Resuscitation (12 page)

Ordinarily, Julian wore his hair neatly parted on the side with just a touch of styling gel. But in an effort to blend in with the crowd, tonight he decided to grease it up with Bed Head and let it run wild. He was certain that none of his friends or work colleagues would ever patronize a place like Henry’s, so he felt secure his covert operation would go unnoticed by anyone significant. Not wanting to deal with explaining to his wife why he required a rental car, Julian had parked it in the far corner of a Food Mart only a few blocks away from Henry’s.

Julian stood in front of the full-length mirror and appraised his appearance one last time before he left the house. “Perfect,” he whispered. Satisfied that he looked the part, he headed for Henry’s, confident that tonight he would steal someone’s heart.

Sami had no idea how to comfort Al, except to keep her distance and make herself available if he needed to talk. She also kept topping off his coffee. Since receiving the phone call from Ricardo, Al had been on the Internet searching for the quickest flight to Rio, but hadn’t uttered a sound. Aleta was Al’s only living relative. And even though he hadn’t seen his sister in years, they talked on the telephone every couple months and stayed in touch with brief e-mails. He’d been saying for ages that he wanted to visit her, but every time he seriously thought about it, either he was knee-deep in a murder investigation or Aleta was globetrotting with her wealthy boyfriend.

“Shit,” Al muttered. He slammed the lid on the laptop computer and stood up, pushing the chair so forcefully it fell backwards. “Except for a red-eye late tonight, not a single fucking flight out of here until Monday.”

“Then book the red-eye,” Sami suggested.

“It’s twenty-two hundred dollars. I’ve got five-hundred to my name and not enough available credit on my Visa.”

“Then use
my
credit card.”

“I
hate
to borrow money from you. This is
your
house and
your
furniture. All I pay for is food and utilities.”

“If you want to argue gender roles in this relationship or debate financial responsibilities, this is neither the time nor place.” Under the circumstances, this was not the way she wanted to speak to him. But sometimes he just pushed her buttons. “Cut the macho bullshit, Al. Get your ass on that damn computer right now, while there’s still a ticket available.”

His stern face relaxed and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. He walked over to Sami and gave her a bear hug. “I’m a little wired, Sami. Sorry.”

“You have every right to be. Now book the damn flight and get packed.”

Julian eased out of the rental car and handed the valet parking attendant a ten-dollar bill. A big burly man with a shaved head sat near the entrance checking IDs. Julian tried to walk past the man, but he pressed the palm of his enormous hand against Julian’s chest.

“ID please,” the man said with a deep, throaty voice.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“I don’t kid, Bro. I have no sense of humor.”

“I’m forty-two years old.”

“Well you look pretty fucking good for your age. Where’s your ID?”

Julian opened his wallet and handed the man the phony driver’s license he’d bought in Tijuana.

The man checked the license, looked at Julian, and checked the license again.

“You having a bad-hair day, Bro?”

“Just trying to look stylish.”

“I don’t think it’s working, Bro.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have a sense of humor.”

“I don’t.”

The man yielded and let Julian through the door to Henry’s Hideaway. Julian hadn’t been proofed in years and felt more complimented than insulted that the bouncer asked for ID. But he didn’t appreciate the man’s wise-ass attitude. He’d been worried about his appearance of late, noticing crow’s-feet and slight puffiness under his eyes. Not to mention that his once six-pack abs had surrendered to a muffin-top. He hated the aging process and wished he could stay young forever.

Julian walked toward the bar, weaving his way through a sea of people, mostly men. Music blared in the background and the tiny dance floor couldn’t hold another soul. He surveyed the long bar and couldn’t find a place to sit or even order a drink. He squeezed between two men sitting on bar stools and tried to flag the bartender. The place buzzed with energy. The booming techno-music and its irritating repetitive beat gave way to a ballad, and the rockers, acting like someone had just tossed a live grenade among them, immediately evacuated the dance floor, replaced by a more subdued group. With heightened curiosity and an ample share of fascination, Julian watched men dancing with men and women dancing with women.

After several unsuccessful attempts, Julian finally got the bartender’s attention.

“Sorry you had to wait, sir. This place is nuts tonight. What’ll it be?”

“How about an extra-dry Belvedere martini, up—with two olives.”

“Yes, sir. Coming right up.”

Sandwiched between two young men at the bar, Julian could barely sip his drink. He made his way through the crowd and eased toward the dance floor. Now only a few feet away, he could clearly see the interactions between dancers, the firm embraces, hands exploring intimate areas, kissing that should take place only in a private room.

There was nothing inhibited about this crowd.

Julian felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. He turned to see a young man with sun-bleached blond hair and a dark tan. He looked like he could be the centerfold for
Surfer
magazine. Couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

“Would you like to dance?” the blond asked, his voice gentle and polite.

“The dance floor’s a little too crowded for me.”

“This place is always hopping—especially on weekends.” The blond pointed to Julian’s shirt. “Love the pink polo.”

“Actually,” Julian said, “it’s faded. When I bought it, it was shocking pink. Don’t believe those Tide commercials.”

“You’re funny,” the blond said.

He extended his hand. “I’m Julian.”

“Connor Stevens.” Despite his firm grip, the young man’s hands were as soft as lambskin.

“Are you a regular?” Connor asked.

“First time.”

“So what do you think?”

“It’s quite a lively place but not my cup of tea.”

“And what
is
your cup of tea?”

“I prefer a little less noise and a little more intimacy. Guess I’m getting crotchety in my old age.”

Connor laughed. “Yeah, right. Old age. What are ya, thirty-two, maybe thirty-three?”

“Only in my dreams.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing to stay young-looking, keep it up ’cause it’s really working.” An awkward silence ensued. “Want to go someplace a little quieter and have a drink?”

