The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (47 page)

“Of course he would. Casual sex would be less meaningful, less painful, less threatening. And, if you don’t mind me saying, if it’s casual sex with women, it would provide you with a very good cover. Your boss would be far less likely to figure out the truth if you were still fucking anything in a skirt.”

“I couldn’t live like that. It wouldn’t be fair to him or me or the women. I  mean, how could he have thought I’m cold-hearted enough to systematically betray him?”

Xavier at last walked over, slid a companionable arm around Fletcher’s shoulders. “And me, sweet man? I’m adding to your woes by talking of compromise and the realities of politics.”

“You can’t deny you prefer the indirect route, and the devious approach, every time. I  bet your mind is busy all your waking hours planning cunning conspiracies; plots forever simmering on the back burner.”

Richly appreciative laughter. “You make it sound so exciting.”

“I suppose it is, really. By comparison, my other lover reads medical texts, listens to Mozart, and verbally takes me to pieces to exercise his mind.”

“You’re dangerous, Agent Ash. It’s too easy to dismiss an honest man as naïve and simple. But you’re as subtle and seductive as anyone I’ve met. You interest me, you know that?”

Fletcher smiled. “I’ll take your interest as the highest compliment. The rest I’m not so sure about.” It was a warm feeling, knowing that what he felt for Xavier was mutual. Curiosity and attraction and shared ideals weren’t a bad place to start.

The friendly arm became a more intimate embrace, and Xavier leaned in to murmur, “Sometimes, lover man, I  prefer the direct route.” He eased around to stand behind Fletcher, fitting his chest and hips to Fletcher’s back and buttocks, bending closer over him and wrapping his arms around Fletch’s waist, so Fletcher was engulfed. Xavier confessed, “I’ve missed this tight lily white ass of yours.”

“I’ve missed your enormous hungry black cock,” Fletcher replied. He loved this all-encompassing, protective, possessive hug. And then the familiar clothes-shedding tumble down the corridor to reach the bedroom. They were both hot and eager, as was usual between them - though Fletcher took a moment to regret Albert at his best, with his endless, gentle, beautiful foreplay.

In bed, naked, exactly where Fletcher wanted them. Xavier murmuring, “Feels so sweet, sugar man, ice cream skin on a hot summer night.” A  finger, cool with lube, exploring, insinuating itself into Fletcher’s ass. “And your hot blue eyes catch fire when I do that. Why doesn’t your man ever do this for you?”

“I don’t know.” Fletcher moaned, trying to capture the teasing finger. “Don’t talk about him. Not like this.” He turned to watch as Xavier rolled a condom onto his penis, moved close to begin pushing into Fletcher. Already this didn’t hurt, the smell of rubber familiar, the welcome fullness easing inside and hinting at future pleasures. Fletcher sprawled ungainly, letting Xavier take his time. Surely this was almost everything that he’d ever wanted.

Stairs: dizzy endless flights of stairs, a double helix twisting in empty blue sky; Fletcher clinging on desperately to the smooth angles, hands slippery with terror, equilibrium shot to hell. If he let go he’d spin off into nothingness, the blue fading to vacuum, the cold inaccessible stars oblivious to his slow torment.
I’ve lost my balance, Albert.

Footsteps echoing, vibration felt through his entire body. Fear at who might approach, what they might do - dislodge him and let him float away, grasping desperate, gasping thin?

Feet, bare dark chocolate brown, caught the corner of his eye. Carefully lifting his head, Fletcher saw Xavier standing on the steps - not above, because up and down had no meaning, there was only the treacherous stairs and the slow horrible nothingness - Xavier superbly naked, smiling confident.

The man crouched, offered a hand, within reach if Fletcher would loosen his tenuous hold. “Come on, Agent Ash,” Xavier chided. “Stand and walk. There’s nothing to it.”

“Can’t,” Fletch muttered, though his gaze never left the other man’s, beseeching.
Can you save me?

“Look  -” and Xavier pointed to somewhere beyond Fletcher’s sight, dizzying  - “we can reach the White House from here.”

“No.” A drop of blood squeezed from beneath one of his painful digging fingernails, slid spiraling across the smooth surface as the stairs twisted. Fletcher closed his eyes, but that lost him even the illusion of up which was surely where Xavier was.

“Come on, sweet man.” Cajoling. Loving?

When Fletch looked again, almost unbalancing as he tilted his head, Xavier was offering both strong arms. Fletch unlocked his right hand from the stairs, stretched out his talon fingers, reached across the inches - Xavier’s hand met and held it, sure and firm. Fletcher’s second hand, and then his body lifting also naked, his feet walking up the stairs, so he stood just below Xavier, confidence flowering.

“I knew you could do it, sugar man. Now, get that lily white ass up here.” And, dropping one of Fletcher’s hands, Xavier turned to lead him - into the blue nothingness.

“No!” But it was already too late. His other hand slipped from Xavier’s and Fletcher felt himself float away, the stairs receding into distance, and his lover there standing, hands on hips frustrated, feet planted solidly on blue sky. Vision dimming, oxygen thinning.
“No!”

“For Christ’s sake,” Xavier said, annoyed.

Darkness, and hands shaking him, a shadow man looming. Xavier’s white sheets twisted around his hips, the expanse of bed bearing him. Fletcher sat up abruptly, forced away the last sensation of falling, pushed away the hands.
Just a dream
.

“The neighbors will think I’m a sadist at this rate,” the man was complaining.

“Sorry,” Fletcher muttered.

“What the hell was that about?”

Xavier reached out again, and Fletcher shied away by instinct. “Bad dream. I  get them sometimes. Sorry I woke you.”

