Placing Out (12 page)

He cried out when I swallowed him to the root. His fingers dug through my scalp and held me tight as he pumped into me. With a second shout he filled my mouth with his seed and I nearly choked trying to swallow it. It dribbled down my chin, but I eagerly sucked him dry, licking the swollen purple head clean of spunk.

He groaned and pulled out of me, rolling onto his back and drawing me with him. I lay atop him, feeling the savage beating of his heart subside and his breathing slowly return to normal. When I raised my head to look down at him, his eyes were closed in pain.

"This isn't right."

"Yes it is," I said fiercely. Sitting up, I made him look at me. When he did I shrugged out of my pajamas, letting him see my hairless, golden chest and my cock rising stiffly out of my groin. "What's wrong with this? You can see how much I want you. How much you want me. What's wrong with that?" I stroked myself. "I want you so badly," I whispered. "You will never know how much."

I leaned down and touched my lips to his. My tongue darted out and lightly stroked his mouth, licking his chin. "Touch me."

He wrapped his fist around my cock and stroked me lightly.

"Harder. Oh, God, harder!"

He complied and we both stared at my cock as it reddened and erupted, spilling creamy cum over his clenched fingers.

"This," I murmured as I curled around his side, "is why it's right."

We slept and woke at dawn. I climbed out of bed, pulled on my robe and made my way to the bathroom down the hall. When I came back, showered, he still lay in bed, one arm thrown over his face. I didn't need to see his eyes to know he was fully aware of me. I was pretty sure he'd been awake before me.

"Do you have time for breakfast?" I asked quietly.

He didn't answer. I approached the bed and knelt beside him. His silence unnerved me.

"Ben, baby, please--"

He shoved me away. "Don't call me that. This is insane. I'm not throwing my life away for some cheap fucking who--"

Without thinking, I slapped him. Startled, Ben jerked away from me. Then with a snarl he seized my wrist and twisted it, forcing me backward. "That was not smart."

I cried out and struggled against his grip without success. "You're hurting me!"

He released me without warning and I tumbled to the floor. Scrambling off the bed, Ben towered over me. Rage and horror warred on his face. I scuttled away from him.

"Don't!"

"Dylan--"

Tears poured down my cheeks. I grabbed his shoes off the floor and flung them at him, followed by his coat. "Get out of here. Next time--next time I'll call the real cops." I was shaking, whether from fear or anger I could no longer tell. My face was wet. His skin was pale.

Los Angeles, March 11, 1933

Without another word Ben dressed, pulled on his shoes and trench coat and left, not even bothering to see if anyone saw him leave the building. Like the night before, he walked without conscious thought. Hat jammed down on his head, he kept his eyes down, letting others go around him, his blackness invoking no arguments.

Only when his feet stumbled in weariness did he pause and take note of where he was. Near the Tenderloin. Ben found the nearest blind pig where he knew he'd be recognized and grabbed an empty bar stool. He wrinkled his nose when he entered the dim, half empty place. There were a dozen spittoons and the floor was greasy from those who missed. He was glad there wasn't enough light to see what he was walking on.

The bartender brought his whiskey. "Leave the bottle."

"Bad day?"

"I've had better."

The door opened and closed, people came and went. The bottle level sank steadily, but the liquid haze he fell into did nothing to alleviate his blackness. Finally he looked up when a small group entered and filled the bar around him. Two women were among them. He recognized one. A slender brunette who had done a few bit parts in some Hollywood three reelers. She liked men. She liked young, unmarried ones best of all, though she was rarely that particular.

She crowded him, their knees touched. "Can I?" She reached for the quarter full bottle.

He waved the bartender to bring another glass. She poured a finger and raised her drink in salute. He studied her profile. She was a good-looking woman. He knew a lot of barflies at this joint wanted her. A good number had already had her.

He wasn't one of them. But tonight he checked her out. If he wanted to be normal, this was what he needed, right? He swung around on his stool and looked at her squarely.

"I saw one of your movies on Saturday," he lied. "You were... very pretty."

"Oh, which one? Was it my favorite?" She giggled. "
Behind Office Doors?
I had a line with Bobby."

