How To Rape A Straight Guy (18 page)

I looked around for a blanket but couldn’t find anything, so I wrapped him in the sheet that was on the bed.  It was bloody, but it worked okay.  Then I tore that fuckin’ room apart till I found a set of keys to the cuffs ‘round my hands an’ wrists, an’ I got them off me.  Then I realized I was feelin’ cold, too.  An’ remembered I was still butt-fuckin’ naked.  Standin’ in front of two dead men sloshed in blood.  An’ one of ‘em was still lookin’ at me.  Wayne.  His eyes were open an’ his mouth was almost in a sneer, like he was mockin’ me.

Oh, shit, I had to get out of that room.  Right then.  But no fuckin’ way was I gonna leave Shayes there.  So I picked him up like I did before an’ carried him into the condo.

I carried him up to the master bathroom, ran a hot tub of water an’ lay him in it.  An’ noticed blood in the water.  It seemed like an awful lot, so I checked him.  Found it was comin’ from his ass.  Guess I did do some damage.  Or maybe Lenny or Wayne did with some of their toys.  Probably more like what those fucks’d do.  Didn’t matter.  I only hesitated a second before I began to bathe him.  I held his head up like you do a baby’s an’ smoothed some elegant smelly lather ‘cross his chest an’ down his abs an’ over his pubes an’ into his butt an’ under his arms an’ up an’ down his legs.  Nice legs, I remember thinkin’, twenty years ago; good form to ‘em -- which was a fucked up thing to be thinkin’ at that moment.  I did it like I’d been doin’ it for him all my life.  Then I washed his hair with some “salon” shit an’ rinsed it out, oh-so-carefully -- didn’t want any to get into his eyes.  When I was done, I propped him on my lap an’ used a couple of thick towels to dry him off.  They were nothin’ like his perfect towels an’ I hated usin’ ‘em on him, but they were all I could find.  Dunno why I did all this shit, but for some reason I...I -- shit, I just wanted him clean.

I lay him on the bed then dug through Wayne’s clothes, found some sweat pants an’ matchin’ hooded shirt, an’ I slipped them on him.  They were tight -- which surprised me; I thought Wayne was bigger ‘n that.  But they fit well enough.  He didn’t react to anything I did.  Then I left him there, in sight of the tub, an’ I took a shower.  A long hot shower.  Keepin’ an eye on him the whole time.  He didn’t budge.

I don’t remember havin’ anything like a real deliberate thought, at the time I was still too freaked out at what I’d done, but now I can see -- I know I was beginnin’ to hurt for him.  For what I’d done to him.  They’d done to him.  We’d done to him.  I knew what it meant.  For him.  What it was gonna mean.  Funny thing is, I wasn’t exactly sorry that it happened.  I was just sorry it had to happen like it did.  If that makes sense.

No.  No, it doesn’t.  It can’t.  It’s a crazy fuckin’ thing to even think.

I taped my cut together an’ wrapped a washrag to it to help stop the bleedin’ before I grabbed some of Wayne’s clothes.  An’ stopped.  If they barely fit Shayes, they weren’t gonna fit me.  But my jeans an’ shirt an’ shit were all in that -- that room.  No choice in the matter; I needed ‘em.

I wrapped a towel ‘round me an’ headed back down.  I opened the back door an’ started across the tiny-assed yard an’ got up to the door.  It’d almost closed so I couldn’t see inside; all it’d take is a gentle push to open the door...but I froze the second I touched it.  My mind was back to functionin’ enough to know if I went in there I’d have to face the fact that I -- I was a killer.  A murderer.  Times two.  Yeah, yeah, I know -- I did it in self-defense.  Sort of.  They’d have killed me if I hadn’t killed them.  Yap, yap, yap.  I still put myself in a situation where it could’ve happened.  No, where it was bound to happen.  No excuse for that.

I was a killer.

A fuckin’ killer.

Holy shit, that hit me like a ton of bricks.  Lenny an’ fuckin’ Wayne.  Dead.  Murdered.  By me.  Aw shit, shit, shit, I never wanted anything like this to happen.  Swear to God, I didn’t.  We were just gonna fuck with a guy who’d fucked with us.  How’d it slam into such a crash an’ burn?

‘Cause fuckin’ Wayne thought he so fuckin’ smart, he could fuck with me.  That’s how.  He thought I was just some dumb-as-dirt ex-con who didn’t have a clue on how to take care of himself.  That stupid -- stupid-shit son-of-a-bitch.  Shit.

Except he was right.  I didn’t know how to take care of myself.  I was so full of the idea that I was in control, I lost all control.  I got pulled around like some puppet who thinks it’s the one decidin’ where it walks an’ when it talks an’ how its life’s gonna go.  But once again, the second I thought I was makin’ my own decisions an’ choices, I got the rug pulled out from under an’ landed square in the shit.  An’ now?  Now I didn’t know what the fuck to do.

