Desperate Enemies 3 (8 page)

“There is a young man who lives on my street who claims to be the rightful heir to the property in question,” he continued. “Unfortunately, he is in cahoots with Converse.”

“And what is this young man's name?” asked Miller, his eyes still glued to the stage.

“Parker St. John,” replied Edgar. “He claims that George Saunders is his father.”

“George Saunders, the old loon up on Lombard?” asked Miller, another sidelong glance at Edgar.

“Yes,” replied Edgar. “I tried talking to him but he's out of his mind.”

Miller took another sip.

“Sounds like something a paternity test could settle,” he offered.

“I doubt we could force that issue,” replied Edgar, stonily. Since when had Miller become so goddamned pragmatic? He was out of ideas; that's why he was here. Miller was a man of action.

Both men were silent as the music continued to blare from the speakers, propelling the dancers on the stage as they twirled and gyrated against the brass poles. Finally, it was Edgar who again spoke.

“Please, Miller,” he said, “you're my last hope. Are you going to help me or not?”

“And why would I do that?” asked Miller. “I'm too old to get shot by some psycho.”

“I'll pay you well for anything you can come up with,” Edgar replied, “just like the old days.”

Miller gave another sidelong glance and shook his head, smiling. His eyes were either misty or glassy from the scotch, Edgar couldn't tell which.

“The old days are gone, Edgar,” he said, “dead and buried.”

Edgar didn't reply and looked back at the action on the stage. More breasts greeted him. This time it was Miller who spoke first.

“I'll call you if I find anything,” he said. “Good seeing you, Edgar.”

He held his hand out and Edgar shook it, suddenly comprehending that this was his cue to exit.

“Good seeing you, Miller.”

Edgar stepped out onto busy Columbus Street, momentarily blinded by the sun but grateful to be in relatively fresh air once again. Nearby, a barker called to passersby, attempting to lure them inside for the lurid show. The sound of his voice was jarring and all Edgar wanted was to be somewhere quiet, so he crossed the street in search of a quiet drink at Tosca.

* * * *

Edgar's meeting with Miller hadn't taken nearly as long as he had imagined, so he found himself back on the road to Wonderland earlier than expected. He had even managed to stop at a little shop in Chinatown to buy something for Jack, a bundle of rice paper that he liked to use as stationery and a couple of silk pillows for the spare bedroom. Of course, the irony of having bought something for their house when it was uncertain whether or not they would be
staying
in the house was not lost on Edgar, but he bought the pillows anyway. They would make Jack happy, and that's all that mattered.

Although it wasn't quite fall, Edgar could feel it in the air. . . could smell it, could feel it. . . and although it was not quite five o'clock when he pulled the car back onto Eldon Court, the sun was already beginning its quick descent toward the horizon, where the Pacific seemed to drop off the end of the earth.

Edgar pulled the car into the driveway and parked. He could see the lamp on in the bay window overlooking the front porch and, as he pulled the shopping bag from the hatch back, saw Jack's face appear in the window. Edgar gave a little wave and, by the time he was on the porch, Jack had joined him, their dog Ollie at his feet.

“Hi, handsome,” he said, throwing his arms around Edgar's neck and kissing him on the lips.

“Hi,” laughed Edgar, reciprocating. “I need to drive into the city more often!”

“How was the city?” asked Jack.

“Wonderful, as usual,” replied Edgar, “but I found myself wishing you were there, too.”

“And your meeting?”

“Fine, I think,” replied Edgar. “But, first, I brought you something.”

He offered the shopping bags to Jack, who took them and sat in the wicker loveseat nearby. He pulled out the pillows first.

“These will be great. . .”

“In the spare room,” said Edgar. “That's what I thought.”

Jack pulled out the bundle of rice paper and smiled.

“Thanks,” he said, “I was running low on this.”

“You're welcome,” replied Edgar. He sat down beside Jack on the loveseat. “How was
your
day?”

“Interesting,” replied Jack.

“What do you mean ‘interesting'?” asked Edgar. “Did you see something?”

“I did,” replied Jack.

Edgar stared at his partner, hoping for an explanation.

“Well,
what
?” he finally asked.

“You've got to promise not to be mad,” said Jack.

“Why?” asked Edgar, his brow furrowed.