He feigned interest. "Bobby?
The
Bobby?" Like he knew the actor she was mooning over.

"Robert Ames. A wonderful man. He took me to dinner. At the Derby." She lowered her voice and leaned closer. The cloying scent of flowers followed her. "We spoke to Mary and Doug."

Ben almost asked Mary who, then caught himself. "Pickford? I'm impressed."

He swore if she had a fan she would have used it right then to cool her flushing face. "He's such a lady's man, isn't he?"

"So I've heard." He took a deep breath. If he was going to do this, he needed to do it now. "Have you eaten, miss?"

"Oh, please, call me Rose. That's my screen name, you know."

"Very pretty. It suits you. Would you have lunch with me, Rose?"

She blushed and dipped her head, a stray curl of hair falling artfully over her face. The girl was either a born coquette or a practiced one. "I'd love to, Officer Carter."

"Ben, please." He settled up with the bartender, who smirked at him knowingly as he held out his arm to escort Rose out. Ben hoped he earned the look.

Outside, the streets were busy with the dinner crowd. He'd been in there drinking damn near all day. Clifton's Cafeteria was just as crowded. They patiently stood in line, but as always, the food, when they got it and found a table to sit at, was good.

Fortunately, Rose was a talker. Ben ate while she kept up a steady stream of chatter about her career, the stars she had met and apparently became best friends with, and her ambitions. All the while he tried to work up some interest in her. Sex was sex, right? Turn the lights off and he could perform. Easy. He wanted to be normal so he needed to do this.

So why did the thought leave him cold? He was sorry he'd picked Clifton's. The cheery jungle facade didn't amuse him. A nearby group of children, laughing and screaming didn't either. It didn't help he hadn't thought to carry a flask when he went on this fucked up jaunt. Instead, he sat beside this nattering woman drinking a Coke and trying to work up the desire to fuck her.

Images of Dylan kept invading his mind. This was fucked. How could someone he just met be so stuck in his head? Every thatch of blond hair brought back memories of one particular blond head. The feel of his cock buried inside him. The sounds he made when he came. The sounds they both made.

He got hard just thinking of it. He realized Rose had stopped talking. She was watching him.

"What is it, Ben?"

He passed his hand over his erection and smiled at her. "Would you like to go to my place for a coffee? I probably have something good to add to it."

She smiled. "I'd love to."

He took her arm again and led her outside. They headed north toward his rooming house. "It's not much, I'm afraid. I live on a copper's salary, remember."

She hugged his arm tight against her chest. "You make me feel safe." She giggled again and tossed her head. Her hair was all curls, probably modeled after some movie star.

He smiled at her. "That's my job, ma'am. Well, here we are."

The door to his rooming house was polished brass and pounded tin set in a stone archway. The building had been something fancier years before. Now only the outside reflected that. The inside was just old. It smelled of mildew and boiled cabbage. Rose wrinkled her nose, but still clung to him as he led her up the stairs to his room. For once he was glad the halls were badly lit. The shadows hid a lot of neglect.

The same couldn't be said of his room. There was more than enough light in the place to show how pitiful it was. Like Dylan, he spent nothing on appearances. Like Dylan, he was saving his money.

For what? To run away with some barely legal golden boy? Go to a place five thousand miles away where there was nobody they could turn to but each other?

Stop thinking about him!

Once he shut and locked the door, Rose swung around to face him, her face flushed and her eyes shining. She grabbed his arms. "I want that coffee, baby."

He hugged her with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "Does it have to be hot?" He nuzzled her neck. Her giggle was getting irritating. To shut her up he pulled her against him and kissed her.

His erection was long gone. Even frantic thoughts of Dylan didn't help. He pawed her tits, kissing her the whole time. He ignored her when she tried to push him away. She pounded on his chest with her fists. He shoved her against the door, memories of doing that with Dylan. He tried to lift her up, pressing her into the wood. He pinned her arms, jamming his hips between hers, grinding into her.

One of her fingernails caught his cheek. He jerked back, glaring down at her in a dull rage.

"I thought this was what you wanted? Isn't that why you came back here." He squeezed one tit in his hand. "For this. And this." He tried to kiss her again, though her perfume made him nauseous.

