Changes, p.23
Changes, page 23
His provocation and lack of fear clearly gave the men pause. They stopped in a ragged bunch on the sidewalk in front of him. Beyond them, a couple of people leaving the bar stopped too. Good enough.
He pitched his voice high and loud. “You really need to treat gay people with respect, you know?” Much lower, he added, “You dumb sissies.” He deliberately turned his back, stepping through the light. The shadows at his feet let him see the first guy lunge. He let the man swing, going with it enough that the blow barely landed. His stumble was theatrical, and exaggerated. The men laughed and moved forward with confidence. And Nick turned, fists ready, knowing his eyes would be blazing as the mask came down. He landed two short hits to the first man’s ribs before the others even reacted.
To his delight, they came at him in anger, rather than backing off. Yes! “Let me show you how we fags beat redneck asses,” he said. Stupid motherfuckers still thought he couldn’t take on three of them. He moved fast and hard, as the familiar high of a good fight took hold. No rules here.
Boxing had even helped him. His punches were snappier, his coordination better. The idiots were bigger but drunk enough to get in each other’s way. A meaty smack to his cheekbone only made him grin. He dropped low, out of an attempted bear hug, stepped back, and snarled, “Stinking breath, motherfucker,” as he took the hugger down with a sharp kick to the side of his knee.
Sirens wailed in the distance, approaching fast. He debated taking off running, but instead leaped back several rapid steps, out of the fight. The guys didn’t chase him. One knelt, hands pressed to his knee, one was doubled over his gut. The third crouched staring after Nick but didn’t move.
A cop car pulled up to the curb. Nick said loudly for his audience, “Oh good, the cops are here! I’m safe now.”
The patrolman who got out was big and beefy, hand hovering by his holster, ready for trouble. Nick called out, “Good to see you, officer!”
A second car wailed up, lights flashing. This time it was a woman, tall and blond and severe in her pristine uniform. The other cop waited for her, then approached them. “What’s going on here?”
One of the drunks said, “He attacked us!” He pointed at Nick.
Nick laughed. “Yeah, right, I took on three big guys, for fun.”
A bystander said, “That big guy hit the dark-haired one from behind. And then he turned around, and hit him back.” A babble of voices either backed him up or made some other comment.
Nick could see some of the tension leaving the cops, as they realized they didn’t have to physically break up the fight. The woman said, “Everyone shut up. We’ll get to you one at a time.”
“I don’t want to press charges,” Nick said. “I mean, yeah, it was a hate crime and assault. But hey, they’re drunk and they picked on an ex-cop. I think they learned a lesson.”
“Hate crime?”
“They were yelling antigay insults. At some other guy first, then at me. Right?” He surveyed the crowd, and got a murmur of agreement, although a “fuckin’ fag” comment from the back suggested not everyone was on his side.
“Ex-cop?” the male cop asked.
“Just left the job. Most recently worked the Ninth Precinct under Petrosian.”
One of his ex-punching-bags said, “That’s bullshit. He’s lying. He started it, coming on to us and touching us.”
Nick laughed. “In your dreams.”
The female cop said, “You have ID? Take it out slowly.”
Nick fished in his back pocket with two fingers, giving an exaggerated wince and saying, “Must’ve caught a punch in the ribs from those guys.” He pulled out his wallet, removed his driver’s license, and passed it over.
“Rugo.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re that guy…”
He wasn’t sure which version of his general humiliation was making the rounds. If he was lucky it was just the part about failing to stop a kidnapping. “Let’s just say it’s been a hell of a week. And getting slugged in the back of the head by one of those bozos didn’t improve it.”
“I bet.” She sounded almost sympathetic. “You’re sure you don’t want to press charges?”
“Hey!” The guy with the bad knee leaned on one of his buddies, still clutching his leg. “What if I wanna press charges? Motherfucker kicked me!”
“Three on one, and you jumped him first?” She laughed in his face. “You’d better be happy if he lets it go.”
