Venetian Masks (24 page)

Impulsively, Jeff began a new e-mail message.

Kyle,

Just wanted you to know that I’m glad for you. Really. I know I wasn’t what you needed and I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you happy.

J

His grin widened when that message was sent as well. A few more balloons.

The symbol for the city of Ljubljana was a dragon. Over near the greenmarket were a few souvenir stands, and for five euros he bought a small ceramic tile depicting a red dragon. He thought his father might like it. Jeff slipped the tile into his messenger bag and headed back toward the triple bridge.

When he arrived there, however, he realized that he still had about ten minutes before Cleve was supposed to meet him.
Would
meet him, he corrected himself. Because their rented room was so close by, Jeff decided to duck back there and drop off the laptop. There was no reason to drag it around the city all day. Maybe they could go back up to the castle. The evening before, he thought he saw a steep footpath winding up the side of the hill.

He turned the corner onto the side street and glanced toward the entrance to their lodging. Only two other people were on the narrow street: two men a half block away, heading in his direction. One of them was medium height but very muscular, with a shiny bald head and dressed mostly in black. The other was tall and slender and wore a casual but expensive-looking suit. His short hair was an even lighter blond than Jeff’s.

As Jeff’s breath caught in his throat, he felt his face turn an incriminating shade of red. He was certain Eddie Weibull could hear his heart hammering in his chest. With a massive effort of will, Jeff forced his rubbery legs to keep moving at a moderate pace toward the two men, instead of at top speed back the way he’d come.

Weibull glanced in Jeff’s direction—his light eyes as warm and compassionate as an Antarctic glacier—and then turned to enter the building. His companion followed him like a faithful dog. Jeff waited until the door closed behind them and finally gave in to the urge to run.

Chapter 16

T
HE
messenger bag banged against Jeff’s side as he sprinted down the cobblestones, skidded around corners, and dodged pedestrians and bikes. He made it to the triple bridge within seconds and was immensely relieved to discover Cleve already waiting for him. Cleve’s back was to Jeff and he was clutching a green plastic bag in one hand.

“Cleve!” Jeff bellowed when he was still several yards away.

Cleve whirled around, took one look at Jeff, and went pale. “Fuck!” He began running alongside Jeff. “Where?”

“Just going into our motel.”

“Fuck!” Cleve picked up a little speed. Pedestrians stared or scowled in annoyance. A few even shouted what were probably multilingual curses.

“Where to?” Jeff panted after he almost hurdled a chair.

“Trains.”

It had taken them fifteen minutes to walk from the station to central Ljubljana the day before. Now it took them less than ten to return. They were both gasping when they arrived, and Jeff had a painful stitch in his side. He obviously hadn’t been doing much cardio lately. His shoes slipped slightly on the station’s stone floor, and he had only a few moments to catch his breath as Cleve conducted a rapid transaction at the ticket counter. Another sprint—much briefer this time—and they were throwing themselves on board a train that was just ready to leave.

“Jesus Christ!” Cleve wheezed as he threw himself onto a seat. “That was too fucking close.”

Jeff sat beside him and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of a hand. He was too winded to do more than nod.

Cleve twisted around to look at him. “Did he see you?”

Jeff nodded again. “Didn’t… know… who… I was.”

“He will now. And he’s good with faces, the bastard. How many people with him?”

“One. Bald. Built.”

Cleve made a distressed sound and collapsed back against the cushions. “Bob. Fuck.”

“Bob?”

“One of Eddie’s scarier henchmen.”

Bob didn’t sound like a scary name, but then neither did Eddie. Bad guys should all be named Damien, Jeff thought, or Count von Something, or Thor.

Cleve spent several minutes sitting completely still, his eyes closed. Only his breathing betrayed his tumultuous thoughts—it remained harsh and ragged long after Jeff’s had evened out. Finally, Cleve sighed and looked at Jeff. “Hungry? I’m gonna head to the dining car.”

