Diversion 1 - Diversion (10 page)

Lucky sat on the front porch, sipping coffee and watching the neighbors leave for work. Damned but he felt drained.
“Ill be back in a little bit,” Bo said, stepping out onto the porch, expensive smelling cologne trailing in his wake. Hed traded jeans and a T-shirt for ass-cradling khaki slacks and crisp white button-down. The man cleaned up nice. Real nice.
Oh yeah. Friday. Drug test day. “Hold up there, hotrod. Walter wants me to go with you.”
Bos neutral expression darkened. “I dont need a baby sitter.”
“Wants got nothing to do with it. I dont like it any more than you do, but when Walter the a”—in mid-word he switched from “asshole” to—“all-knowing, says I go, I cuss him under my breath and do as he says before he yanks my leash.” After careful consideration he added, “Again.”
“You better get ready. My appointments at eight-thirty.” Bo spun and stormed back into the house, slamming the door behind him.
Who the hell pissed in his Cheerios?
Lucky showered and slid on yesterdays jeans, discarding the pre-worn T-shirt when it failed the sniff test. He didnt bother shaving or even combing his hair.
No one there Im trying to impress.
Thirty minutes later he climbed behind the steering wheel. Bo took the passenger seat without argument, fingers drumming on a bouncing leg. With nothing better to do to pass the time, Lucky needled his unwanted sidekick. “Whats the matter? Fraid you wont pass the test?”
So quietly Lucky barely heard, Bo replied, “Not this time.”
You dont say?
“Wanna talk about it?”
Cause I sure as hell wanna hear about it.
“No. What I want is for you to shut the fuck up and drive.” Minimal heat behind the words reduced what could have been a first class face slap to a mere love tap.
Somethings eating him, and it aint me, damned the luck.
“I figure turnabouts fair play,” Bo mumbled, sliding a shiny silver disk into the CD player.
Lucky braced for the musical equivalent of the hounds of hell to come barreling out of the speakers. Instead, soft sounds of a cello soothed his nerves; the soundtrack from the night hed graduated from a juvenile flirtation with larceny to hardened criminal…
Nineteen, far too full of himself, and suffering from a massive ego, Lucky believed laws didnt apply to him. If he saw something he wanted, he went for it, using the tools of his redneck upbringing to get them.
Hed first spotted the classic Mercedes Roadster on his way home from the body shop where he worked. The sun had set, but the masterpiece of metal gleamed brightly under a streetlight. At first he merely admired and walked on, never thinking hed spot his dream car again. But he did, night after night, parked in the same spot outside of a club much too ritzy for his blood. Each time the vehicle appeared he stayed longer, his obsession with a rich mans toy clouding his judgment.
Working at a body shop afforded him access to the manuals he needed, and his boss, delighted by the new kids interest, imparted the knowledge built up over a lifetime, never realizing to what use itd be put. It wouldnt be the first time Lucky relieved an owner of their car and sold it, and if his boss ever found out how many times hed copied customers keys… Well, if they never found the vehicle they couldnt prove how itd been stolen now, could they?
With technical expertise acquired, Lucky studied the club next, the sweep of the security cameras, the position of the bouncers, and the time most likely to find the area free of potential witnesses. He didnt know the drivers name, but wealth and power clung to him like a well-worn jacket. An entourage accompanied him, though not obviously. To the casual observer, the other, lesser cars coincidentally arrived ten minutes later, always approaching from the south. The men driving them didnt have much in common with movie thugs, appearance-wise, but they carried themselves with far more bravado than the rest of the club goers. Once Lucky caught a glimpse of a gun beneath a flapping jacket.
After two months of careful planning, he made his move, scaling the rear fence and approaching the club as though hed parked in the back. Head down, eyes on the ground, he waited for the car of his dreams, heart pounding. He hadnt eaten all day, expectation twisting his guts into knots. A buyer waited six hours away. A little joy ride, put the car through its paces, and BAM! walk away with a pocket full of cash for a few hours work. Beat the hell out of making minimum wage as a trainee at the body shop. And sure as hell beat picking tobacco at his parents farm.
He thought hed die of waiting by the time the driver parked the car and entered the club. If his calculations were right, the thugs wouldnt arrive for another eight minutes.
