The air was filled with an incessant electronic bleating. He knew
what it was, but he couldn't remember how to make it stop. Finally,
swimming up through layers of sleep, he reached for the phone.
"Homicide. Lewis," he said automatically.
A dial tone was his only answer. The bleating hadn't stopped. He
searched wildly for the source of the insistent, annoying sound, and
found it in the shape of an unfamiliar clock radio. Slamming his hand
against the "off" button, he looked around him.
"Hell," Lewis said, remembering where he was. As if everything
hadn't been simply wonderful before, when he finally got home last
night-'this morning,' he thought ruefully--Barbara had been waiting up
for him. The end result was that he was now the guest of a motel out
on the Pulaski Highway, and likely to be there for a while. He'd
rented the room for two nights and made sure he could stay longer if
he needed to; it was likely to take her a good long while to cool off
this time.
'Ah, screw it,' he thought. 'I got nowhere to go. Barbara hates me.
Might as well just turn over and go back to sleep.' He'd crawled into
bed in the wee hours of the morning, setting the alarm for noon in
hopes of salvaging some of his first day off in three weeks. But now
that he was awake, sleep sounded better than anything else on his
agenda for the day. He padded over to the door, hung the "Do Not
Disturb" sign on the knob, and flopped back onto the understuffed
pillows with a sigh.
Half an hour later, he propped himself up on his elbows. 'This isn't
working.' He should have been thinking about Barbara, he told
himself; planning how he would apologize, how he would get out of his
shift at the bar and make it up to her for being away so much. But
every time he thought about the Waterfront, he thought about what had
happened the night before. He tried to imagine taking Barbara to an
expensive restaurant, and somehow Bayliss was there, sitting across
from him with a look of unbridled lust in his eyes. He saw them
coming back to the apartment, and instead of Barbara giving him one of
her sweet goodnight kisses, Tim was pulling him roughly into his arms
for a kiss that promised much more.
Lewis turned over onto his stomach and pulled a pillow over his head,
trying to escape the images that threatened to overwhelm him. He
realized what a bad idea that had been as soon as he had done it.
Lying there, he remembered the wrestling match that Tim had ended with
a kiss, and how good it had felt to press his body tightly into the
other man's. He couldn't help it; he ground himself against the
mattress, imagining that it was Bayliss under him, both of them
growing hard as they devoured each other's mouths. He knew he should
feel ashamed of what he had done, instead of reveling in it, but his
body was no longer taking orders from his mind. As he recalled how
Bayliss' mouth had tasted when he had dared to explore it with his
tongue, he thrust forcefully against his imaginary lover again and
again.
The thought of Tim's hands, imprisoning him--forcing him to do
what he would have done by then without coercion-was enough to drive
him close to the edge. The memory of his voice, seducing him into
allowing himself to be touched and kissed once more-'You know you want
it'--sent him the rest of the way. He bit down hard on the pillow as
he came, knowing that if he didn't, he would cry out Tim's name loud
enough to wake the dead.
After a few minutes, he rolled over and contemplated what had
just happened. There was no excuse. This was not a wet dream, not
something he could write off as coming from his subconscious; he had
deliberately brought himself off by imagining himself with a man.
'I gotta get out of here.'
Fifteen minutes and a cold shower later, he was headed for his
car, the "Please Make Up Room" sign hanging from the doorknob a mute
reminder of what he had done there.
Lewis dragged his weary bones into the squadroom the next morning.
He'd driven to Philly, where there was a jazz club he knew of that
opened early and closed late, and had made it back to Baltimore in
time to get about an hour's sleep before he had to be back on the job.
"Hey, Meldrick," Munch said, as Lewis blew by him on the way to a
sorely needed cup of coffee. "Fine, don't talk to me. You look like
hell," he added, following the other man into the break room.
"Yeah, well, I feel worse," Meldrick said, contemplating the black
dregs of what passed for coffee on the second floor.
"Hot date? Oops, I forgot. You're a married man now. Or did you
have a hot date anyway?" Munch asked in a knowing voice.
"Just couldn't sleep," Lewis told him dismissively. "You think this
weather's ever gonna break?"
"Get used to it. Thanks to global warming, this is what it's going
to be like from now on."
Munch took a deep breath, preparing to lecture Lewis--and anyone else
within earshot--on the causes and cures of global climatological
change. Before he could begin, though, Kay Howard craned her head
around the edge of the doorway.