“Well, I took Ollie out for a walk. . .”

“Jack,” interrupted Edgar, “I'm not mad at you for leaving the house. . . I just said that you should lock the doors when you're here alone.”

“Well,” continued Jack, “anyway, we were walking up the street and I heard this noise. . .”

“What
kind
of noise?” asked Edgar.

“That's what I'm trying to tell you,” replied Jack. “It was like a
digging
noise, so I went to look, and there are holes all over the back yard of Number Two.”

“Wait,” said Edgar, “you went into the back yard of that house? What if somebody had
seen
you?”

“Well, I had to grab Ollie,” said Jack, “he got away and, besides, Parker saw me.”

“What did he say?” asked Edgar.

“He told me to mind my own business,” replied Jack. He decided not to mention the indecent proposal, knowing that Edgar was already unhappy with his story, anyway.

Edgar was silent for a moment and then looked back at his partner.

“Did he happen to mention what he was doing?” asked Edgar.

Jack shook his head.

Of course not
, thought Edgar.
Why would he tell us what he's up to?

“Could you see anything in or around the holes?” asked Edgar. “I mean, was he digging
up
something or burying something?”

“I don't know,” replied Jack. “I didn't see anything, but it felt creepy and I couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't looking for bones or something. . .”

Edgar nodded and placed a hand on Jack's leg.

“I'm just glad you're okay,” he said.

Jack stood up, gathering his gifts as he did.

“Dinner should be about ready,” he said, “if you want to go and get cleaned up beforehand.”

“Good idea,” agreed Edgar.

He held the door open to allow Jack and Ollie to enter and followed. As Jack disappeared into the kitchen, Edgar headed up the stairs to wash up. As he passed his study on the way to the bathroom, the sight of his manuscript on his desk stopped him in his tracks. He walked into the study and turned on the desk lamp and, with trembling hands, picked up the manuscript and read aloud the first two words:

Fool's Gold

Jack, who had just pulled a cheese souffle from the oven, nearly jumped at the sight of his partner standing suddenly in the door.

“That was fast,” he said. “What's wrong?”

“Jack,” said Edgar, “I think I might know what's buried here and why Converse wants the land so badly.”

“Why?”

“Gold,” replied Edgar.

“Gold?”

“Think about it,” said Edgar, “this area was settled during the Gold Rush. . . it would certainly go a long way in explaining why Converse wants the land so badly and could explain why Parker was digging in the back yard today. . .”

Jack slowly nodded, taking it all in.

“By the way,” continued Edgar, “he was shirtless, wasn't he?”

“Hmm?”

“Parker,” pressed Edgar, “he was shirtless. Furry bastard.”

“Oh,” replied Jack, blushing a little, “yeah, I guess he was.”

“Bitch,” teased Edgar. “No wonder you were in his backyard.”

* * * *

As they dined on cheese souffle and a salad, a bottle of Pinot Grigio opened between them, Jack and Edgar continued their discussion of the possibility of buried treasure.

“You don't suppose there's treasure buried on
our
property, do you?” asked Jack.

Edgar laughed.

“I have no idea,” he replied, truly amused. “We don't even know if my theory is correct so, before we dig up our entire lawn and garden, we'd better just hold off for awhile.”

“We could buy a metal detector,” suggested Jack, causing Edgar to nearly choke on the sip of wine in his mouth.

“You're too much,” laughed Edgar, wiping spilled wine from his chin.

A thought occurred to Edgar, however; given the fact that the theory was, for the moment, just a theory, and the fact that, armed with this knowledge, most people would react like Jack and their neighborhood would resemble a block of Swiss cheese in no time, Edgar thought it best to keep the theory of buried gold between him and Jack.

“For the time being,” he said. “If it seems important later then we can bring it up.”

“Okay,” agreed Jack. He stood up and began gathering the empty plates in front of them but Edgar grabbed him and pulled him to his lap, instead. Dining with Jack in their beautiful dining room suddenly filled Edgar with feelings of nostalgia, longing even. Maybe it was just the wine.

“What are you doing?” asked Jack. “I need to clean up.”

“Later,” said Edgar, kissing Jack's neck. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you, too,” replied Jack. He wrapped his arms around Edgar's neck and kissed him on the lips.