The security system gave Lucky little trouble, and the cars antique ignition begged for tampering. The engine still pinged from the owners ride to the club when Lucky fired it up and backed it out of the parking lot, driving the long way around to avoid being seen by the bouncer lounging out front. He stopped twice to avoid the sweep of the security cameras, and headed north.
He wove and bobbed through traffic, constantly checking his rearview mirror, not knowing if he should be relieved or anxious when the familiar headlights of the thugs cars didnt appear behind him.
He downshifted and veered sharp right, up the ramp and onto the interstate, tempted to test how fast the sleek car would go, but not wanting to draw undo attention. The car was flashy enough without him pulling a Mario Andretti.
Unfamiliar music drifted from the cars expensive sound system, and for a moment Lucky wished for something less highfaluting. The more he listened, however, the more he found to appreciate in the soothing melody, deciding after the third playthrough that he liked it. He couldnt name the piece or even what instruments played it, but hed heard it before in movies.
Other than the music, the drive proved disappointingly uneventful. The thrill seeker in Lucky hadnt gotten enough of a fix.
His plans fell apart at the rendezvous point. His buyer wasnt there to meet him. He sat in the car, wondering what to do next, when he suddenly found himself surrounded. Throwing the car into reverse, he gunned the engine, only to be cut off at the last minute by the unwieldy body of a Ford F-150. Unwilling to damage the fourwheeled masterpiece hed stolen, no matter how desperate, he admitted defeat and prepared to meet his maker. Judging from the size of the men approaching him, and the fact they were visibly armed, he didnt expect to be handed over to the police.
Well, at least Ill go out with a bang.
Two men wrestled him from the car, and he went down fighting, landing two good punches, a few kicks, and leaving the imprint of his teeth on one guys face. He tasted blood.
Thatll leave a mark.
Enraged, the man bellowed, slamming Lucky to the asphalt. Stars spun before his eyes.
“Stop!” The man stepped back and the cars owner approached. In jeans and a simple chambray work shirt, he didnt appear to be the same elegantly dressed man who showed up at the club like clockwork, except for his shiny loafers that even a hick like Lucky recognized cost good money.
Pulled onto his knees, head held back by a tight grip on his hair, left Lucky no choice but to stare into the face of the man hed wronged. Up close, the vision of wavy black hair and high cheekbones appeared years younger than Lucky had originally estimated. Late thirties, early forties, maybe? A few months shy of twenty, he considered anyone over thirty to be old.
The flecks of white burnishing inky waves at the temples, the way the mans darkly lashed eyes crinkled at the corners, all served to make him one attractive, if treacherous, package. A little inner voice warned Lucky “Youve fucked up big time, buddy!” and that the man hed planned to rob hadnt earned a fortune in stock trades. Somehow thatd added to the challenge—to beat the man at his own dishonest game.
Luckys own personal Grim Reaper crouched down, putting them nose to nose. “If you had damaged my property, I wouldnt have asked them to stop,” he purred. For all his Italian or Spanish or whatever good looks, he spoke English with no trace of an accent, even if he did speak a little too loftily.
Knowing anything he said would only worsen matters, Lucky held his tongue.
“Ive watched you, how carefully you planned your little adventure. Youre smart and resourceful. Few of my acquaintance would have bidden their time, waiting for the right moment to strike.” Luckys intended victim sounded downright impressed.
Lucky dropped his eyes to the ground, faking humility in hopes the mans admiration might get him off the hook. A finger under his chin forced his head up, his eyes once more meeting his captors. “Always remember this, you did not steal my car; I allowed you to take it. Never again will you get a second chance from me.”
Curiosity got the better of him. “How did you find me? No one followed.”
The man stood and nodded to one of his cohorts, who stalked to the car, bent down on one knee, and returned with a small device in his hand. “Why follow when you led us right to you?”
Some kind of tracking device. Lucky groaned. The man chuckled. “Dont be disappointed, for Im quite awed by your skill. Though you fancy yourself a pro, youre no more than a novice. I can teach you. In time, youll be untouchable. Come to work for me.”
Lucky weighed his options. “And if I say no?”
The man chuckled again, with less humor. “Then, my young friend, no one will ever find your body.”
That night Lucky went to work for Victor Mangiardi, wishing, at times, that hed said no…
“Im joking. We dont have to listen to classical if you dont want to,” brought Lucky out of his memories. Bos finger hovered over the CD players “eject” button.