"Some kids found a body over in Leakin Park. Lewis, you and Bayliss
take it."
"Where's Kellerman?" he asked, startled.
"Personal day."
"Boy takes too many personal days," he mumbled. "I got a lot of
paperwork. Why can't Munch go?"
"I'm due in court," Munch said, obviously pleased at the thought of
avoiding a probable stone whodunit.
"Come on, Lewis. Let's go," Howard said, doing everything short of
snapping her fingers at him.
"Yeah, okay, Sarge. I'm going." On the best of days, he and Howard
got along like gasoline and a lighted match; today, he knew if she
said one thing more, he would snap her head off and have it for
breakfast. Focused as he was on the running battle with his sergeant,
it wasn't until he saw the other detective waiting for him that he
realized fully what she had done.
'All the way out to Leakin Park with Bayliss,' he groaned inwardly.
'It's gonna be a long, long ride.'
"So, how's it going?" Bayliss asked casually, after he had driven in
silence for a few minutes.
"Fine," Lewis mumbled. He rolled down the window and put his head
into the airstream.
"You look tired. Want me to be the primary on this one?"
"Yeah, sure. Take it." He leaned back and closed his eyes.
"Hey, I got some good news," Bayliss said, after a few minutes more
had passed.
"Yeah? What's that?" Lewis asked, eyes still closed.
"I talked to Frank last night."
"Uh-huh."
"I said, I talked to Frank. Remember him? My partner? He picked up
the phone, dialed it, and called me without anyone helping him."
"What'd he say?"
"You're not getting this. He's talking again. He's getting better.
He says he can come back in a couple of months. Light duty, but he'll
be back."
"That's great." He yawned and stretched in his seat.
Bayliss looked at Lewis in disgust and jerked the car in a hard left
turn into the park.
"You awake now?" he asked nastily, as Lewis snapped upright.
An hour or so later, the two detectives returned to the squadroom, an
old man in tow.
"Hey, hey, Sarge," Lewis said to Kay Howard gleefully. "Like you to
meet Virgil Platt-he's confessed to the murder of one Harry Lutz."
"Confessed?"
"Yeah," Bayliss agreed. "He walked right up to us with half a bottle
in his hand. It looks like a match to the glass fragments we found
around the body."
"I musta done it," the old man mumbled. He was dressed in layers of
clothes, in spite of the heat. "Can't think why, but then I don't
remember too good anymore."
"Well, get him to tell you what he does remember, and get a blood
alcohol," Howard said to Bayliss. "And tox screens. On him and Lutz."
"Why?" Bayliss asked. "Two old drunks get in a fight. . ."
"Humor me, okay? Let's do this by the numbers."
The old man was still muttering under his breath as Bayliss escorted
him into the Box. "Can't understand it. Harry and me, we go way
back. Only friend I got left. . .need a drink. . ."
"Okay, Mr. Platt. It's okay. You just sit here and talk to me, and
then we'll fix you up."
Lewis was left outside, staring glumly at Howard. This was a dunker
if there ever was one, and she wanted to make things complicated. As
usual, she seemed to know what he was thinking.
"You heard him say he couldn't remember doing it. What if there was
someone else there?"
"It's open and shut, Sarge. You're wasting the taxpayers' money."
"Maybe, maybe not." She turned away; the conversation was plainly
over. "Oh, and Meldrick?" she threw over her shoulder. "You ride
with Bayliss until further notice. Kellerman's with Munch." "You
can't do that. Mikey and me are partners."
"I just did."
Lewis walked off, seething. Any good humor he'd regained over
bringing in Virgil Platt was completely wiped away by Howard's
cavalier attitude. It was like she had some kind of radar, he thought
bitterly: find out who he least wanted to partner with, and make him
do it, without discussion. He wasn't going to complain to Gee, or
anyone else; all he'd get was a lecture on how she was the sergeant,
and she could deploy them as she saw fit, especially when they were
shorthanded. Better just to suck it up and hope this fit of Howard's
wouldn't last long.
The rest of the day went about as well as it had started, as far as
Lewis was concerned. Ed Danvers, influenced by Howard, wouldn't let
them charge Platt until the ME's report came back on Lutz. Meanwhile,
they'd thrown him in the drunk tank, hoping that the logjam of bodies
at the morgue that had been building up since the heat wave started
would clear up before they had to charge him with murder or let him
go.