“Christ, you scared me.” Matter-of-factly, but shaken. “And you wouldn’t come out of it.”

Fletcher wished for Albert’s no-nonsense comfort, wondering whether his other lover had also tried and failed to wake him during a nightmare. He’d never mentioned it, perhaps showing a little mercy. “Sorry,” he said again, lying down, hoping Xavier would settle.

Silence for a few tense moments, before Lachance lay beside him, carefully not touching. “Can you get back to sleep?”

“Yes,” Fletcher lied. “How about you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” No endearments. “Goodnight.” Xavier rolled away, his back to Fletcher, and was soon snoring.

Left alone, Fletcher waited grimly for dawn. He really shouldn’t be scared by a dream, he really shouldn’t give it any thought at all. These nightmares had never taught him anything.

The phone rang, and Fletcher panicked for a moment, eyes following the tangled cord through his apartment until he located where he’d last left the receiver. “Hello,” he said once he’d picked it up, “Fletch here.”

“This is Albert.”

Fletcher let out a laugh. It had been years of,
This is Albert Sterne
, so the abbreviated greeting was an improvement, though Albert still maintained an uncomfortable formality that Fletch found comical. “Hello.” But Fletcher’s laugh had also been born of relief, which required vocalizing. Fletch said, “It is so good to hear you.”

A deadly silence.

Perhaps Fletch had surprised them both with that. He offered, “I’ve missed you.”

The silence continued, until Fletcher thought Albert might decide to hang up, although it seemed unlikely he would be quite that rude. At last the man said in a tight voice, “I  am calling from Seattle in Washington State. I’ll be working on a case here for the next day or two.”

“What’s the case?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you.”

“Since when did that stop you, love?” Fletcher asked.

A moment, and then Albert said, “I  thought you’d agreed to be more circumspect. There’s no reason for you to use a blandishment that is open to gross misinterpretation.” And then unwisely betraying resentment: “It is inaccurate.”

“Really,” Fletcher said, a flash of annoyance destroying the brief moment of happiness.
As if you know all about love, Albert.

“Really.”

“Why did you call?”

“Simply to let you know where I am.”

Fletcher took a breath, and began pacing slowly around the apartment. He couldn’t bear it if they were reduced to nothing but this meaningless bickering. “Look - I’m glad you called. I’d really like to talk with you.”

“Then talk,” was the only encouragement provided.

“All right.” Every topic was, of course, fraught with danger. Work would ordinarily be the safest, especially now that Xavier’s arson case was closed, except that Caroline’s convoluted warnings still echoed in his ears. She’d treated Fletcher no different from normal since then, but he’d trod warily, no longer relaxed in her company. But of course she hadn’t been convoluted at all - Fletcher was retreating behind his guilt and resentment, blaming her for the situation rather than himself, indulging unrealistic wishes of how things should be. He sighed, still wholly unwilling to confess his blunders to Albert.

“Perhaps you should call back when you’ve thought of something to say to me.” So urbane, so sarcastic.

It would have to be work. “I’m catching up on federal security clearances at the moment, running around tidying up all sorts of odds and ends. It’s pretty tiresome. I  don’t think Caroline’s going to put me back on the money laundering thing. The trial date’s been postponed, so it’s not as urgent.”

“That should allow you plenty of time to work on your pet serial killer.”

“No,” Fletcher said with a frown, fearing where this was heading. “No progress.”

“Are you working on the case at all?”

“What exactly are you asking me, Albert? How I spend my evenings? Is this the first night I’ve been home to answer the phone?” Silence seemed to confirm Fletcher’s suspicions. Easily finding it in him to match Albert’s sarcasm, he said, “I  have laundry to do. Why don’t you call me back when I’m in a better mood?” And he slammed down the phone.

Within five minutes, Fletch was in the basement of his apartment building, throwing shirts and shorts and socks into the washing machine, waiting for the phone there to ring. He and Albert had only done this a couple of times, when they needed to talk long distance with the surety of privacy and Albert wasn’t at home. Fletch waited impatiently, unable to make an out-going call on this line - no one in the building had been able to agree on how to pay the resulting bill. Surely Albert had taken the hint. Surely he had the number with him.

The phone finally rang during the second wash cycle. Fletcher picked it up and said, “What took you so damned long?” A  silence greeted him, but he didn’t for one moment doubt who the caller was. “Just say what you wanted to say, Albert.”

“You’re frittering your time away with your pet politician.”

Fletch swallowed various angry responses, amazed that Albert would voluntarily raise such a contentious issue. Finally he said, “You don’t really want to hear the truth.”

“I assume that’s a reply in the affirmative,” the man said immediately, as if that was only what he’d expected. “You should reassess your priorities, Ash. How will you feel when your pet murderer tortures, rapes and kills yet another young man, and you remember what you were doing instead of catching him?”

Gripping the phone so hard he might break it, Fletcher said, “That was totally uncalled for. You can’t force me away from Xavier like that.”

“If I’m attempting to force you to do anything, it’s to remain focused on your goals and to consider the ramifications of not working towards them.”

“Admit what your real agenda is, Albert. I’d prefer your honesty, no matter how brutal, instead of these heavy-handed tactics.”

“I explained my purpose a moment ago.”

“Don’t lie to me, Albert. It’s only been ten days since I met him. The serial killer case won’t suffer because I’ve ignored it for ten days.”

“Perhaps not, but when are you planning to return to it? Another ten days? Or ten weeks?”

“And may I remind you that it also got ignored last weekend while I spent time with you?”

“When will you start working on it again?”

Fletcher took a deep breath, trying not to give in to the temptation to yell. “There was plenty of time for recriminations on the weekend. Why didn’t you get all this off your chest then?”