Luckys hand shot out, grabbing Bos wrist. “Touch that button and die,” he said, losing himself in the familiar strains of Pachelbels “Cannon in D Major,” the music thatd played on his elevator ride to hell.

Lucky wanted to shoot, truly, madly, deeply wanted to shoot the perky receptionist at the lab. No one deserved to be that fucking happy. A chart sat on the counter, labeled “Lucklighter, R.” Fuckers.

An older lady in a garish smock adorned by rainbow colored kittens appeared at his elbow, the brightly hued whimsy at odds with her dour expression. “Mr. Lucklighter? Right this way, please.” In direct contrast to Ms. Perky, this woman scowled. He wanted to kiss the old crone who had the decency of not pretending either of them actually wanted to be there.

“Whatever.”
He followed stooped shoulders through a door and down a hall.
Stopping in front of the door bearing the international symbol for
both male and female, the woman handed him a plastic cup. “Fill it
at least half full and leave it on the sink.”
How he wanted to say, “Ive never done this before. Maybe
you should come in and show me how.” But the mean glint in her
eyes said she might take him up on it.
She stood by the door, arms akimbo on a set of boney hips. The door wouldnt even slam properly, denying him a chance
to vent his frustration. Eight freaking years without even smoking
a single joint, and yet month in, month out, he dutifully pissed into
a cup to prove hed not relapsed, though occasionally the Atlanta
lab added variety to his routine with a little hair strand testing.
Christ, people, if I intended to swan dive back into my old life,
dont you reckon Id have done it by now? And in enough
quantities that a test wouldnt be necessary to know I was stoned
out of my gourd?
He took his precious time in the bathroom, inspecting the
furnishings, rating them somewhere between “all night diner” and
“truck stop” for cleanliness. Hed spent a lot of time at diners and
truck stops lately, and had nothing else to compare it to. He didnt
often find himself at the Hilton or five-star restaurants these days,
not since his association with Victor. Dried piss splattered the seat.
Lucky, thinking, “When in Rome,” slopped on a few splats of his
own while filling the cup, an alpha male marking his spot. Satisfied at having made the harpy wait, he sat the too-full cup
on the sink, knowing itd be checked via thermometer to ensure he
hadnt brought in a clean sample. He washed his hands and opened
the door. “There ya go, maam,” he said, “a cup of fresh-
squeezed,” and stalked off without another word.
Surprisingly, Bo wasnt there to meet him in the waiting room.
Lucky sank down onto an uncomfortable couch, picking through a
stack of magazines to find the lesser of the evils spread out on an
industrialsized coffee table. Hed no interest in
Modern Mom,
and
considered golf boring, eliminating the half dozen golfing
magazines. An image on the cover of
Architectural Times
caught
his eye. It wasnt the same house, it wasnt even in the same
country, but something about the color of the stone, the shape of
the arched doorway, and definitely the ebony leather couch framed
by the ornate entry reminded him of long ago…
“What are you doing in here alone? Are you not enjoying my
party?” A vision in black stepped through the patio doors and into
the den seemingly designed to match Victors ensemble. Raucous
rock music and inane chattering followed him briefly, until he
closed the door and banished the chaos back outside.
Lounging on a couch worth more than his parents car, Lucky
stiffened, ready to run if he must. He expected suspicion and
accusations for being in the house alone. After all, hed only
worked for Victor for six months, and Victor didnt give trust
easily. “I like the music playing in here better,” he said, never
believing his boss would buy it, even if it were the truth. Plus, he
wasnt much of a social butterfly, and the crowd drinking and
laughing out in the gardens put his nerves on edge.
Victor crossed the floor with sinuous grace, stopping in front of
Lucky. A small smile turned up the corners of his lips. Lucky liked
Victors smiles, how his eyes sparkled and the corners of his
eyelids crinkled. “While some of my friends can be old and stuffy,
there are plenty of young ladies here tonight. Several have asked
about you.”
Lucky held his breath, dropping his gaze to the floor. Rumors
swirled that one look into your eyes and Victord know every last
one of your secrets, and Lucky kept a secret he didnt want to
share.
