Payback (24 page)

I lifted my eyes to study Chris’s face. “I have to do this for Spence,” I said. “I owe him that much.”

“No,” Chris said gently. “Turning yourself into a murderer isn’t going to change anything. Put the gun down, Tyler. We have more important things to discuss than the fate of this asshole. We need to talk about us.”

Rico heard the words and sobbed. I could see the realization dawning in his eyes that there was no escaping his fate. He was going to die. There was no one willing to help him here, and even if there was, it was probably too late anyway. Even if someone called for an ambulance right then, by the time it got here, he would have bled to death. There was nothing left for him to do but die, and he knew it. Weakened and terrified, he laid his head back onto the step behind him and began to weep like a child.

I didn’t move the barrel from Rico’s head. My hand was as steady as stone. “I’m already a murderer, Chris. Nothing I do now is going to change that.”

Chris tucked his gun in his shoulder holster and took a step down the stairs. “I know,” he said softly. “You made a mistake. Grief did it, I think. Grief and a desire to strike back at the unfairness that took Spence away from you. I understand that, Tyler. I’ve known about the trolley murder for weeks. I recognized you on the security tape even if no one else could ID you. I recognized your movements, the way you carried yourself. I didn’t turn you in, Tyler. And I’m not going to.”

I couldn’t drag my eyes from Rico’s face. His eyes were closed now, his breath coming in weak, flurried gasps.
Was he dying? Is this what dying slowly looked like?

“One more death won’t matter, Chris. One more murder won’t change me from what I already am. And what he is.”

“No,” Chris said, vaulting over the handrail at the side of the stairs to avoid the last remaining steps where Rico lay sprawled, bleeding out. “You’ve already killed him, Tyler. He’ll be dead in a minute without any further help from you. But there’s a way for us to fix this. A way for us to clear the slate on both murders. I don’t want to lose you, Tyler. I don’t want to lose you like you lost Spence. I can fix this. I can clear you of both murders.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why would you do that?”

And Chris’s answer came in a rush of emotion. A clap of thunder shook the house, and he raised his voice so his words would carry over the noise of the storm.

“Because I love you! I’ve never loved
anyone
before. Not like this. I’m not going to let you throw your life away for these animals. I’m not going to let you throw my happiness away either. I’ll never be happy without you. I know I won’t. Please, Tyler. If you love me like you said you do, let me fix this. Put down the gun.”

“I’m sorry for what I did,” Rico sobbed as he slid down the remaining steps to the basement floor and his face settled into the pool of blood still spilling from his leg. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t speaking to me. Maybe he was speaking to God. I didn’t know, nor did I care. Chris and I both ignored him.

Chris approached me now, skirting the pool of blood on the floor—skirting the body lying limp in the middle of it, pleading for his life from an entity we couldn’t see. “Listen to me, Tyler. Let me explain what we can do.”

“No. He has to die.”

“He
is
dying! Now shut up and listen.”

I turned my eyes from Rico and trained them on Chris. His injured eye looked worse than it had in the afternoon. It was purple and puffed and damn near swollen shut. The bandage on his ear had come off in the rain, and I could see the stitches now where they had sewn his ear back together. One of the brothers currently in jail must have tried to rip it off his head when Chris arrested them.

But even with just one good eye, I could see Chris’s love for me shining out. And his desperation too. His desperation not to let me fuck up my life—
our
lives—any more than I already had.

I lowered the gun. “Go ahead,” I said. “I’m listening.”

“We can let the law take care of this for us, Tyler. All we have to do is twist the facts in our favor. The man you killed on the trolley was the lowest kind of scum. He cut you with a knife. It was self-defense. Plus he was a terrible person. He deserved what he got. The man dying at your feet deserves what he’s getting too. A jury would probably never convict you for killing either one of them, Tyler. But that still doesn’t make it right. Let me fix this. Please.”

I longed to pull Chris into my arms and weep like a child. I longed to feel his arms around me and to hear him whisper sweet things into my ear as if none of this had ever happened. But most of all, I longed to see the life spill out of the man on the floor completely.