Although he wasn’t hungry at all—his stomach tied in tight knots—Jeff followed Cleve out of the compartment and through two adjacent cars. The dining car had large windows and several empty tables. Cleve chose one in the middle, and Jeff sat down opposite him. A man in a white shirt appeared from somewhere to hand them menus, but Jeff didn’t bother to look at his. Cleve ordered something in German.

“Are you okay?” Cleve asked Jeff after the waiter walked away.

“I’ve never been on the lam before.”

“Jesus, Jeff, I’m sorry. I never should have—” Cleve broke off to lean his forehead in the palms of his hands. “Christ,” he rasped.

Reaching across the table to gently squeeze Cleve’s shoulder, Jeff said, “I knew what I was signing up for.”

Cleve lifted his head and shot back, “Did you? Has it occurred to you yet that you’ve just lost all your stuff?”

It hadn’t. Jeff took a moment to mourn the loss of his suitcase and five changes of clothes, his Rick Steves guidebooks and the money belt he’d given up using, the scarf and earrings for his mother and the mask Cleve had given him. He felt briefly bereft, but then he realized that all of those things were just that: things. And almost all of them could be easily replaced. He still had his electronic gizmos, his passport and wallet, and his dragon tile. And he still had Cleve. “It’s okay,” he said calmly.

“And when he starts shooting? This isn’t a game, Jeff.”

“And I’m not a child!” Jeff replied heatedly. “So stop treating me like one. I made a choice and I’m glad I did. You’re worth it.”

A new emotion showed on Cleve’s handsome face, one that took Jeff a moment to recognize: wonder.

The waiter returned with plates of food and cans of Coke, which he plopped down in front of them. He also gave them each a small glass, into which he poured a healthy splash of clear liquid. He grinned at them both before wandering away. “What’s this?” Jeff asked, poking at the glass.

“
Šlivovica
. Plum brandy. I figured maybe we could both use a little pick-me-up.” Cleve lifted his glass and waited for Jeff to do the same and clinked them together. “Na zdravje,” he said and swallowed it all in one go.

Jeff was a little more cautious—the stuff burned. But it was a good burn, a welcome burn, and very soon his glass was empty as well. The waiter must have been hovering nearby, because he materialized to refill.

“I’m not hungry,” Jeff said, looking down at his sandwich.

“One thing I’ve learned is to always eat when you get the chance,” Cleve said with his mouth full. “’Cause you never know when you’ll get another.”

The advice seemed reasonable, Jeff concluded, so he took a bite. It was better than he expected, with prosciutto and cheese. He washed it down with some Coke, noticing that Cleve was already polishing off his second
šlivovica
. “Where are we going?” asked Jeff.

Cleve shrugged and pulled the tickets out of his pocket to examine them. “Ah. Back to Italy. Trieste.”

“Where’s that?”

“Not far. Few hours.”

They finished their lunches and drinks and Jeff paid, and then they spent some time just admiring the scenery. Eventually, they made their way back to their seats. They had the compartment to themselves, and Cleve stretched out on the bench with his head in Jeff’s lap, smiling up at him. “I usually do this alone,” Cleve said. “It’s nice not to.”

When Jeff smiled at him and ran his fingers through Cleve’s silky hair, Cleve practically purred.

T
HE
train station in Trieste was old and a little run-down, but it was only a short walk from the center of town. Cleve and Jeff walked along a broad sidewalk with gray buildings to their left and open water to the right. Jeff had never heard of this city before, but it looked to be a pretty big port. Houses clung to the steep hills that rose immediately behind the city, and cars and motorcycles whizzed past on the street at top speed. Maybe it was fortunate that Venice had no motor traffic, Jeff thought, because many Italians seemed to be laboring under the impression that they were race-car drivers. Maybe not a surprise from the country that gave the world Lamborghinis, Maseratis, and Ferraris, as well as Ducatis.

