Chaos: Contemporary Biker Romance (52 page)

“Do you think I'm cute?” Carter asked, getting no response. The guy pushed him on his back, pulling off his pants and underwear at the same time. The guy was already hard and he crawled on his knees along the bed, to the point he could put himself near Carter's mouth, where Carter could take him in, tasting him fully. Carter grabbed the guy's cheeks from behind, squeezing them somehow opened his nasal passages, clearing the way for his olfactory bulbs to get a good whiff of the guy's scent. It was a brutish sweetness, something Carter didn't expect. The guy began pumping himself into Carter's mouth vigorously, as if he were in a hurry, and Carter used the guys cheeks as a break. He was enjoying this, and he couldn't stop himself from thinking what it would be like to have a threesome with this guy and Stetson. He wondered how Stetson would react to seeing the love of his life being used, pliant, like a toy by another guy, who didn't seem to care at all how Carter was doing. The guy continued pumping away for a few second then got back down on the bed, rolling over lackadaisically. He seemed tired for a second, and Carter tried getting on top of him, lying with his waist on the bed, kissing his chest, but he wouldn't have any of it, pushing him off and pulling him to the edge of the bed. He was naked and hanging off the bed as the guy guided himself to Carter's entrance, forcing himself into him without any lube. Carter expected the sensation to be painful but it was more pleasurable than he anticipated. The guy did let Carter hang his ankles on his shoulders as he pumped into him for several moments. In fact, several moments seemed much longer than really what it was. The guy continued pumping away inside Carter, and he tried to bend Carter into a contortionist position. It hurt a little at first, but Carter was willing to let it happen. He wanted the guy so much to like him, for reasons he wasn't aware of. As the guy continued pumping away inside him, he looked into his eyes, searching for signs of inner life. He wanted to know why this person, who seemed in all ways human didn't show more emotion. He tried touching the side of his face, but the guy shook it out, letting out only a faint smile. He pulled out and flipped Carter over on his stomach, leaving him to know what the guy was doing only the sensation of his nether regions on Carter's bottom. Carter stuffed his face into the guy's bedspread, inhaling no doubt the scent of scores of girl they guy had been with, in this loft of lofts. The pressure on his ass was too intense and he pushed the guy to stop. Carter got up off the bed and walked around the side of the elevated area in the apartment to test whether the guy would let him perform analingus. He wasn't having that either, and he got up and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. When the guy came back, he planted one cold, callous kiss on Carter's lips and stared at him for several moments before Carter's reverie broke.

--

He checked the analog clock on the dashboard, which read 12:05 AM. Ingram was late and the Saturday evening partiers were dwindling down the road in their sports cars and drunken shouting. The quietness to Carter was eerie, as he could hear the locusts in the night and feel the humid summer air wrap itself around his neck like a mildly suffocating cat. Nothing but silence when a mustang pulled into the parking lot. Carter could feel the paranoia of being watched all around him, through the trees across the street, the stares from the man at the register, watching him through the front window, all the passers-by getting gas at the pumps, the drunk fat girl competing for a spot in her friend's group. They all knew what he was doing, and they would stop him, just like Presley Watkins stopped him, and his own brother stopped him before that. The driver in the mustang got out of the car--it was Michael Ingram, dressed civilian uniform. He took a glance around him, finding no one suspicious, then got into the passenger seat of the blue truck.

“Did you get it?”

Ingram took a look at Carter from the corner of his eye. “Yes, calm down. I got what you wanted.”

“Well let's hear it then.” Carter grabbed the tape from Ingram's hand and popped it into the cassette player.

There were two voices mixed with the sound of cloth rubbed on a microphone (probably Ingram's coat pocket).

“Howdy partner. It's been a while. You ready to get some criminals?”

“Sure thing Lt.”

“What you been up to over your vacation the last few weeks?”

“Aw, nothing much. I was just hanging out with my wife. She's got this new technique she does with her tongue. Let me tell you.”

“Oh yeah? How was it?”

“Bitch can suck start a leaf blower ha-ha.”

“That's great man. I'm happy your marriage is going great.”

“So did you hear about that cowboy on death row?”

“What about him?”

“He got stabbed by another prisoner. He's recuperating in the hospital.”

“Deserves the son of a bitch right. Bastard had it coming.”

“We sure put him straight didn't we?”

“Hell yes we did. He never knew what was going to hit him. Glad we took care of that jury member too.”

“I took care of that jury member, remember, you pussy. And if it wasn't for me that cowboy would be home free. I had to make sure he was going to the chair.”

“You're a hero aren't ya.”

“What I did was between me and you. I can't get caught rigging things--” Carter stopped the tape, his eyes bright and full of life.

“That's it! We got him! Yeah, you did it.”

“Quiet your voice Carter. Now you've got something you can use, and I'll just say you put the thing in my pocket.”

“Ok ok.”

V

By the time the guards decided to break up the fight in the shower, three other prisoners had entered the area trying to help. One of them, Kwahu Ross, a Native American from Iowa, stood several inches above everyone else, second in stature only to Stetson himself. Ross found Pops the Queen with three broken teeth, a fractured cheek bone, busted rib, strained ankle and finger, and a torn ACL. Stetson had a mild bruise on his thigh.

“They really don't like you, do they?” he said, helping Stetson fold laundry in the back room.

“Jealous I guess.”

“No. You killed one of their own. You in small town, friend. Only big gang commit crimes. Have to survive.” The Indian looked away from Stetson and continued folding the towels. There was one other prisoner at the other end of the room, but it was clear he couldn't hear what their conversation was about.