Nick’s adrenaline was slowly draining, leaving him tired. He said, “Can I leave now?”
“If you’re not making a formal complaint…” She turned to him. “Are you driving?”
“Yeah.” He pointed toward his car.
“Will you blow over the limit if I test you?”
He shook his head. “Not even close.”
“Then yeah. In a minute.” She made a note of his name and address. “Here. You might want your license. Now go ahead while we finish up with these losers.”
The nighttime cold was seeping in under his jacket and sweatshirt, making him shiver. There was no reason to hang around. No responsibilities, no more action, and he felt empty again. He stuck his ID in his wallet, turned, and walked away from the redneck yahoos. They’d either learned their lesson, or they’d go after the next faggot with a gun. He didn’t know anymore. Maybe he was as stupid as they were.
His hands hurt, and his ribs ached with each breath. He was done. Just… so done with being himself. He got into the car but didn’t start it. Down the block he could see the flashing lights, the clump of people still gathered but thinning out. The two cops would get names for their reports, then get into their cars and head out on the job. The next call might be anything, accident, robbery, lost kid, the stuff he used to live for.
And he was going home to let his dog out. And then… if Brian had been home, they might’ve watched a movie, or he might help Brian figure out his bank statement. Maybe they’d try to bake cookies and fuck it up. Maybe they’d play some dumb video game.
An empty house was just a shell to bounce around in. Three days now. Was Brian even awake? Alive?
No, he wouldn’t think that way. Not yet. Damon had kept Brian safe, even if locked inside Bry, for how many years? He needed to have some patience, and trust Brian to get a message through. He tipped his head back and pictured it happening— a ~come get me text on his phone. Or even losing Luger. The tracker should work, but if it didn’t, if Damon somehow spotted it… Still, Luger gone would at least mean Brian was alive and awake enough to want his dog. Maybe he’ll Find me. He had a vision of Brian walking across the state in search of him, turning up at last on the doorstep. He closed his eyes to imagine it better.
He woke with the worst crick in his neck, and a dry sticky-foul mouth. The street had gone quiet, the neon lights dimmed, barely a handful of parked cars left along the curb. His whole body seized up as he tried to move. I’m too old for this. The thought made him laugh painfully, because he was twenty-five, and he felt old. Washed up, destroyed his career. Lost the guy he cared for. Too damned crazy for his mentor at the gym. Too fucking slow to keep a couple of drunk posers from landing punches in a fight.
Too fucking pathetic to try harder?
No. Just no. He’d find Brian. Figure out the job thing. No one ever said Nick Rugo couldn’t take a punch and keep going.
Although right now he couldn’t think of anyplace to go except home.
Which might not even be home much longer, if Brian and the department weren’t paying the rent, and he had no job… He pushed himself straighter and turned the key in the ignition. I can sell the trailer. Funny how the place he’d thought would be his forever was now just a place to store some stuff, and the dumb short-term rental was home. But not without Brian there. Have to find him.
A quick check on the receiver for Luger’s collar, stored in the glove compartment, showed the transponder where it’d been the last two days, not moving, back at the house. Nothing yet. Fuck. He closed down his thoughts, and drove. As he approached the house, he was startled to see an unfamiliar car parked in his driveway, a faint electronic glow lighting the inside. He paused and let his car idle in the street, eyeing the shadowed form of the driver.
Not Brian. He knew that instantly. His first hope— he found a way to get back here— crashed immediately. Damon? A cop or Fed? Then the guy moved, turning to look his way, and he recognized the shape of the head. Charlie!
He pulled in alongside and cut the engine. Charlie got out at the same time he did, and they eyed each other over the roof of his car. The dome light shone up enough to highlight bags under Charlie’s eyes, and drawn creases at the corners of his mouth. “Hey,” he said, sounding as tired as he looked. “You know what time it is?”
“Late. Way late. So what’re you doing here?”
“Waiting for some clown who was out drinking and fighting, obviously.”
“How—?” He touched his cheek, feeling the pain of a bruise. “What makes you think I was drinking?”