Lewis couldn't let everything slide, though. He'd had to ask
Howard, after he cooled off a little, why she was being such a hardass
over this case. She'd just told him something didn't feel right.
"'Something doesn't feel right,'" Lewis growled to himself as he got
into his car. "Woman's intuition. Wino cracks his buddy over the
head with a bottle, and she thinks he got shot with a poison dart."
The only good thing about the whole day was that he'd gotten Munch to
take his shift at the Waterfront. No way he wanted to go in there
right now, not after having spent the whole day with Bayliss. He
stopped for a couple of six-packs on the way back to the motel,
planning to drink himself to sleep.
This time, he recognized the sound when it invaded his consciousness.
'My beeper. Where the hell is it?' He rummaged through the pile of
clothing on the chair by the window as the noise went on and on.
Finally, through a haze of alcohol and sleep, he recalled that he'd
set it on the nightstand with his gun and badge. He dialed the
unfamiliar number on the display and was greeted by the voice he least
wanted to hear right now.
"Lewis?" Bayliss asked.
"Whaddya want?" he slurred.
"I need to talk to you."
"No." He slammed down the receiver and got back into bed, cursing
Bayliss mentally before sinking back into an exhausted sleep.
Now it was the tapping that woke him. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, on
the door of his room. He pulled the covers over his head.
Tap, tap, tap, bang.
"I'm not leaving," he heard a voice say outside the door.
Bang. Bang.
"'Kay, okay, I'm coming," he muttered drowsily. He pulled the
door open, remembering too late that he was wearing only his briefs.
At the sight of Tim Bayliss, standing in front of him with a
half-angry, half-excited expression on his face, Lewis felt himself
begin to grow hard. He backed away from the other man, reaching for
anything he could find to cover himself.
Bayliss closed the distance between them in one stride.
"I said I needed to talk to you. But you don't want to talk,
do you?" he murmured, standing only inches from Lewis, but not
touching him-not yet.
"How'd you track me down?" Lewis asked, trying to maintain his
composure in the face of such obvious desire.
"The miracle of modern technology. . .press a few buttons on the
phone, and you're magically connected to the number that just called
you." He ran one hand lazily down Lewis' back. "And then you ask for
the number of the room where your business associate is staying." His
hand cupped a firm buttock, forcing a groan out of Lewis as he felt
Bayliss' erection so close to his. "And the very nice lady at the
front desk gives you all the information you need." He bent his head
and captured Lewis' mouth.
This was better than the kisses they'd shared in the bar,
better than anything he'd fantasized about. This time, Meldrick knew
what he wanted-what he had to have-and he knew he was going to get it.
He pulled Bayliss' head down to his, running his hand over the rough
brush-cut hair, while his other hand tightened on his back, then slid
lower to roam over the tantalizing curves below. He explored the
willing mouth with his tongue, brushing lightly over opened lips
before plunging inside, all the while thrusting himself wildly against
the other man.
When they broke for air, Bayliss said huskily, "I know that's
not a gun in your pocket, Detective, so you must be very glad to see
me."
The only response from Lewis was another muffled groan as he
dragged Bayliss onto the rumpled bed. They landed in a heap, Lewis on
top, as he had imagined the morning before. He found himself between
legs spread wide apart, allowing him to press his straining cock
against the other man's. The sensation was overwhelming. He
shuddered and buried his face in the delectable angle between Bayliss'
neck and shoulder, feeling the muscles tighten as he kissed, then bit
it hard. Tim's hands were once more imprisoning him, giving him no
choice but to continue writhing blindly against him.
Suddenly, Bayliss let him go. He moaned incoherently as he was
unceremoniously rolled onto his back.
"Shh. I'm not going anywhere. I just want to see you."
Warm hands reached for his briefs and slid them down, leaving
him naked and completely defenseless.
"You are gorgeous." Lewis felt more exposed than he had ever
been. He was fascinated by the look in Tim's eyes as he took in every
inch of his body with a glance. "Will you let me touch you?"
He nodded, unable to speak. Bayliss, still fully dressed,
stretched out next to him. He ran one hand lightly down Meldrick's
body, pausing to flick a nipple into hardness, to swirl the few curly
hairs on his belly with his finger, to stroke the inside of a knee,
before coming to rest tentatively on the one place that demanded
immediate attention.
"You know I've never done this before," he told Lewis, rough
desire replaced by grave tenderness. "So you have to tell me if I'm
doing it right."
"Please…just do it," he whispered. "It'll be right."
