Criminal Pleasures (23 page)

It had been two grueling months, but he was finally starting to feel some semblance of normalcy, and was settling into his small, one bedroom apartment in Jamaica Plain. He’d never admit it to his father, but he felt soothed being back in the Boston area, like he was where he belonged again.

Not that his father would know, he hadn’t called Brendan. He wouldn’t give a damn that Brendan was feeling better, settling into a new life. That man could hold a grudge like no one else. But Brendan couldn’t let it bother him. He was doing all right finally, but didn’t have the capacity for family drama right now.

And some distance from his father wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Despite what some would consider a lowering of his life quality, Brendan liked the simplification. He liked the dusty office he shared with the other lawyers in town, the small practice, the small apartment, the small life. Because it was his. No longer under the scrutinizing eye of his father, he was on his own. Really on his own this time, with no professional tether to Daddy, no security blanket. But he was making it work. The only real hindrance was loneliness, something he’d never faced before.

It wasn’t that he didn’t still have friends in Boston. He had plenty, and had met them out for beers several times, part of his mission to force himself back into a normal life. But things had changed. There was a distance around Brendan now, and he no longer felt like he had anything in common with his boisterous, happy-go-lucky drinking buddies. They didn’t seem to notice there was anything different about Brendan, which made him feel lonelier still. He missed having someone that would look inside him, ask what he was thinking. Notice when he was upset or confused. He missed Marc. But Marc hadn’t called him. Not a word since that night he’d spoken to him on the phone, when he told Brendan he couldn’t
in good conscience
see him anymore.

And despite his aching heart, Brendan had been too proud to pick up the phone since. It was Marc’s decision. Brendan wasn’t going to beg.

He went into the bathroom and shaved, then on to his bedroom to dress for court. He was representing a man called Robert Montague today, hopefully setting a court ordered visitation schedule so he could see his children again. Since his divorce a year ago, he’d had his two kids every other weekend. But once his ex-wife found out Robert had a new girlfriend, she’d begun toying with him. Suddenly, when Robert’s weekend with the kids rolled around, she’d tell him the kids had plans and couldn’t make it. Or that they were sick. Or that she was taking them away for the weekend. The guy was distraught, beside himself, and Brendan hoped he could help him. They’d tried mediation, but it hadn’t yielded good results, so now they were taking it to a judge.

Brendan drank his coffee, brushed his teeth, and headed out with his briefcase to take the train in to the courthouse. It had been a tough couple months, but the busy bustle of his new life kept him feeling steady. As long as he kept moving, he didn’t have time to ponder the recent past, to feel the pain. Except at night, when he tried to go to sleep. It wasn’t memories of Gina DiPietro that kept him awake these days. It was memories of Marc. The grief was like a burn, searing his soul, and no matter how he tried to push it aside, and soothe it with the balm of distraction, it returned each night when he shut off the light and lay his head on the pillow. But each day he awoke and started over, hoping that this would be the day it got better. That this would be the night he could fall asleep without his heart aching.

By half past noon, Brendan walked out of the courtroom with a happy Robert Montague. His ex-wife’s lawyer had been a prick, and it had taken longer than expected to get the judge to rule, but ultimately Robert got his court ordered visitation.

“Thank you,” Robert said, shaking Brendan’s hand. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

Brendan slapped him on the shoulder. “I have lunch plans, but thanks for the offer. You take care, Robert.”

“Thanks again, Brendan. You’re the best.”

Brendan watched Robert Montague walk way, then he turned and made his way down the wide marbled steps. He spotted Bryn Howard in the lobby, and she waved. Bryn was another lawyer at the office where he now worked, and the closest thing he had to an actual friend these days. Her blonde hair was twisted up in a bun, and she wore a black pantsuit with a crisp white shirt underneath. Brendan felt like a bit of an egomaniac for having the thought, but he was glad she was a lesbian, and there was no chance of her developing a crush on him. He had no interest in becoming romantically involved with anyone, and didn’t even feel solid enough to deal with having to turn someone down.

“Hey,” he said as he approached her. “How was your morning?”

“Started shitty, but got better,” she said. “I’m starving. Where do you want to go for lunch?”

“Anything but Italian,” he said. “It gives me heartburn.”