In an eerie rumorconfirming move, in Luckys opinion,
anyway,Victor read what hed hoped to keep hidden, even without
eye contact. “Ahh…I fear the ladies in question will be
disappointed, eh? Never fear, a few young men have been making
polite inquiries, as well. My nephew, Stephan, for instance.” While genetically blessed to resemble his uncle, Stephan lacked
certain other of Victors qualities. Like ambition, common sense,
and the ability to see anyone but himself, convinced that hed never
have to lift a finger in life because his unmarried uncles riches
would one day find their way into his pocket. Lucky despised the
guy with a passion. Almost against his will, his gaze strayed back
to Victor.
“Whats wrong, Lucky? Stephan doesnt interest you either?”
Victor put a single finger to his lips in a thoughtful gesture.
“Perhaps what you need is an older lover, yes? Someone to teach
you, and wholl care for your pleasure as well as his own?” Chills ran up Luckys spine. Was this a test?
Squatting down in front of the couch, Victor lifted Luckys chin
with two fingers, forcing their eyes to meet, an uncanny reminder
of their first encounter. “You should have told me and saved us
both some effort,” he quietly murmured, holding out his hand,
palm up. “Come upstairs. I find, like yourself, that Id like a little
privacy.”
Lucky stared at Victors hand, smooth, missing the rough
calluses and broken nails of his own work-hardened hands. The
glint of diamond and gold circling the middle finger further
distanced the gap between their two lives.
Eager enough not to listen to his inner alarm bells, Lucky only
hesitated a few heartbeats. Eyes locked with Victors, he sealed
their palms. They climbed the stairs together, hand in hand. Lucky willingly surrendered his body, never realizing how
much of his soul Victor took as well…
A slamming door caused Lucky to nearly drop the magazine in
his hands. Bo stormed past with enough force to flutter the
magazines pages with the breeze of his passing. “Lets get the
fuck out of here,” he grumbled, slamming violently through the
outer door.
Lucky scrambled after him, buckling in and starting the car
before attempting conversation. “Wanna talk about it?” “No! Get us the fuck outta here.” Bo muttered, “Damn Walter
Smith all to hell,” under his breath.
Always one to oblige, at least when it suited his purposes,
Lucky laid rubber down, squealing tires out of the parking lot. Bo
stared out the window, face pasty white. Lucky drove, not caring
where. He reckoned his partner didnt care either. Spying a picnic
table through the trees, he pulled into the empty lot of a roadside
park, overlooking a canal.
“Lets walk,” he said, not bothering to check if Bo followed
him. He fully understood the need to simply be alone sometimes,
especially when theyd been in forced company day in and day out.
And he also understood the humiliation of drug testing, or rather,
the humiliation of being distrusted. Somehow he got the feeling
Bos testing wasnt merely for the clinics benefit.
Traipsing down to the waters edge, he collapsed onto a bench,
legs stretched out in front and elbows flared out behind him on the
seat back. After approximately ten minutes, he was about to give up and go back to the car when he heard a door slam. Bos
footsteps clip-clopped down the sidewalk leading to the bench. “How do you do it?” Bo asked. “Living under a microscope,
every damned body waiting for you to screw up?”
Luckyd struck out before, but asked again, “You dont. Wanna
talk about it?”
The bench creaked when Bo sat. “I served in Afghanistan as a
Marine.”
“Uh-huh.”
Rushing traffic on the street behind them, punctuated by the
occasional squeal of brakes or a strident horn blast, ticked off the
seconds. Lucky, not a patient man by nature, wanted to inquire,
“And?” but held his peace.
If he wants to talk, hell talk. If he
doesnt theres not one damned thing I can do about it.
Without
quite knowing how it got there, Lucky was shocked to find his arm
stretched out on the back of the bench, behind Bos hunched-over
back.
The set of the mans shoulders relaxed slightly on the force of a
sigh, and he leaned back an infinitesimal inch, the fabric of his
shirt barely brushing the sunbleached wood Luckys hand rested
upon.
Bo began speaking, his voice low and flat, completed devoid of
emotion. “I cant name a single person who went over there and
came back the same. I saw things, did things, no pimply faced teen
ought to see or do.” He paused, staring out over the canal. The
wake of a pair of swimming ducks marred the otherwise glassy
smooth surface of the water. The sun beat down, and a bead of
sweat tickled Luckys brow. “More than that, the hiding, the being
friends with folks I couldnt even let see the real me or Id be on a
plane bound for home, ate me up. I got so good at being someone
else that I had no idea who I was anymore.