Julian looked intensely into Connor’s sky-blue eyes and smiled. “Are you trying to pick me up?”

“Actually, I was hoping to park my slippers under your cabana.”

“So you think I’m easy, huh?”

“I’m getting that vibe,” Connor said.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never been with a man?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was Santa Claus?”

“Look, Connor. You’re a very handsome young man and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m attracted to you. But I’m here because I’m curious. That’s all. I’ve been married and divorced twice, and for years I’ve been in denial. This is all new to me and I’m a little intimidated by the whole game. I need someone who’s going to be patient and understanding and let me move at my own pace. I’m going through a really confusing sexual crisis right now. So if you’re looking to score tonight, then you’re wasting my time and yours.”

Julian was fascinated by his ability to lie with a straight face and deliver a totally believable story without the slightest hesitation.

“Wow, Julian. I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to hear someone bare their soul. To be honest, everyone in this place is full of shit. There’s no sincerity. The whole gay scene is a hoax. I’ve been looking to be with someone legitimate for a long time. Someone who isn’t afraid to be vulnerable. You’ve really blown me away, and I’m deeply sorry if I insulted you.”

“Tell you what,” Julian said. “Now that we’ve played true confessions, why don’t we go back to my place, have a drink, and learn more about each other—strictly as friends. My loft is about ten minutes away.”

“I’d love that, Julian.”

As the two men headed for the exit, Julian realized that he was completely out of touch with the dating scene. He couldn’t believe how easy it had been to meet someone willing to leave with a complete stranger. Was that what the single life was like today? Was there no discretion or good judgment? How could Connor be sure that Julian wasn’t an axe murderer? Wasn’t the young man concerned about his welfare? Just because Julian crafted an outrageous story of his sexual crisis, the young man seemed ready to hop in bed.

As they walked toward the rental car, Connor grabbed Julian’s hand and held it as if they were lovers walking on a sandy beach.

What is this world coming to?

“Have a safe flight,” Sami said. She helped Al remove his luggage from the trunk.

“Thanks for dropping me off,” Al said.

“Call me as soon as you get there, okay?”

“Will do.”

Silence.

“Think positive thoughts, Al. She’s going to be okay. I feel it in my bones.”

Al looked deep into Sami’s eyes. “Tell your mom I’m sorry I can’t—”

“She’ll understand.”

Al put his arms around Sami and held her close. He wished she could come with him, but understood that it just wasn’t meant to be. About to walk away, he remembered.

“Shit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to mail Selena’s birthday card and gift. I already signed and addressed the card. Would you mind dropping them in the mail tomorrow? They’re in the bedroom closet.”

“Be happy to. Another gift card from Walmart?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know. A little impersonal. But since a Walmart opened a mile away from the orphanage, it sure has made shopping easier. Better a gift card than something she hates. Besides, I spoke to one of the gals in the office and she said that the staff love to take the kids shopping.”

Selena was one of five orphans Al sponsored at Casa de los Niños in Tijuana. Having endured a poverty-stricken childhood himself, losing his hardworking parents when he was still a teenager, Al swore that one day he would do his part to help other deprived Mexican children. He wished he could do more, even sponsor more children, but his budget was stretched to the max. Although his Spanish was a bit rusty, he made quarterly visits to the Tijuana orphanage and loved seeing “his” kids and spending time with them.

“I’ll get it in the mail first thing in the morning,” Sami offered.

“Let’s move it along, folks,” the security guard said as he motioned with his flashlight.

He kissed Sami on the lips. “Let me know how your mom’s surgery goes.”

“I promise to call.”

Julian and Connor sat on the leather sofa, sipping glasses of Cabernet.

“This wine is really going to my head,” Connor said. “I suddenly feel terribly dizzy.”

“Have you had anything to eat?”

“Not since lunch.”

“Maybe that’s why. Let me get some cheese and crackers.”

“Actually, I feel a bit nauseous. May I use your bathroom?”

“Of course.” Julian pointed. “It’s just to the left of the kitchen.”

The drug was working quicker than Julian had thought. He felt concerned that Connor might pass out in the bathroom. He didn’t want him to fall and injure himself. That was not part of the plan. He listened, but couldn’t hear a sound coming from the bathroom, so he walked over and gently knocked on the door.

“You okay, Connor?”

No answer.

He knocked harder this time.

Nothing.

Julian slowly pushed on the door but it only opened halfway. He squeezed through the opening and saw Connor lying unconscious on the floor, his body snug against the door. Julian checked his pulse and looked at the second hand on his watch. Sixty-six beats a minute. Perfect. He checked Connor’s head for any sign of an injury, but it didn’t appear that he’d hit his head when he passed out.

Julian firmly grasped Connor’s forearms and dragged him out of the bathroom, toward the bed on the far side of the loft. He felt a bit concerned lifting the dead weight, especially with the height of the bed. The last thing he wanted was to pull a muscle in his back. He guessed that Connor, tall and lean, weighed around a hundred sixty pounds.

Julian gripped Connor under his armpits and lifted his torso onto the bed. Then he grabbed his legs and swung them up as well. He figured that Connor would remain unconscious for two to three hours, so Julian secured his wrists and ankles to the bedposts with thick nylon straps. Then, he went back to the sofa and started making notes to himself about the instruments he needed, and the drugs and the dosages. As he sat quietly, Julian tried to emotionally prepare himself for the impending experiments. Unlike with Genevieve, who was completely unconscious from beginning to end, Connor Stevens would not be as fortunate. The next series of tests required that the subject be sedated but awake. He wasn’t sure what the pain threshold was before a subject would pass out. But soon he’d find out.