She laughed. “Okay, you delicate thing.”

Brendan smiled, but his mood sank. He
was
delicate, and he hated it. Having to avoid Italian food simply because it reminded him of Marc. But if avoiding pizza helped him get over his grief, so be it.

 “How about Rick’s?” Bryn said. “I could go for a turkey club.”

“Sounds good.”

As they left the courthouse and made their way down the steps, Brendan’s gaze turned to a cluster of police fraternizing on the sidewalk. Three of them were city, but he recognized the gray uniforms and distinct hats on a pair of burly state cops alongside them. He averted his eyes. It was like Marc was haunting him, everywhere he went, with pizza and state police and Jeeps that passed by on the street. He knew it was his own mind, over focusing on such things, and hoped that eventually he’d stop noticing. Stop caring.

He and Bryn headed down the sidewalk, past the cops. “How did your case go?” Bryn asked, her heels clicking alongside him.

“It was—”

“Hey!”

Brendan paused and looked back. One of the Staties was walking toward them, a big man, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes.

“Is he talking to us?” Bryn asked.

Brendan scowled as the man approached, stopping when he reached them. “Don’t I know you?” the cop asked Brendan.

Brendan frowned at him. “I don’t think so.” Then he recognized the face, the rounded belly.
Shit. Not this guy.

The cop tilted his head. “You’re a friend of Daggett’s,” he said. “I’ve seen you before.”

Bryn looked at Brendan.

“Yeah.” Brendan nodded. “Okay, now I remember. Karl, right?”

He stuck his hand out. “Hampton. Karl Hampton.”

Brendan shook it. “Brendan Burke.” His mind flashed back to that day in the station parking lot.
“Hey faggot...I mean Daggett!”

“Well, nice to see you. We’re off to lunch,” Brendan said.

Karl frowned at him, his broad shoulders slumping. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked down at the sidewalk. Brendan raised his eyebrows. “You all right?”

Karl glanced at Bryn, then looked back at Brendan. “Can I talk to you a minute?” His eyes flicked to Bryn again. “Alone?”

Brendan glanced at Bryn. “Um, well we were just—”

“It’s okay,” Bryn said. She patted Brendan’s shoulder. “Go ahead, Brendan, we’ll do lunch another day.”

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Karl said.

“No, it’s fine, really. I’ll see you later, Brendan.” Bryn smiled at them, then turned and made off down the sidewalk, heels clicking.

Brendan stared after her, his mouth open.
No! Don’t leave me here with this guy, this big pile of meat!
He didn’t know what Karl thought he had to speak to Brendan about, but if it was about Marc, he didn’t want to have the conversation. He just wanted that subject out of his mind, out of his heart.

He turned to Karl. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to ask how Daggett is. Wasn’t sure if I should do it in front of your friend.”

Brendan frowned, and shook his head. “I don’t know how he is. I haven’t spoken to him in a couple months.”

“Oh.” Karl scratched his chin. His eyes looked Brendan over. “I saw you come out of the courthouse. You a lawyer?”

Brendan nodded. “Uh huh.”

“So you and Daggett...I’m sorry. I thought you were his...boyfriend.”

Brendan shrugged. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.” He took a step toward the burly cop. “Haven’t you seen him? I mean, don’t you work with him? Near him? Whatever?”

“You’re the one that was with him down the Cape, aren’t you?”

Blood rushed to Brendan’s face, making him lightheaded. “You know about that?”

“Rumors fly,” Karl said. “So you’re not seeing him anymore?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

Karl looked over his shoulder, where the other Statie was still engaged in conversation with the city cops. “Wait here,” he said, and walked back over to them.

Brendan stared after him. “What the fuck,” he whispered. He sighed, setting down his briefcase, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He watched Karl speak with the other Statie for several moments. Finally, he turned and headed back down the sidewalk, toward Brendan.

“Can you stop for a coffee?” he asked.

“A coffee?”

“Come on, just come with me a minute. I won’t take much of your time.”

Brendan picked up his briefcase. “Okay, where?”

“Starbucks?”