Charlie laughed, erasing some of the lines on his face, and came round the car to him. Nick didn’t even bother to resist being pulled into a hug. He sagged, hard enough that he was ashamed of it but couldn’t seem to stop. He grabbed Charlie around the back and held tight and leaned on him. Charlie’s good arm across his shoulders kept him from falling. After a long minute, he just said, “C’mon, Nicko. Let’s go inside. My back’s wrecked from the airline seat and the car. You owe me a bed and a story. In the other order.”
It was hard to unlock his arms and lift his head from Charlie’s wide shoulder, but he did it. “Sure. I’ll even throw in a cup of coffee.”
“If I drink any more coffee, my pretty blue eyes will go brown.”
“You’re so full of shit they’re already brown.” Nick pushed open the front door. Luger came to meet them, tail-wag visibly drooping when it was just Charlie behind Nick. The dog gave Charlie the cursory sniff and glare of a known-but-not-trusted stranger. Nick bent to rub his flattened ears, indescribably glad he wasn’t coming home alone right now. “Sorry, dog. Brian’s not here yet. Maybe soon.”
Charlie gave him a nudge that didn’t quite unbalance him. “Comfy chair. Story.”
He shut the door and led them to the living room. Charlie dropped on the couch and stretched out his legs with a loud sigh, and Nick hesitated. “I bet we have tea, if you don’t want coffee. Or water?”
Charlie slapped the cushion next to his legs. “Park it and spill it, Rugo.”
“Um.” But he didn’t fight it, just sat uneasily on the edge of the worn couch beside Charlie’s ankles. This is Brian’s end. Charlie’s on my end… “I have to go back a long way. A real long way.”
Charlie leaned back and closed his eyes, like he knew that might make it easier. “I flew sixteen hundred miles with two layovers today. I think I’ve got time for a long story.”
“Well. The first time I really met Brian, I was ducking out of a bar fight…”
He spilled his guts. All his own secrets, because he knew Charlie was safe to keep them, and a few of Brian’s too. The Finding wasn’t much of a secret these days, when guys like Quentin knew about it. And Charlie had met Brian— the real Brian— here at home and dancing at that club, talking, laughing. It wasn’t a betrayal to call Bry a mask, an act, an armor.
When he finally wound down, Charlie opened one eye to look at him. “Have I ever said you live an interesting life, Nicko?”
Nick swallowed and cracked a grin. “I seem to remember something about that when I went off with those redhead twins at the college bar.”
Charlie wiggled a foot behind Nick to give his ass a light kick. “Quit clowning. This is serious.”
Like I don’t know that? “You? Serious?”
“It’s not about me.” Charlie sat up straight, and opened both eyes to give him a long, sad look. “You don’t think Brian’s coming back, do you?”
“When did I ever say that?”
“When you spent next month’s rent money on some wild hope the brother might steal his dog?”
“It’s not that wild. Damon’s real into taking care of his brother and sister—” Nick cut himself off with a sigh. “Okay, yeah. I’m worried. But not because I don’t think Brian wants to be here.” He might not miss me the same way I’m missing him, but he was happy here. Right?
“For what it’s worth, I only saw you two together a couple times, but I agree. He wouldn’t up and leave you.”
“If he has the choice.” His worries spilled out of him. “What if Damon took them out of state, or even out of the country? What if he’s on some new guarded estate somewhere? Brian can’t even remember my phone number. He doesn’t have his phone, his links, anything. He can’t read a damned bus schedule. How’s he going to find me?”
“Maybe by calling information and asking for the Minneapolis Police Department?”
“Maybe but… Brian’s protective of Damon too. He knows the PD is looking for Damon and Lori, and so’s the DEA, and maybe the FBI now for kidnapping. He’d want to be sure he didn’t betray them.”
“He’s a smart guy, Nicko.” Charlie laid a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll figure something out.”
