn’t make much difference, or even a day, he told himself, but by eleven he was starting to freak out. Another twenty-four hours of this? And then if he couldn’t make bail, if he got convicted, how long? How long would he be waiting for the clock to move? He was pretty sure no amount of trying to squeeze a prison sentence into a montage would keep him from suffering every minute of a year locked up. Any more than it had saved him when they’d shoved him into the Reflection Room back at Camp Path to Screwed Now That Your Parents Know You’re Queer.

Silver was staring so hard at the clock, when the guard banged on the cell door, he jumped. His meds?

“Hey, you. Jesus.” The guard nodded at Zeb.

Six inches between them, but Silver still felt the sudden tension in Zeb.

“That’s you, Harris,” the guard added when Zeb didn’t move.

“Where am I going?” Zeb asked.

“Judge is here. You too, Blondie.”

Silver controlled any outward show of relief, but knowing he wasn’t going to get left behind was the first good thing to happen since Zeb charged out of his car last night. Once they were out of the cell, the guards went in and shook the meth head until he staggered out to join them.

Their destination was another cell and more waiting. Being shuffled around like this reminded Silver of a trip to Disney World back when he was fourteen. Just when you thought it was the end of the line, it was another room. Though he didn’t think this was designed to entertain the people caught in the system.

There was only one small bench in the new cage and no toilet. They’d barely been in the new cage for a minute when a black guy in a uniform so crisp and freshly cleaned Silver could still smell the starch from the ironing said, “Zebadiah Harris?”

Silver fought the absurd desire to grab Zeb’s hand and beg to go with him. Curling sharp nails into his palms, Silver mocked himself. A few hours around Zeb was all it took to forget three and a half years of surviving alone.

Zeb stood, turning to face Silver. “I’ll see—”

“Just go.”

“Can I call someone?”

Silver shook his head. If Eli couldn’t bring his meds, what could anyone do? Alarm snapped Silver’s head up like a yank on a collar.

“Don’t. Don’t call…” he swallowed, “…them.” He was pleading, a weakness that was dangerous here, but he couldn’t change it. He’d rather be in jail than ask his parents for help. Not that they’d bother.

Zeb nodded.

The guard led Zeb away.
Have a nice life. Or not.
Silver choked the words back. He was afraid it would come out more pathetic than sarcastic and he wasn’t going to add to his humiliation. After the clinking of Zeb’s shackles faded under the sounds of the other prisoners shifting around, Silver plastered his most determined go-away glare on his face, pressed his spine more tightly against the wall and wished he could disappear.

He didn’t know how much time passed before a guard said, “Blondie, your lawyer’s here.”

Lawyer?

Eli had come through big time.

The room the guard sent Silver to was small, with just enough space for the table divided by a mesh screen. Silver’s eyes widened in surprise as he took in the guy on the other side. The watch on the lawyer’s wrist wasn’t a Rolex, but his loafers were Gucci and his suit was Hugo Boss, and Eli’s sugar daddy setup was looking pretty damned sweet if he could swing someone like this.

“Silver? Is that the name you prefer, Mr. Barnett?” The lawyer pulled out a chair on his side of the table.

“Yeah, I mean yes.” Silver started to slump into his chair then straightened. This guy could be his ticket out of here.

“You were a little difficult to track down, given the different aliases. I wanted to be sure I had the correct individual.”

“You’re really here for me?” The watch might not be a Rolex, but it was worth five large, easy. The wedding ring was solid, not fancy. Platinum.

“My name is Kevin Millhouse, and I have been hired to represent you, yes.”

“By Eli?”

Millhouse shook his head. “But Mr. Montgomery wanted me to assure you there is no need for you to concern yourself with reimbursement.”

Montgomery. Silver’s hands remembered the smooth feel of a Tiffany blue box. Expensive shoes and expensive jeans. Eyes that seemed to see something they liked when they met Silver’s. A friendly smile. Gavin Montgomery had been a surprise guest at Silver’s fake birthday party. Gavin had come to Silver’s rescue then, too, when Marco’s car wouldn’t start.

Silver nodded, neck tight.

“Now, the prostitution charge has been dismissed, but the assistant district attorney is going forward with the fraud charge. Although Mr. Montgomery has offered to post bail, they could hold you unless you can demonstrate evidence of a permanent address.”

“I have a room on Tyson Street,” Silver said. “It’s paid through next week.”

“Yes, but that is exactly the sort of accommodation the court might find too transient to secure your release. Is there another address? Family? Friends?”

Silver guessed Gavin’s Angel of Mercy gig didn’t go as far as giving a street kid a place to live, not like Silver could blame the guy after Gavin had gone this far.

“No. No family. My friend Eli. If you ask, he’d say I live with them.”

Eli could handle things with Quinn.

“And who is part of ‘them’?” The lawyer took out a notepad.

“Just him and his boyfriend. Quinn is pretty…” Silver tried to think of a way to describe him. He didn’t dislike the guy, exactly. “…tight-assed,” he finished.

The lawyer gave a hint of a smile. “Tight-assed is precisely what the court is looking for. I’ll see what I can do. Is there another option? Other friends?”

Marco’s older brother was still on parole, and most of the other guys Silver knew well enough to hit up for so much as a cigarette were either hustling or still modeling in the clothing-optional, full-penetration way.

