Placing Out (9 page)

"That's out of our jurisdiction."

"We're just gonna go have a talk with them."

Right. "I'll go grab my gear."

"Five. Meet us on the north side."

There were four of them this time. Two cars. He rode with Roach, who drove with the window down, a Camel hanging from his mouth. It was clear Roach knew where he was going. Without a missed turn or hesitation he pulled up in front of an unlit wood and brick house. Mule, another one of Roach's Red Squad goons, so called because he brayed like his namesake when he laughed, also knew where they were going. He carried something bulky. Ben couldn't see what it was. The two didn't go to the front of the house. Instead, they moved stealthily around the back where they came up to a padlocked gate. Mule stepped forward, revealing a pair of bolt cutters he used to break the lock. Still silent, the four of them oozed through the darkness, flowing down the stairs to the speakeasy.

Even before they busted down the security door, Ben knew what kind of club it was. Another pansy club. One he'd never heard of. A trio of startled, painted faces on a makeshift stage watched in horror as the four cops waded in, nightsticks swinging. Roach jumped on the stage and smashed the first drag queen square in her carefully made up face. She collapsed in a flurry of feathers and pearls, dragging down the mic stand she had been clutching.

Mule pulled the mic away from her and swung it through the air at a pair of men rushing the stage in a futile effort to stop Roach.

Ben let his fury and frustration of the last weeks flow through him. He slammed fists and saps around with equal abandon, not caring who he hit. Blind in his rage. Every bloody face looking up at him with a plea in his eyes was Dylan. But it didn't help.

Even after they had rounded up the battered men and shipped them to booking and Ben went home, he couldn't get
that
face out of his mind. And that didn't make any fucking sense at all. He was just another man. He paced his room, bouncing his fist out of the palm of his hand. It didn't help.

When he nearly put his fist through the window, he knew he was spiraling out of control. He needed to cool off. He couldn't do that in this tiny room. He threw on a cheap pair of denim pants and flannel shirt and left the rooming house without his hat or jacket.

The early March air was cool, but setting a lung-burning pace soon had him sweating and breathing hard. It wasn't enough. He headed north, and before long found himself in the Tenderloin. It was late and he wasn't armed. Not a safe place to be right now. He swung around and went south.

He wasn't going there. Right up until the minute he stood in front of Dylan's room he knew he wasn't going to do this. It was wrong. It would destroy everything he thought he knew about himself.

He slammed his fist down on the door. It shook under his fist. Ben didn't think for a minute what he would do if Dylan wasn't home. He pounded on the door without stop until it was wrenched open under his assault.

"Who the fu--" Dylan took a startled step back. Without a word Ben pushed past him. "Ben?"

Still not talking, Ben kicked the door shut and shoved Dylan up against it, hard enough to rattle the wood. He growled, "I can't stop thinking about you. I don't like that one fucking bit."

His mouth stopped anything Dylan might have said. After that there was no talking by either of them. Dylan had been dragged out of bed, he wore nothing but a thin robe that Ben ripped off him in seconds. He didn't take much longer shedding his clothes. He shoved the smaller man up against the door again, lifting him off the floor. Dylan wrapped his legs around the Ben's hips and whimpered as Ben guided his rigid cock up to the entrance to his hole. Pushing past the tight ring, he completely encased his cock inside Dylan. He had a fire in his blood. Burying his face against Dylan's throat, he pumped, plunging in and out, grunting as they both reached toward orgasm. They lost all control.

Ben cried out and spent himself inside Dylan. He didn't pull out. Holding the other man captive in his arms, his unslaked mouth roamed over Dylan's sweating face and neck. He didn't know he was whispering Dylan's name over and over until he stopped. In horror, he stared down at the blond head resting against his chest.

"Why can't I stop thinking about you?" He pulled out and let Dylan's feet return to the floor. Still holding him in shaking arms, Ben turned them around in a circle. "What did you do to me?"

Dylan's arms remained around his neck. He nibbled on Ben's throat, licking his chin and lips, slipping inside his mouth. "That's okay, I can't stop thinking of you, either. So what are we going to do about it?"