Tim began to stroke him, gently at first, then harder as he
became more sure of what he was doing. 'This should feel all wrong,'
Lewis thought dazedly. 'His hand's so big. . . he can take me in one hand.
And he knows just what to do. . .' Then all coherent thought fled as
Bayliss twisted just enough to cover his mouth with his own. He
mirrored the motion of his hand with his tongue, teasing Lewis' lips
as he swirled his thumb over the tip of his cock, then driving in deep
as he encircled the throbbing member in his fist and pumped it hard.
"Oh, baby, don't stop, please don't stop," Meldrick muttered
desperately when Bayliss let him up for air. "Please!"
"I want to see you come for me," Bayliss whispered in his ear.
Just as before, the sound of his voice was enough to make Lewis
lose all control. This time, he called out his lover's name in a low
moan as the unrelenting hand milked him dry.
He rolled abruptly away from Bayliss and curled up into a ball,
breathing hard. Concerned, Tim rested his hand lightly on Meldrick's
shoulder.
"Look. I'm sorry," he said. "I pushed you into this... I went
too fast."
Lewis turned over and looked him in the eye. "Don't be sorry.
I'm not." He pulled Bayliss close for a tender kiss that quickly
became passionate.
"Come on, take this off," he said, tugging at Tim's T-shirt.
"And these." Driven by a need--one he couldn't explain--to make
Bayliss as vulnerable as he was himself, he yanked at Tim's loose
cotton running shorts. A restraining hand fell on his.
"That's all I have on. Are you sure?"
"Sure I want to see you? Oh, yeah."
Bayliss let him pull the shorts over his hips, then wriggled
free of them altogether.
'He's big all over,' Lewis thought, beginning to feel
apprehensive. 'What the hell am I supposed to do with _that_?'
Deciding to avoid the issue, he pulled Bayliss to him for
another kiss. There was something missing this time in his response
to the other man's desire. They broke apart after a moment, and
Bayliss ran the back of his hand gently along Meldrick's cheek.
"Nervous?"
"Yeah, a little. Never did anything like this before. . ."
"It's okay. You want to watch me?"
"Is that what you want?"
"I don't want you to do anything you're gonna regret later,"
Bayliss told him. His free hand slipped down to his own organ,
beginning to fondle it in a practiced motion. Lewis watched him begin
to lose himself in the sensation, wondering if that was the look Tim
had seen on his face as he stroked him. He realized Bayliss was doing
this for him, getting an extra measure of excitement out of knowing
the man he had just brought to climax was watching him. He felt his
own erection begin to stir, and delicately put out his hand to touch
the other man.
"You're doing this to me," Bayliss ground out. "Touch me again
and I'll . . ."
"You'll what?" Lewis heard himself say in a voice he hardly
recognized.
There was no answer. Instead, Bayliss rolled him over,
pressing their bodies together, face to face. He thrust once, twice,
three times, and it was over. Lewis clutched him tightly as they rode
out the spasms together.
They lay exhausted, holding each other close, for a few minutes
before either had the energy to speak again.
"So what's this mean?" Meldrick asked softly.
"I don't know. I don't want to think about it."
Lewis continued his train of thought. "We both still like
women, right? I mean, you ain't going around doing this every day?"
He pulled away a little. "Are you?"
"No. I told you, I never did this before. But I want to do it
again."
"Yeah. Me too." He was ashamed to admit it, but it was true.
"At least with you."
He turned his head away so Bayliss couldn't see the raw need in
his eyes. "I'm gonna get a shower," he said abruptly.
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No…" he murmured. "But we gotta get some sleep now."
"Okay." Bayliss was half-asleep already.
Lewis took a long shower, washing every trace of Bayliss from
his body, but unable to drive him so easily from his mind. 'The hell
with it,' he thought finally. 'He's out there, he's probably sound
asleep, and I'll think about it in the morning.' He opened the
bathroom door, and was stunned by the sight of the other detective
hastily dressing, making sure he had everything he'd arrived with.
"Thought you were staying," Lewis said, not sure whether to be
hurt or relieved.
"Didn't you hear your pager?"
"Not in the shower."
"Howard called. First me, then you. They got the tox screen
back on Lutz. He died from an overdose of morphine."
Lewis scrambled for his own clothes. "Shit. And we released
the crime scene."
"Yeah," Bayliss said ruefully, already halfway out the door.
"I'll see you back at work."