Silver shook his head.

“We’ll work with what we have, then.” Millhouse closed his briefcase and stood up. “They should be ready for you in the courtroom very soon. I’ll see you there.”

Silver had half-convinced himself the whole conversation with the lawyer was a product of his imagination, an add-on scene born out of insanity-provoking boredom. The shock of relief at the sight of the expensively dressed man from Silver’s not-a-fantasy waiting for him in the courtroom washed the strength from Silver’s knees. As he shuffled in, his eyes picked up a quick wave and landed on Eli, who flashed what was for him a subtle thumbs-up. Silver took another deep breath. Maybe this was going to be okay.

The breath got caught in his throat when he saw who else was waiting for him, squashed in between Quinn and the asshole cop in the second row. Zeb hadn’t left. And Silver couldn’t decide if that made everything better or worse. They couldn’t mention his HIV status in the courtroom, right? Or say anything about his porn-star past?

Silver tried not to wince when the judge said his name. “Jordan Samuel Barnett.”

They went through who everyone was. The judge and the assistant district attorney both looked annoyed and strict, like stressed-out teachers at state-exam time. Silver’s lawyer was still smooth and relaxed, so he hoped that meant they were already ahead. He wished he had on something besides his club clothes. His Fresh Cream tank probably wasn’t scoring any points.

After the judge said her bit about possession of a fraudulent document and Silver had said
not guilty
, the other lawyer shot him the kind of disgusted look he would have expected if he’d been in English class dressed like this and said, “We request no bail, Your Honor. Forged government identification and no legal residence.”

The judge asked, “Is there any evidence of Mr. Barnett obtaining property or goods through this fraudulent identification?”

“Not at present, Your Honor.” The accusing lawyer acted like it killed him to admit that.

“Your Honor, to address that concern, Mr. Barnett has found a stable residence with close friends and is able to post a bond for his release.”

“Is there any proof of this stable residence with friends? Or am I to take Mr. Barnett’s word for it?”

Mr. Millhouse turned around. “Mr. Maloney?”

Quinn stood up.

Mr. Millhouse faced the judge. “Mr. Maloney is a former officer in the U.S. Navy and a public school teacher in Baltimore County. He is also a home owner in Mount Washington.”

The judge nodded. “Mr. Maloney, can you confirm that Mr. Barnett is staying with you?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“In what capacity?”

“As a friend.”

The judge scrutinized their row. “Bail is set at fifteen thousand. Cash or bond.”

Trying not to look like the idea of that much money had made Silver’s knees wobble again, he glanced toward Mr. Millhouse, but the lawyer’s reassuring smile said they had gotten what they wanted.

Although Silver was perfectly fine slipping right on out of the courthouse and possibly the state of Maryland, it would be interesting to see if anyone would be waiting for him. He was pretty sure now that he’d made Gavin cough out fifteen large, he and his cop boyfriend would be ready to wash their hands of him. Maybe he’d be able to mail the money back someday. It was chump change to a guy as rich as Montgomery, and Silver figured by leaving, he’d save the guy money in the end. A lawyer like Milhouse would cost more than fifteen thousand to keep working on Silver’s case. He’d stick around until no one was paying much attention, and then maybe try the West Coast. Do movies again until he could get a decent job. Right now, all he wanted was a shower. The one at Tyson Street might be crap, but it was wet and usually lukewarm.

Zeb was the first person Silver saw when he came into the lobby. Though Eli was right up in Silver’s face as soon as he cleared the hall, his gaze locked with those warm, gold-brown-green eyes. All Zeb did was nod with an almost smile and then the bastard was gone. Was there some point Silver was supposed to get? Was Zeb too good to stick around now, like he hadn’t just been in jail with Silver all night?

“Here.” Eli shoved a plastic baggy with pills in it at him. “There’s a fountain right down there. Or do you need a soda? Do they bother your stomach? I heard they can bother your stomach.”

“Christ, Eli, keep it down.” Silver glanced around. “Trying not to tell the whole damned world about it, thanks.” He snatched the bag and slammed into the men’s room. Eli followed, of course he did.

Plucking a pill out of the bag, Silver swallowed it dry. It got stuck, so he gulped some from the faucet. And then he got a look at Eli’s guilty face in the mirror.

“What? Jesus fucking Christ, I told you not to say anything to anyone about it.” Silver spun away and pressed his back into a wall, wishing he could hide in a stall and not have to deal with all of this shit.

“The cops wouldn’t let me bring you the pills, and you said you might be there until Monday and that you had to have them every day, and I couldn’t get in to see you, so I started to freak out—”

“Who. Knows?” Silver ground the words out past the puke rising in his throat. He needed to figure out the extent of the damage and then get the hell out of here.

“I wouldn’t have told anyone if I didn’t need to. But I didn’t know what to do, so I told Quinn and he said he’d ask Jamie what we should do because Jamie’s a cop…” Eli barely paused for breath, “…and then well, Gavin—we needed someone who could actually do something, get someone out of bed on a Sunday. It was the only thing I could do to make sure you were being taken care of.”

The list was too much to take. Silver shoved away from the wall, banged into the stall and heaved up the inside of his stomach. Not that there was anything in it besides the pill and the water. And the bile making his guts spasm over and over again. It made his eyes water, and that pissed him off more.