“I nearly lost my fucking mind when I got back home. Its too
weird when youre in the town you grew up in and it feels like
youre a voyeur in someone elses life. Its like no one saw me,
they only saw who I used to be.” He shifted on the bench, his
shoulders pressing more solidly against the back. His voice
dropped to a mere whisper. “I couldnt sleep; loud noises, sudden
movements, even my younger brother blasting his music too loud
made me jumpy as hell. Crowds made my skin crawl, and I went a
little crazy. When I couldnt take it anymore I got a script for
alprazolam. God, what a freaking miracle.”
Nothing seemed required of Lucky at that point, so he bit back
a million questions and forced himself to listen without
interrupting. Hed take the generic form of Xanax himself on
occasion without a prescription, among other things, back before
his regularly scheduled piss-in-a-cup days.
“I took a few online courses in the service, finishing a BA
when I got back, and enrolled in pharmacy school, determined to
get myself a life.” For a moment Bos voice took on a more
pleasant air—for a mere moment only. The darkness returned with,
“Bad dreams still showed up once in a while, but not every night.
After graduation, I started interning at a pharmacy, and they started
up again. New places scared me, the customers scared me. Id lay
awake at night, my heart hammering away. My doctor wanted to
give me something else, said the alprazolam wasnt working
anymore. It still did the trick, but it took more to get me to where I
wanted to be. I found myself doctor shopping, going to one after
another getting more pills.”
Lucky cringed, fearing where the conversation was going, and
hoping he was wrong. Fingers becoming numb, he shifted on the
bench, arm curling slightly around Bos back.
Bo stiffened, sitting up ramrod straight. He heaved out a wearysounding breath, settling against Luckys arm. The temperature
soared from “oppressive Florida normal” to “hotter than hell.” “My doctor confronted me, told me I needed help, especially if
I intended to work in a pharmacy. He even suggested pharmacist
support groups, but
I
didnt have a problem. Everything I took I
had a prescription for, right? That is, until even those werent
enough and I found places that didnt require a script.” “You got busted?” Lucky ventured. Walter wasnt asking for
results of Bos piss tests because he suspected the guy was
preggers. Somehow, somewhere, Bo had screwed up.
“No, or rather, my own problems werent what landed my ass
in a sling.” Bo laughed but it didnt sound happy. “Ever hear the
saying, „No good deed goes unpunished? Well, a friend of mine
got jumped coming out of a club one night. He was scared to go to
the cops and didnt have any insurance.” He shook his head, eyes
scrunched closed as though trying to keep bitter memories from
spilling out. “You should have seen him, Lucky. They hurt him
some kind of awful.” Bo clenched his hands into fists; a muscle in
his jaw twitched.
While Lucky didnt personally have any friends whod been
hurt like that,hed wanted to tear his former brother-in-law to
pieces for hitting Charlotte. Instead, hed mentioned the incident
over dinner one night, hoping Victor might take that as a hint about
what Lucky wanted for Christmas. “And you tried to help him?” Eyes still squinted shut, Bo nodded. “I knew how closely my
boss watched the controls, so I compounded something, thinking it
might not be as noticeable.”
“And it was.”
Another nod. “Random audit caught it, along with some major
pilfering by a coworker. He tried to share the blame, and when
they drugtested us, guess who tested positive for controls?” Lucky couldnt help it, he had to ask, “Other than for your
friend, did you steal anything?”
A disgusted snort followed. “No! And with no real proof, they
couldnt pin the missing stock on me. Cameras showed the other
guy filling his pockets. But what evidence they had was enough to
cost me my license.” He leaned over now, head buried in his
hands. “I wanted to be a pharmacist more than anything, and my
kid brother looked up to me.”
Bo choked on a sob. “Walter came along, showed me a way to
get my suspension revoked, get my slate wiped clean, provided I
worked for him.”
Yep, Lucky remembered Walters “too good to be true” offers.