She scratched him again. He threw her away from him and she stumbled and half fell, half sat with her back to the door, her legs splayed out. The skirt she wore flew around her thighs, revealing pale, white legs.

She scrambled to her feet and faced him, panting, her cheeks flaming. "You're a monster."

He stepped toward her and she backed up.

"You stay away from me."

He put his hand to his cheek. It came away bloody. "What are you gonna do, call the police?"

She burst out crying and jerked the door open. Without looking back, she fled and he could hear the clatter of her shoes all the way to the front door. His adrenaline rush faded, leaving him dizzy.

My God, what the fuck am I doing?

Rape? Assault? What next, murder? She was right, he was a monster.

He shut the door behind him and turned the light off and sat in the dark, wondering how the hell he had managed to fuck up his life so completely in such short order.

The following morning at first watch he was razzed for the scratch below his eye.

"Cut yourself shaving, Dutch?"

"She miss your eyes?"

"Yer s'posed to cut the meat on your plate, not your face."

Roach caught him gearing up. "Looks like you tangled with a wildcat there, boy."

"Yah, a wildcat," he muttered, forcing a leer. "But you oughta see her, boss."

Roach roared with laughter. "Damn, boy, you're a pistol. I was sorry not to have you last night. We coulda used you."

"Last night?" Ben frowned, hiding the sudden chill he felt at Roach's words. "I didn't hear of anything going down last night. What's up"

"Got a call 'bout another blow up at that pansy place we hit the other night."

"One out in Covina?"

"Nah, the other one. Johnny's, I think they called it. Got an even bigger barrel of fish than before. Sure coulda put your muscle to use. Few of them got their pretty faces messed up bad."

The chill turned to ice in Ben's gut. "Yeah? Sounds like my kinda action," he said cautiously, forcing nausea back. "Some of 'em in the hospital?"

"Oh yeah. One might even be on a slab at the coroner's. Resistin', you know. How's that for a good night's work?"

"Good night's work, sure. Hey, I gotta get goin'. Don't wanna be late for clean-up duty, right?" Still careful of his words, he asked, "So how come I didn't hear about this? Someone coulda called."

"We tried, even had a couple of the guys run by your place, but you were in the wind. Guess you was tangling with your wildcat. Too busy with the peckerwood to go beat up a shit can full of faggots."

"Shame that," Ben said, turning away, not hearing whatever it was Roach said next.

Before he could walk away, Roach stopped him. "Hey, you can make up for it tonight. We're doing the Black Kat this time around. It's Saturday, place should be crawling with sodomites."

Ben made a noncommittal sound. Without answering Roach, he walked out of Central into the harsh light of day. Names ran through his head. Johnny's. Kevin. Dylan! Hospital... what hospital would they have taken the victims to?

County, probably. He didn't dare go back and ask Roach. He'd only get suspicious about that line of questioning. His partner that morning was a taciturn Irish copper named McCready from Chicago. They'd partnered a few times in the past. Too bad the guy wasn't a talker. It left too much time for Ben to brood and grow surlier and surlier as the day went on.

Finally end of watch came, and he barely took the time to get out of his uniform before he raced to County. The head nurse looked on disapprovingly as he flashed his badge and harangued another nurse to tell him where the patients were from the raid last night.

"Most of them were discharged earlier today. Their injuries were minimal." She sniffed. "There were only two who remain under our care. It's doubtful one will make it. Were you involved in--"

"No! I want to see them."

"I can't--"

"Police business. You don't need to know anything more. Just take me to them." The block of ice that had settled in Ben's gut grew heavier. He knew in his heart who he would find stretched out in a hospital bed. Injured. Maybe even dying.

Dylan would have done something foolish in his anger at Ben. He went out, like Ben had, looking for trouble. Ben's trouble hadn't given him more than a scratched cheek. Roach's nightstick would have done a lot more.

He followed the nurse into a ward, to the last bed on the left. At first the bandages encasing half the head and the swollen black eyes made it impossible for Ben to identify the man. Then he realized to his horror that it was Kevin. Not Dylan. The second victim was a man Ben didn't recognize. The nurse was right. He already looked half-dead. He went back to Kevin's bedside, dismissing the hovering nurse.