“But what if he didn’t wake up?” Nick bit his rebellious tongue, because he wasn’t ever going to say it, but it leaked out. “He’d been in a coma for five days already. What if he never wakes up?”
“It sounds like Damon will keep him safe then, even if you don’t find him.” Charlie’s voice was soft and reasonable, and acid on his skin.
Nick popped out from under Charlie’s touch and stood. “You’re right, Brian’s a smart guy. I expect he’ll call any time. Or follow my trace back here. Whatever it takes.” He strode toward the kitchen. “I should let the dog out.”
Luger darted past him at full speed as he popped the kitchen door. He muttered an apology for keeping him inside so long, and leaned on the doorframe, watching the dog unload and then prowl the dark yard. Behind him, Charlie said, “How can I help?”
A bellyful of angry words rose in Nick’s throat. You can’t. Go home. It’s all fucked. You’re useless. I’m useless. He managed to hold them back and say what Brian would have said, “I’m glad you came.” He added, “I guess there’s not much I can do but wait.”
“Well, then, I’ll wait with you,” Charlie said quietly.
Chapter 13
Brian wanted to scream. Not in a kid way, like he used to sometimes when it all got to be too much, where Bry could unload his feelings out loud. This time, he wanted to scream in a full adult rant “I’m going home! You can’t keep me here. I’m not your pet or your responsibility anymore.”
But he didn’t, because he was still too chickenshit to face up to Damon. Chickenshit was one of Nick’s words, and he repeated it in his head, because it reminded him there were important people outside these four walls.
It wasn’t just cowardice, of course. Doc was here all the time, and it wasn’t clear what Doc knew or was supposed to find out. After Damon’s first short nothing visit for five minutes, two days ago, he hadn’t shown up again. Doc had set up a cot for himself six feet from the bed, so he was around night and day, and barely left to shower. He even sat on his cot and ate from a tray, while Bry was allowed to slowly spoon some oatmeal or pudding glop. Like now.
Today’s stuff was grosser than the usual. He was getting his strength back, compared to the limp arm-noodles he’d had when he first woke up, so he dug his spoon into the green, mushy paste and flicked the spoonful at Doc. Bullseye. The glob hit satisfyingly close to Doc’s mouth, a smear across his thin cheekbone.
Doc jolted and looked up at him, frowning hard. Yay. He was really tired of the guy’s professional calm.
“It’s yucky!” He scooped another spoonful, took aim. Doc ducked, and the green glob hit the wall. That was okay too. He was coming to hate those walls. “Looks like snot.”
Doc set his own tray aside on the bed and stood. “You need to eat.”
“So get me some good stuff. Like McDonald’s. I could eat french fries.”
“You need good nutrition.”
“I need tastes-good. Why can’t I have real food? I’m not choking or barfing or anything.”
“Your stomach needs to get used to variety again.”
“Because you gave me nothing but tubey milkshakes.” He wasn’t sure what the tube-feeding stuff was, but it looked as bland as nutrition could get. He’d had three bottles of it since he woke up, at a slow drip. Off-white goo. It made him feel queasy to see it seeping down the tube into his body without him even having to swallow. “I want the tube out, and I want french fries.”
“The tube will come out tomorrow, I promise.”
“Today. Now.” He reached under the covers toward the wrap on his stomach that covered the capped end of the feeding tube.
Doc lunged for him and grabbed his wrist. “You promised you’d leave that alone if I untied you.”
Yeah, that had been the first battle, when he’d threatened to unhook himself and walk out. He’d done it too soon, though, and been easily overpowered by this tall, skinny dude he probably outweighed by forty pounds. He was an idiot, and had ended up in Velcro restraints for half a day.
“Damon will get mad if you tie me up.”
“Damon will listen if I tell him it was the only way to keep you safe.”
“Because he loves you more than he loves me?” He didn’t actually think there was anything going on between Doc and Damon, but he did like making Doc get irritated and seeing him blush and stammer, and this turned out to be one way to do that.
“I doubt your brother loves either of us, or anyone else for that matter,” Doc snapped.