“I have something for you,” said Edgar.

“Something else?” asked Jack. “After the pillows and paper?”

He could feel the erection growing under his ass and realized that Edgar wasn't talking about anything he had bought in San Francisco. This, of course, caused Jack's cock to swell too.

“Take your clothes off,” instructed Edgar.

Jack kissed Edgar one more time and then arose, quickly pulling his Polo shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He then began to slowly unbutton his jeans, which he tossed onto his empty chair. Stripped down to his white briefs, his boner was obvious as it peeked out the side of his underwear.

“Take off your shorts,” said Edgar.

“What about you?”

“Your underwear,” repeated Edgar, “take them off.”

Jack peeled off the tight briefs and tossed them to Edgar, who sniffed them before tossing them onto the floor.

“Get on the table,” instructed Edgar. He patted the spot in front of his chair and moved back a couple of feet to accommodate Jack. Jack dutifully climbed onto the table in front of his partner, his legs dangling over the edge. A shiny, clear glob of pre-come had already pooled on the head of Jack's stiff, uncut dick and it glistened in the candlelight.

“Stroke it for me.”

Jack began to slowly caress his meat, his nuts splayed out on the dark wood beneath him. He fingered his nipples while he beat off, watching as his lover took in the show.

Edgar was as hard as a slab of marble and pulled his own swollen dick from the fly of his slacks, tugging at it gently as he enjoyed his private peep show.

“Put your feet on the table,” instructed Edgar, “let me see your hole.”

Again, Jack complied, leaning back on one elbow, his asshole now visible to Edgar beneath his quickly contracting balls.

Edgar reached over and captured the wad of pre-come on his index finger, which he placed in Jack's mouth.

“Tastes good, doesn't it?”

Jack nodded as he sucked his juice off of Edgar's finger, his body tingling with anticipation.

“Finger your hole for me,” said Edgar.

Jack moistened his fingers in his mouth and then worked one into his ass. The sensation was dizzying, and he stroked his meat slowly, tentatively, not wanting to get off too quickly.

Suddenly, Edgar arose from his seat and pulled Jack toward him by his ankles all the way to the edge of the table. Edgar spit on the end of his erect cock and, in one fluid motion, pushed the head into Jack's asshole as he slid him down the table.

“Ahhh. . .” Jack groaned.

Edgar pushed, thrusting his hips and, suddenly, he was in, filling up Jack's ass.

“Shit,” hissed Jack, his body tingling, his nipples erect and pink.

Edgar fucked Jack, sliding his meat in and out of the tight hole, causing the table to creak beneath them. Finally, Jack could take no more.

“Use me, Eddy,” he said, his asshole tightening its grip on Edgar's cock. “Fuck. . . fuck!”

The first shot cleared Jack's head and landed on the table above him. The second shot hit him in the face and on his chest. As his body convulsed, continuing to suck Edgar's cock, Edgar grasped Jack's upraised ankles and bore deep into him, unleashing a throbbing load.

“Shit,” he rasped.

Not quite finished with his game of peep show voyeur, Edgar pulled his cock out, stuffed it back into his slacks and pulled a twenty out of his pocket, which he tossed onto Jack's naked a sullied body.

“Thanks,” he said, winking.

Jack laughed until he saw the make believe tip.

“Twenty dollars?” he wailed. “All that was worth was twenty dollars?”

“Sorry,” joked Edgar. “That's all I have.”

“Fine,” said Jack, rising from the table, “I'm keeping it, and you still have to do the dishes!”

Edgar playfully slapped Jack's naked ass as he passed.

* * * *

The next morning Edgar was awakened by the sound of the phone ringing. Jack was still asleep next to him and he quickly grabbed the receiver, not wanting to wake him.

“Hello?”

“Edgar?” asked a familiar voice. “It's Ben. . . Ben Wilson from the
Chronicle
.”

Edgar rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, trying to keep his voice low.

“Ben,” he said. “It's been a long time. How are you? How's the family?”

“Great,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “I'm sorry to call out of the blue like this, but I'm in a bit of a pinch.”

“What's up?” asked Edgar.

Jack stirred beside him and so Edgar got up and took the phone into his office next door.

“Well,” explained Ben, “I've been assigned overseas and so Lois and I will be leaving within a week.”