“Sure.”
They walked to the corner Starbucks and went inside. It was packed with the lunch crowd, but they managed to find a table in the back. People stole glances at Karl. He was an imposing figure, taller and thicker than Brendan remembered.
And Marc overpowered him in two seconds
. He had an unwelcome flashback of Marc flipping Brendan’s body over on the bed, the strength of him, his hard body pressing down.

“What do you want to drink?” Karl asked. “I’ll go up.”

Brendan wasn’t really in the mood for coffee, but whatever. “Small regular. Or short, or whatever the fuck they call it here.”

Karl grinned at him, then took his hat off and set it on the table. “Be right back.”

Brendan watched Karl bypass the line, and rolled his eyes. Fucking Cops.

He returned with two cups and set one before Brendan, then sat his bulk in the other seat.

Brendan took a sip of coffee, and looked at Karl expectantly, confused by his tight, somewhat anguished expression. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Daggett is on paid leave. Did you know about that? He was back for a while, but then...something happened.”

Brendan stiffened. “Is he all right? He’s not hurt, is he?”

“No,” Karl said, waving his fingers at Brendan. “He’s not hurt.” He took a sip of his coffee, then met Brendan’s eyes. “So you do still care about him? I don’t want to overstep here, but when I saw you just now, I figured what the hell.”

“What is this about, Karl?”

He sighed, wiping his mouth. “I give Daggett a hard time, but I don’t mean anything by it. It’s like a game we play. I eased off him for a while after what he went through, but he’d been so quiet. I mean, he always ignores me, but I usually at least get a ‘fuck off, Karl’ out of him. But after he got back, after the shooting, he’d just look
through
me, you know? Didn’t even respond. I was just trying to get a reaction out of him.”

Brendan shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, what happened?”

“He was leaving the station a couple weeks ago, and I said...” He glanced at Brendan. “I said, ‘Hey Daggett, how’s your pretty boyfriend?’ I was just trying to get him to interact, you know? I’ve never been Daggett’s hugest fan, but I don’t like to see anyone in distress, especially another cop. But Daggett...he flipped out on me.”

Brendan sighed and dropped his head. “How bad?”

“Bad. Punches were thrown. It took three guys to tear him off me. He was like a wild animal. They couldn’t calm him down. He got called in. I told everyone it was my fault, that I started it. But they decided Daggett needed some more time off. Said he wasn’t dealing well since the shooting. So they put him on leave.”

Brendan lifted his head and looked at Karl. “So why are you telling me this? Confession? You want me to give you absolution?”

Karl’s mouth tightened. “Okay, yeah. I’ve been feeling like shit about it. But that’s not why I’m talking to you now.”

“Then why?”

“I went to his house. I wanted to apologize to him personally. I mean, Daggett...I used to talk shit about him, say he made detective too quick. But that wasn’t true. He performed like Superman, I can’t deny it. Problem is, when you perform like Superman, they’re gonna keep throwing buildings at you. Then bigger buildings. Then planets. They tossed him into the lion’s den down there in Providence. And he got the job done. But that mess followed him, as you know, and he had to do the worst thing any cop ever faces. But he still did what he had to. I wanted to tell him that. I wanted to
confess
, that I only give him a hard time because he’s so damn good.”

Brendan nodded. “He saved my life.” He wrung his hands under the table, struggling to keep the pressure of tears from spilling over. “Did you see him? Did you get to talk to him?”

Karl rested his forearms on the table. “Have you ever been to his house?”

Brendan nodded. “Yeah. Once, a while back.”

“Well he’s got this...” Karl twirled his hand. “Terrarium thing in one of his rooms. With the plants the rain sounds?”

“Yeah,” Brendan said. “I’ve seen it.”

“The whole time I was there, he just sat in that room. I talked, I told him everything I just told you. How sorry I was. That he was a good cop. That the fight was my fault. And he just sat there. He didn’t say a word. Wouldn’t even look at me. He looks like shit. Unshaven. Dirty clothes. I tried to get through to him for an hour. Finally I left. I’m worried about him.”

Brendan clasped his hands and rested his forehead on them.

“The floor was littered with potato chip bags and empty soda cans. I don’t think he leaves that room. He just sits there in that...thunderstorm.”

Brendan looked at Karl. “Marc doesn’t want to see me anymore. He hasn’t called me. I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”