“How?” I asked, tossing the gun aside. We both watched it skitter across the basement floor and clatter against the wall.

The only person not watching the movement of the gun was Rico. He was too weak to pay much attention to anything. His hand had slipped from the wound in his leg, and the blood now seeped from the hole unhindered. The flow had slowed. He was running out of blood to spill. Rico lay unmoving, staring at the ceiling, his eyes opened wide but seeing nothing. He reeked of feces and the metallic stench of fear. His fingers clenched spasmodically in rhythm to the flutter of his breath.

He was beyond knowing anything.

I looked back at Chris.

With my gun no longer in my hand, Chris stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. He whispered in my ear, “Let me do what I have to do.”

And I nodded, weary to the bone. “All right.”

“First of all, Tyler. Tell me you bought this gun illegally. Tell me it isn’t registered in your name.”

I tried not to look guilty when I said, “It isn’t registered at all.”

He nodded as if he’d figured as much. “Where did you get it?”

“I bought it from some guy on the street.”

“Did you give him your name?”

“No.”

“Did you pay cash?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then it can’t be traced back to you.”

Chris lay his hand to my cheek before gripping my shoulders and easing me aside. He stepped across the basement to retrieve the gun I had sent sliding across the floor. He checked it to make sure it was loaded, then he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the pistol clean of prints. Still holding it in the folds of the handkerchief, Chris knelt and pressed the gun into Rico’s hand. Rico didn’t seem to notice.

Lifting Rico’s hand with my gun still in it, Chris aimed the gun at the wall, and covering Rico’s finger with his own to apply pressure to the trigger, he shot a bullet into the wall.

“Now the residue of a gunshot will be on Rico’s hand.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How will that help us?”

“Twofold,” Chris explained. “The gunshot residue on Rico’s hand proves that Rico was a dipshit who tripped on the stairs and shot himself in the leg right after he chased you down here and put a bullet in the wall trying to kill you. But that’s not all it does. When they compare the bullet used to kill the man on the trolley with the bullet the cops will think this moron pumped into himself, it will come up a match since both bullets were shot from the same gun, thus proving Rico not only shot himself like a putz, but he also killed the creep on the trolley. We already know Rico killed Spence. That’s a given. Now we’ve not only nailed the trolley murder to his forehead but we’ve protected you as well.” He cast an inquisitive look in my direction as if looking for a little emotional backup. “I’m assuming your career in crime has ended now. I don’t want to have to be conjuring up ways to protect your ass ever again. Okay?”

I grinned. “Okay.”

“And don’t buy any more illegal firearms.”

“I won’t. Unless you piss me off.”

“That was a joke, right?”

“Yes, Chris. That was a joke.”

His eyes softened as he watched me. “Nothing you’ve done has made me stop loving you, Tyler. I want you to understand that. I know what your motives were. I know why you did what you did.”

I felt tears burn the back of my eyes. “Thank you.”

“Tell me you love me.” Chris’s voice was soft and pleading and gentle.

“You know I do,” I said.

“Tell me anyway.”

I sighed, but there was gratitude in it. Gratitude and a dozen other emotions. “I love you.”

Franklin pranced around my legs, amused, I suppose, by the warmth in my voice. Or maybe he was just happy to be home. Who knows?

Chris looked down at him as if he had only just noticed he was there. “Are you keeping the dog?” he asked.

I reached down to pat Franklin’s head. “Yes.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Waldo will be thrilled to death.”

“Fuck Waldo,” I said. “Tell me you love
me
.”

Chris flashed his perfect teeth. I was happy to see they were all still there. Judging by the damages done to the outside of his head, I wasn’t sure until I actually saw them. “I love you,” he said.

Rico, at our feet, barely audible, breathed out the words. “You faggots are making me sick.” Then his voice fell silent. The faint stir of his breathing stopped.

Rico was dead.

“Prick,” Chris muttered, then took my hand and led me around the body and up the stairs. I ushered Franklin into the kitchen ahead of us and walked into Chris’s arms.