They came with lots and lots of conditions and fine print. “You got
to be a pharmacist again, but you had to sell your soul for it.” Again Bo nodded, more slowly this time. “Worst of all is…Im
afraid, Lucky. I joined the Pharmacist Recovery Network and get
tested every month, and I dont dare tell Walter, but Im terrified to
be in a pharmacy again, surrounded by temptation. What if I cant
resist? I need this job; Ive got student loans out the wazoo…” Suddenly the green tea and aversion to caffeine made sense.
Not a good mix with an anxiety disorder, from what Lucky had
been told, and the running provided stress relief along with a sense
of wellbeing. Dropping pretense, he wrapped his arm around Bos
shaking form, recalling his own initiation into the downward spiral
of addiction…
“Why arent you sleeping?” Victor stood in silhouette by the
door, naked, backlit by a hall light. Sitting in the dark, soothing himself with the strains of Pachelbel, Lucky blinked hard against the light, puzzling out whether Victor sounded angry, suspicious,
or curious.
“Sorry, Victor. I cant sleep.”
“Is something wrong?” Victors softly spoken tones swung the
pendulum from “Im in trouble” to “he sounds concerned.” Victor
dropped to the couch, sleep-warm body radiating heat that Lucky
discreetly inched toward. He neednt have been sneaky, for Victor
lifted an arm and Lucky slid beneath, his lovers yawn inspiring a
similar reaction from him. No matter how tired, though, he simply
couldnt get to sleep.
“Im restless and didnt want to wake you.”
Victor nodded towardthe stereo. “You like this piece, dont
you?”
“Yes.” Since giving up his apartment to live with Victor full-
time, more and more Lucky gravitated to the den and Victors CD
collection. No matter how badly the day sucked, the bodycontouring give of the leather couch, the soothing music, the faint
scent of the potpourri the housekeeper placed around the room,
never failed to calm his nerves. And there was Victor. Fully aware
of how ruthless Victor could be, the man possessed a gentle side,
too, and any harsh words spoken during the course of the workday
vanished with the suns last rays.
Did he love Victor? No. They werent equals, and never would
be. Besides, many times hed returned from the road to find
evidence of Victors lack of loneliness in his absence. He
considered their personal relationship a job perk, for the most
part, the older businessman teaching the skills necessary for
Luckys vocation. The occasional trip to someplace exotic and
expensive? Another perk, as was the reserved table at the club where hed caught his first glimpse of the man whod become the center of his entire world. Now, however, instead of standing on the outside, looking in, he arrived in the flashy car hed once
coveted, escorted into the club as a V.I.P.
A stiff wind might blow Luckys house of cards down; until then
hed take whatever Victor offered.
“I have something to help you sleep,” Victor said, lips and
breath ruffling the hair at Luckys temple. Victor slid to the floor,
parting Luckys knees and robe in one gesture. Seeing the gleam in
his lovers eyes in the feeble light, knowing what lay in store,
Luckys breath caught and his cock began to fill.
Keeping their gazes locked, Victor took Luckys flesh into his
mouth, cutting out any preliminaries. He slowly worked his way up
and down, a lazy finger trailing from Luckys balls to his hole. Lucky scooted farther down on the couch, spreading his legs
wider to give Victor more room to play. Victor teased his hole,
pressing around the edges without penetrating, head bobbing
faster and faster.
“Oh shit, thats good!” Lucky moaned, impressed as always by
Victors skill and enthusiasm. Hed never met anyone who loved to
suck cock so damned much. A hand grasped his balls, gently
fondling them in their sack, and Lucky moaned again, bucking his
hips to increase the rhythm.
Victor pulled off and Lucky whined his frustration, his lovers
throaty chuckle adding insult to injury. “Patience,” Victor
admonished before swirling his tongue over the head of Luckys
cock once more.
After amoments teasing, Victor swooped down, taking Lucky
deep into his throat with renewed vigor. Lucky couldnt resist, and
within seconds he released his load, cock spasming time and
again.
Victor chuckled once more, pulling off with a slurpy pop. “Can
you sleep now?” He rose and, like their first shared night, took
Lucky by the hand and led him up the stairs to a master suite
double the size of Luckys former apartment. “If you cant, I have
something else that may work even better.”
Victor left him by the bedroom door and returned a few
moments later with a glass of orange juice. “Go on, I only added a
little,” he said. A few quick sips of the overly-bitter fluid and ten
minutes later, Lucky lay curled into Victors side in a comfortable
haze, having met hisnew best friend…