Trieste had an enormous square with a couple of statues in the middle and large, impressive stone buildings around three edges. The water made up the fourth side. And there were cafés, more cafés. Jeff sighed as they sank into brown metal chairs. “I’ve never had so much coffee before in my life.”

“This town is the home of Illy espresso. A lot of coffee comes into Europe from this port.”

“I wasn’t complaining, just observing.”

The waiters here were especially cute and more prone to smiling than those in Venice or Zagreb. Theirs was a kid in his early twenties with a shock of curly dark-brown hair. A small bowl of tiny almond cookies came with their coffee. At the table next to Jeff and Cleve, some well-dressed men were pouring impressive amounts of olive oil onto bowls of pasta.

“Where next?” Jeff asked. “Can we stay here a little while?”

“I dunno, man.” Cleve was sagging in his chair, looking his age for the first time since Jeff had met him. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“Come back to California with me. We’ll talk to the cops. Maybe we can do witness protection or something.”

“You can’t. You’d have to give up your family.”

That sent a painful pang through Jeff’s chest. “Then we’ll figure something else out.”

“No, we won’t. Let’s just… let’s just enjoy the rest of your vacation, okay? As much as we can with Eddie after us. At least you’ll have some good stuff to remember when you’re back in the States.”

Jeff wanted to argue with him but knew there was no point in it. There was no solution to their dilemma, at least none that sidestepped heartache and bloodshed. For now, much as he wished he could formulate some kind of plan, Jeff was just going to have to ride things out and hope for a miracle.

Several official-looking cars pulled up at the opposite edge of the square. Jeff was slightly alarmed when a bunch of people in uniforms piled out, but he calmed again when they began doing practice marches up and down the square. Not very well, he observed. Maybe they were new recruits. He and Cleve both laughed when one guy stumbled into another, nearly causing them both to fall.

But then dark clouds began to collect ominously overhead. “Let’s get out of here,” said Cleve. They exited the square between some buildings, and Jeff immediately found himself in a much older-looking part of town.

“Medieval,” he said, flush with his new knowledge.

“Except for the parts that are Roman,” added Cleve, pointing at an ancient arch.

They continued up a steep cobblestone street, and just as the first fat raindrops began to fall, Cleve led them into what looked like an apartment building. A conversation in Italian followed between him and a young guy who was sitting on a couch, watching TV, and then Jeff followed Cleve up more creaky stairs and down a slightly tilting hallway.

“Home sweet home,” Cleve said when he unlocked the door.

Jeff glanced around and said with some enthusiasm, “Hey, one big bed!” The room was sparely furnished with slightly shabby mismatched furniture, but it looked clean.

“Still no private bath, but we’ll live.”

It was only late afternoon, but Cleve looked weary. Rain blew in noisy gusts against the window, and peals of thunder rumbled, echoing among the old buildings. Jeff set his messenger bag on the floor and moved to Cleve, then began to peel the clothing off his lover’s unresisting body. Even when he was completely naked, Cleve simply stood in place, looking slightly lost. So Jeff quickly skimmed out of his own clothes, gently manhandled Cleve into bed, and climbed in beside him. They clung together, breathing in tandem.

Jeff traced the lines of Cleve’s tattoos with his fingertips. He was extra tender over the scars, as if there might still be lingering pain. Cleve sighed deeply and pressed closer, his soft hair tickling Jeff’s neck and face. “It wasn’t the money,” he mumbled.

“What wasn’t?”

“Me staying with Eddie. The money was fun for a while, no doubt about that, but it got old eventually. I guess owning stuff isn’t really my thing.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that.”

“I stayed because Eddie loved me. In his totally fucked and twisted way. I guess… I guess I figured that was the only kind of love I was ever gonna get. Probably the only kind I deserve.”

“It’s not,” Jeff replied, referring to both of Cleve’s last sentences. “I told you already—I love you.”