“I have to call the cops,” Chris said.

“You are the cops,” I countered.

“You know what I mean.”

He reached for his cell phone and punched 911. When he was finished giving directions, he dropped the phone back in his pocket and leaned against the sink, watching me.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re safe.”

I handed Chris a beer from the fridge. He lifted it immediately into a toast.

“To Spence,” he said.

I tapped his bottle with mine. “To Spence.”

We listened to the rain and thunder until a siren drowned them out. Twenty minutes later the house was packed with people. Cops, forensic techs, EMTs. Chris and I were practically squeezed out onto the porch. Not that we minded.

We stood there watching the storm batter the city while the technicians did their work. I listened quietly as Chris explained to the investigating officer how it all went down. By the time he had finished, even I believed him. I stood silently and sipped my beer while the storm slowly retreated toward the horizon.

It was over. The saga of Spence’s death. Over. The three bastards who had brought all this misery down upon our heads were now either dead or in jail. I shuddered inwardly at some of the things I had done during the course of it all, but truthfully, those actions had left almost no mark on me. I remembered them, yes, but was I sorry for what I’d done? No. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to be sorry for. I was simply paying a debt. A debt to Spence. And now that the debt was paid, I was satisfied I had done what I needed to do. For me. And for Spence.

As I stood on the porch, leaning against the railing, I let the cool, brisk wind from the dying storm toss my hair around. The air smelled clean and fresh, and I could almost feel it blowing away what small vestiges of guilt I might still have clinging to me, which were few if any at all. The lightning had moved off to where I could just see it sparking on the horizon. The thunder had grown silent. The storm was letting up. The rain was easing too. I could tell by the dwindling sound of raindrops, scattered now, tapping into the puddles on the sidewalk.

I patiently waited for the cops and the techs and the morgue guys to finish their jobs so I could go back into my house. Franklin stood at my feet, as patient as I was. He seemed to need my touch, my reassurance, so my fingers never left his coat. Periodically he would press his cold snout to the palm of my hand and give me a little lick as if to reassure himself I was really there.

Every few moments Chris would cast his eyes in our direction.

There was always a smile in them when he did.

Touch

C
HRIS
’
S
BREATH
was warm on my face, and it smelled of mouthwash. We stood facing each other in my bedroom, just inside the sliding glass doors leading out to the deck. We had showered to wash away the long, horrific day we’d shared, and Chris was wrapped in Spence’s white terry-cloth robe. I was in my blue one. The showers had come individually, not together. We hadn’t quite been ready for that level of intimacy just yet.

But that was quickly changing.

His arms were around me, his hands at the small of my back, holding me close. He laid his lips softly over mine, and then slowly breaking the kiss, he turned to gaze dreamily out across the deck at the late moon shining low on the western horizon. The storm clouds had mostly passed, and the night was almost over. It had taken hours for the forensic team and other assorted cops and technicians to finish their work in the basement.

Not once had a shred of doubt or a questioning look been cast upon our story as to what had transpired there. It pays to have a homicide detective on your side when you’re trying to fudge the law.

Chris brought his eyes back to me. Or I should say his
eye
. The one that was black and swollen was pretty much out of commission, and I reached up now to lay a gentle finger to it.

“Hurt?” I asked.

“Not until you touched it.” He saw the surprise on my face and laughed. “Kidding, Tyler. The eye’s okay. It’s not the first time a perp has put his fist in my puss. Probably won’t be the last time either.”

“Maybe you should find a calmer line of work.”

Again he surrendered a soft little laugh. “I would, but I’m afraid I’ll need all my crime-fighting skills to keep you out of trouble for the rest of my life. I can’t have my vigilante lover serving time in the slammer just because he feels a need to eradicate all the scumbags from the streets. It wouldn’t look good on my quarterly evaluations.”

I blinked at the softening look of wonder on his face. He seemed to have just realized what he’d said.

I ignored the first part of his little speech, but the second part certainly grabbed my attention. “Lovers,” I said. “Is that what we’ll be? Lovers?”