That’s when my brain shut down.  Went into blank mode, again, an’ gave me a breather.  That’s when instinct took over in a cold clear way.  First off, I needed somethin’ to wear.  Wayne’s an’ Lenny’s clothes’d be too small for me; shit, they were too small for Shayes, an’ he’s a little shorter’n I am.  So I had t’ get my clothes or keep the towel till I could find some someplace else.

I pushed the door open.  The lights were bright an’ the AC was barely keepin’ the room livable.  I focused on turnin’ off the lights.  All but one.  Ignorin’ the area where the bodies lay.  Then I found my jeans off to one side, clear of blood.  But my shirt was soakin’ in it.  Didn’t matter; I could make do with one of Wayne’s shirts.  But I still took it with me.  Used it to clean off my shoes.  I turned the last light off an’ closed the door, leavin’ the AC goin’.

I snuck back to the upstairs bedroom.  Shayes hadn’t moved.  I pulled the jeans on, found one of Wayne’s t-shirts an’ pulled it on.  It was snug but looked like I was tryin’ to show off my bod instead of just bein’ too small.  That’d work.  I grabbed a pair of his socks an’ put on my shoes.  An’ I was back to bein’ Curt, again.

Second off, I needed to get the fuck out of there.  So I gently carried Shayes downstairs an’ lay him on the couch.  Then pulled this “throw thing” that was on the back of it down over him.  An’ then I dug through the whole condo -- every fuckin’ room -- lookin’ for the keys to the Malibu they’d promised me.  I found ‘em in a side desk drawer, along with over eight hundred in cash.  Which made things easier.  I looked out the window.  The Malibu was parked in front.  There was some other shit in the joint that I knew I could hock, but I didn’t feel like takin’ the time.

I shoved my bloody shirt into a trash bag then peeked out the front door to see if anything looked scary.  There wasn’t anybody anywhere on the street, from what I could tell.  I lifted Shayes up, sort of walked him out like you’d walk a buddy who was too drunk an’ got him down to the car.  I sat him in the passenger seat, buckled the seat belt around him, tossed the bag of clothes in the trunk an’ was about to get behind the wheel when I froze.

The tapes!  The fuckin’ videotapes.  Lenny had caught it all on camera, from the point where I carried Shayes into the shed to where I killed ‘em.  Cops wouldn’t need a confession if they saw those.  Shit!

I scrambled back into the condo an’ out to the shed.  I almost hesitated -- but I went on in, this time.  I ignored their bodies an’ yanked the tapes from the cameras.  I did a quick once over of the room; it felt even scarier, now.  An’ then noticed Shayes’ shredded clothes an’ shoes.  I grabbed them...an’ finally remembered to grab his gun an’ gym bag from the van.  Jesus, that would’ve been a real dumb-fuck move, leavin’ all that behind.  I ran back to the car with everything, which joined my clothes in the trash back.

Just as I got behind the wheel, I noticed the shadows of some people approachin’.  So I lay his head on my shoulder, put his hand between my legs, started the car, slipped my arm over his shoulder to pull him close an’ quietly pulled away.  To them -- to all the world -- we looked like lovers out for a drive.  It was after midnight when I turned onto Sunset.

I drove over to PCH then up to Santa Barbara.  Shayes’ head rested on my shoulder the whole way.  We passed Zuma Beach, an’ it was dark an’ empty.  An’ I only gave a hint of a response to the memory of my first time there.  That was some other century when that happened.  Some other lifetime.

Anyway, the drive didn’t take real long.  That’s the one time of life traffic moves easy in So-Cal.  The night was cold an’ still threatenin’ rain.  An’ the hills ahead an’ to the right were black an’ the ocean on my left was stormy.  An’ for that hour an’ a half -- maybe two hour drive...since I wasn’t in a rush...I felt more at peace than I’d felt in years.  He was warm beside me.  Breathn’ soft.  Still smelled clean an’ alive.  I held him close as I could as I drove.  Loved the weight of him leanin’ against me.  I almost kept goin’, it was so nice, but I was back in control an’ knew I couldn’t.

Santa Barbara was shut down, as usual.  Empty streets leadin’ nowhere.  All I saw for blocks an’ blocks was a couple of drunk college kids an’ one or two illegals headin’ home on their dinky bikes.  Over by the university, it was completely dead.  Nothin’ alive for acres in every direction.

I lay Shayes on a bus stop bench just before two.  There wasn’t anybody around; I made damn sure, but I heard club music playin’ nearby.  I hated to just dump him there, still blank an’ cold an’ open to get hurt, some more, an’ it about to rain.  So I took a book of matches, set one on fire, slipped it into the side of the strikin’ area an’ dropped it into a trash can, then I lit out in the car.  I was two blocks away when the can started burnin’.  The second I saw it, I headed for Vegas.  An’ my heart ripped at me the whole way.