Ben tipped his head back until it rested on the door behind him. He stared at the ceiling without seeing it. But no matter what he did, he never lost his awareness of the man still in his arms. He knew even if he left now and never stopped until he hit the South Pole, that Dylan would always be there, buried in his memory like a splinter under the skin. Unseen, but never forgotten.

"You like what you're doing?" he asked.

"Like? Being a whore?" Ben winced and Dylan shrugged. "Your words, remember? No, I don't like it. But it's what I do."

"I don't."

Dylan caught on fast. "Why?"

"I'm doing things I don't like. I'm turning me into something I never wanted to be."

"So quit."

"Quit," he said flatly. He dropped his chin onto his bare chest and met Dylan's guileless blue gaze. "Now why didn't I think of that?"

"You're an ass, you know that?"

"No, you're wrong." He looped one arm around Dylan's waist and pulled him tight against him. "I'm a copper who's got too many ugly things burned into his head." He thought of the nameless boy, killed because he held a sign and wanted basic American rights. Like he could ever share that with this or any man. "Things I wouldn't wish on anyone."

"Then leave them behind."

Ben stared at him. What the hell did that mean?

Dylan stepped away. He took Ben's hand and led him over the bed. The sheets were rumpled and the pillow dimpled from Dylan's head. Clearly he had just come from it. He pressed Ben down.

"We both need a drink, I think."

Ben watched him cross to the alcove and come back with the same bottle of Johnny Walker. From what he could see it was at the same level as his last visit. Maybe Dylan didn't drink when he was alone? He had said he never brought customers here.

Dylan handed him a glass and sipped his own. Ben wasn't so delicate. He downed his in one swallow, grimaced, and held the empty glass out. Dylan refilled it, this time to the top.

"I don't think you can drink it away, but maybe you can put it to sleep for a while."

"Fuck yourself."

"One thing I've never tried." He took another sip of whiskey.

This time Ben sipped, too. He held the glass in both hands and was ashamed to see they were shaking. He stared down into the depths of the golden liquid. His thigh, covered in dark hair, pressed against Dylan's golden, nearly hairless one. The contrast was startling.

"I don't think I can keep doing this," he murmured.

"Fucking me? Or being a copper in L.A.?"

"I'm not sure I know anymore."

"Well, not fucking me is easy. Just leave."

"And not being a copper? Quit? Get another job? Good luck with that."

"Go someplace else and be a copper. Everybody needs cops."

"And what would be different there? It would be the same shit all over."

"Then we can go to Europe. Lot of Americans who don't fit in go there. Fitzgerald. Hemingway."

"Europe? Have you ever been? I know I haven't."

"No, but I've talked to men who have. It sounds wonderful."

"Wait a minute." Ben straightened and turned to face him. "What
we
? You said
we
go to Europe."

Dylan stroked his thigh and reached up to touch his face. "You still want to pretend there isn't something here?"

"So just like that, we up and run away to Europe?"

"I'm thinking Germany. I hear good things about Germany. Berlin, especially."

Abruptly Ben stood. "I can't believe I'm thinking of this. Go to Europe? Go to Berlin? And do what? Live as a couple? Married? Are you insane? I know I sure as hell must be. People like us don't set up housekeeping even in a place like Germany."

"We can do whatever the hell we want. In Berlin we'd be just another pair of eccentric Americans. The Germans get them all the time. They think we're all strange."

"What do we live on? Bread and water? Can you even drink the water in a place like that?"

"Drink beer. I've got money saved. Why do you think I live like this?" Dylan waved his hand around the cramped room that had nothing but a bed, a beat-up chest of drawers and an equally battered table that had a stack of papers and books on it. Several of the books looked well-worn. "The only thing I've spent money on since I got here was clothes, and most of those were gifts."

"That's the other thing," Ben snarled. He tipped his glass back and drained what was left. "You think you're going to keep whoring, you better rethink that plan. I don't fuck whores."

"You just did," Dylan snapped.

"But I won't keep on doing it." Ben had no idea where the jealousy came from. He'd never been jealous of the men he fucked before. Even Kevin, for all the affection he felt for the guy, he had never felt a twinge of anger at the thought of him with other men. Now, thinking of Dylan spreading his legs for anyone else sent a red pulse jumping through him. "You don't fuck anybody but me from now on."