Stetson was a good judge of character, even if he couldn't relate to many people well. This Kwahu Ross exhibited something otherworldly, something mystical, and it reminded Stetson of a time in childhood when he was still afraid of the dark, where the twilight area between sleep and wakefulness still held mystery. He couldn't quite figure out what Kwahu was about, but his gut told him that he was a good man, looking out for Stetson's best interest.

“You need help. You need friend,” he said, looking at Stetson knowingly. Stetson nodded. Yes he needed help. They said nothing else when the guard who tried to feed Stetson shit the day before yesterday entered the room with a malicious smile on his face. The man was small, feeble, dwarf-like.

“Mr. Carthswaite! We're looking for some labor on the other wing! Why don't you come with me, and I'll protect you.” Stetson gave one last look at Kwahu before going.

“Stay safe friend,” he said, cutting his eyes almost imperceptibly in the dwarf-guard's direction.

That night, Stetson lied in his cell, his back aching from the earlier fight, and he dreamed of Carter. He imagined this time he was in a boat with Carter, on a lake in Michigan, maybe. The pine trees bristled in the distance as Carter bent over the boat, taking him in from behind, no one else on the lake, nothing to disturb them. Carter's skin glistened beautifully in the sunlight and they decided it would be time to jump in the lake to skinny dip. Carter went first, and Stetson stood over the boat, looking down on Carter with a smile on his face. Then he dropped his trousers and jumped in after, making a large splash in the water appropriate for a man his size. He then chased Carter naked through the cold water, as the sun beat hard and hot down on the back of their necks. Carter tried to swim faster than Stetson but unsurprisingly he was no match. The lake's depths weren't captured well by the blue water, so as he overcame Carter in their silent swimming match, he could see him in all his glory underneath water. He grabbed him from behind, stroking in the water, attempting to get his member fully engorged. He wrapped his large, thick arms around Carter in a semi-headlock, the way a male best friend would. But Carter wasn't just Stetson's best friend. He was his love. He ran his hand underneath the water, along the crack of his butt, between his legs. The water made the inside of Carter's thighs smooth and slick as he snuggled underneath Stetson's massive frame in the water. Stetson held Carter up in the water as he would a small ballerina, or a baby he was cooing at. He tossed him high into the air, and Carter let out a squeal of delight, landing back in the water with joy. He fell too deep and Stetson wondered where he went, worrying if perhaps he drowned. After a few seconds, the guy didn't emerge from the depths of the lake and Stetson began to panic. The total of losing him wasn't bearable.

He dove into the lake, swimming down and down, toward the bottom of the lake, the pressure of the water crushing his face with every inch he moved down. After a few moments, he had to use all his strength to fight his way down into the depths of the lake, where the sunlight above could not penetrate. Stetson closed his eyes, reaching into the darkness for Carter, until his fingers hit sand. He dug into the mud on the bottom of the lake, unable to find any sign of his love. He fought and fought and fought to no avail, to the point he could no longer hold his breath. He swam up into the light vigorously before he drowned. At the surface of the lake, he could find no sign of Carter, who was gone from him forever. And then he woke up.

VI

Carter walked into the court house of Baggs, Wyoming sweating. He was a small gay guy in a hateful little city. He could practically feel the hatred beating down him from the clerks and officers in the building. He walked straight up to the same clerk who had dismissed him a few months back.

“I need to speak with the judge,” he said. The black woman laughed.

“The judge does not see random homosexuals, sir.”

“Bitch just let me talk to him. Is he in his office today?”

“Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. I regardless, it's your place to enter someone's office when you don't have permission.”

“I have something I need to show him about my friend's trial. It's important. An emergency.” The police officer watched from a distance, trying to be discreet while still keeping an eye on the situation.

“Sir, I done told you. You need to go home; the judge won't see you.”

“Who do I have to talk to with some sense around here? I need to see the judge, and I'm not leaving until you let me in.”

The woman deliberately amplified her voice to make a scene. “Sir, I told you! We cannot let you in his office. He doesn't see random people from the street. If you need to submit a formal complaint, then just get a lawyer.”

In that moment, Carter could no longer control himself. Everything that had been building up since he lost Maddox came to head; images sped through his mind like a racing movie projector--Jaidon killing his boyfriend, being kidnapped, Presley Watkins arresting Stetson, the trial, the verdict, the sentencing. It was just all too much. He blew up.

“Listen to me you ignorant bitch. I'm going to see the judge no matter what. I'm going to show him what I have. If you don't cooperate I'll go to the Chicago Sun Times and tell everyone how much trouble you're giving me, and in three days you'll have a swarm of reporters, camera men, and talk show hosts interviewing you about why you didn't help the poor little gay boy from getting help. I'll make your life hell. Now get me the FUCKING JUDGE!”

She was taken aback, but now the police officers made their over to his direction.

“Sir is there a problem?”

“It's okay,” the judge said from behind the counter. Now everyone in the building was looking in Carter's direction. At this point, he was used to it. “Let me hear what he wants to show me. Let's go back into my office, son.”

Carter followed the judge into his office and showed him the tape, which detailed Presley Watkins rigging the jury.

“Doesn't that demand a retrial?” Carter asked.

The judge sat silently for a pregnant moment before saying anything. Carter was certain the judge would help him this time. “Whose voice is that besides Watkins?”

“It's Michael Ingram. I slipped a tape recorder in his pocket.”

“Does Watkins know his partner was spying on him?”

“What does it matter, judge?”

“I think it's time I paid a visit to Mr. Watkins office.”

“No you can't do that, sir. He'll destroy Detective Ingram.” At this point, Carter was just desperate. His pulse pounded and the room started spinning. If the judge didn't help him, if he was on Watkins' side, Carter's plan would completely backfire. There was be no retrial. There would be no redemption. Everything would be lost. Carter thought this as he sat back in the chair, watching the judge put on his coat, walk out of the courthouse, across the street, and into the police department.