Chapter Eight

Man, the kidnappin’ of Officer Shayes was huge fuckin’ news in L-A.  He had been missed when he didn’t show up for work.  They’d found his car an’ the still open trunk an’ the hanger of clothes in nothin’ flat.  In seconds, every cop in the county had been lookin’ for him.  Shit, every cop in So-Cal was tryin’ to find out what happened.  An’ when he was discovered by the firemen who answered the call about a trash can fire, it got to be even bigger.  ‘Cause now there was a mystery involved.

I kept tabs on it from Vegas.  Anything that happens in L-A is important to that town.  A lot was said about how he was in a “catatonic shock.”  An’ how he’d been “brutalized” an’ “treated viciously.”  An’ on an’ on, but not one word about him bein’ raped.  I don’t know if they didn’t find it out when he was examined by a doctor — oh, but they must have!  He was torn up pretty good; I noticed bloodstains on the Malibu’s seat an’ worked like a bitch to get ‘em off.  So maybe the cops were just keepin’ it quiet, till they found out who did it.  Whatever the reason, that little detail stayed out of the papers.

He “emerged from catatonia” a couple days after he was found, but his mind was blank as to what happened.  Experts yammered on an’ on ‘bout how he just didn’t want to remember.  That his mind was blockin’ something horrible.  The mystery of it all -- an’ the fact that he was good-lookin’ an’ had an adorable wife an’ three adorable kids -- made the city go nuts.  They sent him a thousand teddy bears an’ ten million flowers an’ started funds to help his kids through college.  An’ they lit candles an’ held anti-violence, an’ we-love-our-police marches an’ did everything they could to make him feel better.  An’ when he eventually wound up on disability ‘cause he wasn’t able to handle his duties as a cop, these same freaks paid off his mortgage an’ his cars an’ his credit cards an’ even the hospital bills not covered by the department.

What a weird fuckin’ world we live in.  I couldn’t get anyone, not even a fuckin’ priest, to help me when I got out of County.  Not one fuckin’ dime’s worth of encouragement.  But those same fuckers did back-flips over some cop who got hurt.  A homophobic prick who’d been an asshole to fags for years.  If I hadn’t been feelin’ so confused ‘bout my feelin’s over Shayes, I’d of gone back an’ ripped him a new one.

No.  No I wouldn’t of.  Not really.  Deep down, I was glad he’s gettin’ taken care of.

But I was confused.  I felt towards him like I never felt towards anybody, not even Connie.  It’s like this -- this hole was dug in behind my heart an’ was layin’ there empty an’ I couldn’t tell you why.  If it was ‘cause of what I’d done or ‘cause of my new title in life or ‘cause of all I’d lost.  Or if it was just ‘cause I missed the son-of-a-bitch.  Shit, that couldn’t be love, could it?  Could I really be a fag?  A homosexual.  A man who loved men?  I dunno.  I -- I still looked at women on TV like I’d like to fuck ‘em.  I still get the hots for this one dark-haired bitch on some comedy show I saw.  Even though she’s like ten years older’n me an’ I really go for blonds.  I even missed bein’ with Connie an’ wished I could find some way of gettin’ back to her, even though I know it’s impossible, now.  She’d never put up with this shit.  Never accept it.  That was over an’ done with, forever.  But even knowin’ how much I’d screwed that up, an’ run Connie out of my life doin’ it, I knew that hole wasn’t there ‘cause of it.  It was just...there.  An’ I was frozen.  I’d made it to Vegas, but now I was locked in my hotel room, unable to move or sleep or even think, I was so lost.  All I did was watch TV an’ live off Cokes an’ crackers.

As for Wayne an’ Lenny, they were found a couple days later.  Seems they owned this porno video store on Melrose -- y’know, they never did tell men how they made a livin’ -- an’ when they didn’t show up to get the night’s income two mornin’s in a row, their manager got worried an’ went over an’...well, talk about another big news item.  But no one seemed to connect them with Shayes.  Or me, even though now that I was thinkin’, again, I was kickin’ myself for leavin’ behind hundreds of fingerprints an’ my blood mingled with theirs an’ God only knew what else.

But none of it mattered, finally.  ‘Cause four days later, one paper quoted the cops as sayin’ there were still some other cameras in that shed.  Besides the three I knew about.  They were hidden in corners an’ really small but still took good pictures an’ got some good shots of everything that happened around that chain in the ceilin’.  An’ on that bed.  An’ that chair.  An’ that horse.  Everything.  Some of it in glorious close-up.  An’ that’s on top of a couple of full tapes out of those cameras.  Seems all I’d taken was their third load.  They mentioned it to show they had some leads.  But when I heard about that -- shit, I knew I was done.