He saw joy and fierce pride race across Dylan's face. He came off the bed, graceful as one of the wild cats he had seen on his father's farm. Without another word he stepped into Ben's arms, laying his head on the bigger man's bare chest.

"Let's go out."

"Go out? What do you mean?"

"You like movies, don't you?
Huddle
is playing at the Orpheum."

"The Orpheum?"

"You ever been?"

"Yeah, once, I guess. Maybe twice." Ben shrugged.

Dylan looked hurt. "How could you not love movies. Valentino? Navarro? Flynn? Powell?"

Ben couldn't help it, he smiled. The younger man had so much enthusiasm. A movie with him would probably be fun. "I like them just fine. When does this thing play?"

Dylan perked up. His beauty burst out with his smile. "There's a show in a couple of hours. You want to go?" he asked eagerly.

"Anything for you." Ben reached up and stroked Dylan's head. He closed his eyes with a sigh. Dylan burrowed into him and murmured, "I told you we were good."

Ben froze, staring down at his fingers woven through Dylan's golden hair. Feeling every strand. Caressing it. When his hand tightened, pulling on the scalp, Dylan looked up.

"What's wrong?"

Ben forced himself to relax. His fingers never stopped stroking the other man's head. "Well, I guess I better get cleaned up if we're going to the movies.
Huddle
? Never saw it."

"Oh, you'll love it. Novarro's in it. And Arledge."

He'd heard of Novarro--who hadn't--but not the other one. "Arledge?"

"You'll see."

"Well, get dressed then--" Ben stopped and looked down at himself. Until now he hadn't remembered he had put on his oldest pants. "I'm not dressed to go anywhere."

"We can drop by your place." When Ben looked at him Dylan added, "Don't worry, I'll wait in the car so no one sees me."

"You got a car?" Ben didn't know why he was surprised. Most people these days did.

"Sure, it's not much. An ancient Tin Lizzie. But she gets me where I want to go, and tonight she'll get us to the movies by way of your place."

Ben laughed. "Then go get dressed. I'll wait."

Dylan scurried down the hall and came back fifteen minutes later, his hair damp and smelling like Lifebuoy. Ben was tempted to pull him into his arms, but held back. He knew they better be acting like friends when they got to the theater. Two men seeing a movie wouldn't raise eyebrows unless they acted all flirty, which he wasn't about to do.

He still stared at Dylan, dressed in a fine gray pinstripe suit and shiny black shoes. Ben felt like a stable-hand beside him. In the far corner he saw a pair of patched dungarees and scuffed boots. When Dylan saw him looking he grinned ruefully.

"My Nebraska get-up."

"In case you want to go back?"

"God, no." He crossed the room, fussing with the knot in his tie. "It reminds me where I come from in case I get too uppity."

"You? Uppity?" Ben tried to feign disbelief.

"Believe me, I'm fully aware of what I was."

"And where you could end up?"

"Not a chance. I'm never going back there."

Dylan led them down the backstairs into a parking lot next to the boarding house. He'd been right, the car was ancient and looked like it came through a couple of wars. Ben climbed into the passenger's seat while Dylan primed the carburetor. Then he yelled for Ben to turn the key. Dylan jerked the crank and the engine muttered to life, the entire car shaking.

Dylan eased himself behind the wheel. "Where to?"

Ben gave him directions and it didn't take them more than five minutes to reach his rooming house. He jumped out and Dylan kept the car idling while Ben trotted up the stairs. There was no time for a shower, so he sponged down in the bath. Back in his small room he dressed in his best clothes, knowing he could never outshine Dylan.

Back in the car, Ben found his nervousness growing the closer they got to the Orpheum. Dylan parked a block from the theater. Maybe he caught Ben's unease. Instead of climbing out of the car, he looked over at the man beside him.

"No one's going to pay any attention to us, you know. And if anyone does, you can tell them I'm just your college Joe cousin in from New York. Just a couple of solid citizens out to watch the nickelodeon."

"My cousin?" Ben snorted, drawing a grin from the younger man.

"I can be whatever people want. I'm their fantasy."

"You're a trickster."

"I'm a chameleon. We're all chameleons, Ben. We've all got faces we show to the world."