Safe in His Arms (8 page)

Acacia Prison was the only privately managed prison in Western Australia. It was nice, as far as prisons go. For a while Ronnie had been housed at Casuarina Prison—maximum security just south of the metropolitan area. That place gave Lon the creeps, even as big as he was and able to fend for himself. Acacia was more relaxed and a lot more open—as open as you could get with razor-wire fencing and stone walls. It was planted up with a lot of native vegetation and decorated with Aboriginal art, which Lon thought was probably because a large percentage of the population was Aboriginal. It was sad, but a fact of life.

A privately managed prison, the facility not only jailed and reeducated prisoners, but also allowed them to work in the prison’s workshop, which gave a small income to inmates and also provided the prison with another source of money.

Paul and Lon searched their pockets and emptied out their gear at the car before they presented themselves at the desk. As usual the crowd of people waiting to visit was a mixed bag. There was the skimpy parade of wives and girlfriends, the kids with snotty noses and ragged clothing waiting to see daddy, and the occasional well-dressed couple desperately trying not to turn up their noses at the language and attitudes of the other visitors. Visits were only allowed by appointment on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. And Fridays seemed to be the favorite choice of wives and girlfriends.

They stood to the side, trying not to brush against some of the women as they stowed their wallets, keys, and ID in the provided lockers—not because they were female or because they were mostly Aboriginal girls, but because Lon had learned the hard way that the smell of drugs can transfer on contact. Several times over the years, the sniffer dog had indicated that Lon had drugs on him, and the only thing he could point to was the transfer of scent from the visitors waiting.

They were guided through the prison in small groups of ten and gave their names at each end. They submitted to a sniffer-dog examination, a search of their pockets and hair if necessary, and finally passed through a metal detector. Most of the guards knew Lon by now. He’d been given rigorous searches the first couple of times he’d come, which he hated because he knew it was because of his looks, which he couldn’t really change.

Six electronic doors later and a hike of what seemed to be at least five hundred meters, Lon and Paul were given a table number to sit at and wait for their inmate. The prisoners eventually streamed out of a door, all happy and smiling, eager to see their friends and relatives. Lon stood when he saw his brother and stepped forward for a brief hug before retreating to his side of the table. A short hug was tolerated by the guards at the beginning and end of each visit; otherwise the prisoner needed to stay on his side of the table and no contact was allowed.

“Hey, Ronnie. How have you been? I read in the papers they shut down the prison for a couple of days last week. That wasn’t you, was it?” The question was posed in jest, since Ronnie was a model prisoner these days.

Ronnie smiled. “Nah, mate. Some dipstick wanted to be sent back to Casuarina, so he decided to inconvenience the rest of us. He climbed up on the roof. I’m so bummed about it. I couldn’t work for two days ’cause they shut us all down and we missed a deadline.”

The three of them talked about work, about life, and about Ronnie’s favorite subject—food. Then Paul brought up a subject that Lon knew he should’ve threatened him about before they arrived.
If you mention Casey, you will die
. But the cat was out of the bag with seven short words.

“Did you hear about Lon’s new boyfriend?”

Lon was about to clock Paul over the head before he remembered that he was in a prison and that sort of behavior would see him banned for a while. “Shut up, you fucking gossip girl!”

But the damage was done. Ronnie lit up. “Really? Lon has a boyfriend?”

His face heated and he refused to answer. So Paul leaned forward and told Ronnie all about it. “Yep! Met the guy for the first time last night. I tell you, your brother has been cradle snatching something bad.” Ronnie widened his eyes and then roared with laughter as Lon loudly protested.

“Go and jump, Paul! He’s legal.”

“Just,” Paul retorted.

Lon glared. “Legal is legal. Don’t make it seem that I’m going to be going to jail for sharing some naked time with the guy.”

“No. Someone else already did that.”

Lon could’ve closed his eyes in resignation, but that would’ve made him seem even more guilty, as if he were trying to hide it from Ronnie.

Which he was.

Ronnie caught on straightaway. “What? Someone went to jail for sleeping with him?”

Paul had no filter and continued on blithely. “Yeah. He told us his father raped him when he was only fourteen and is in jail for it now.”

“Paul,” Lon growled. “I think it’s time to shut your trap.”

“Huh?” Paul, as usual, was clueless to what he was doing.

A big breath didn’t help any, but it was enough to stop Lon from pushing his friend off the chair. “For a start I don’t really think Casey wants that crap broadcast around, do you? It’s not the type of thing that you should be repeating. Secondly, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s simply a guy I fucked a couple of times and would be interested in fucking again, if he wants to, which he won’t when he hears you’ve told every fucking person you know his secrets. And thirdly, Ronnie doesn’t need to know this stuff.”

But Ronnie was already frowning at Lon with concern. “Really? This is your new man? Seriously, Lon, I know a couple of guys in here who had shit done to them when they were young, and they’re not always right in the head.”

Paul had finally fallen silent, so Lon looked at his brother. “I know, man. I just found out last night. I know he has… issues. To tell you the truth, I’m fucking scared shitless about getting involved with anyone who… may… well, you know. But we’re ages away from that. I just met him the other day. He’s cute and sweet—and really needy. He’s scared to sleep alone, so he goes around offering sexual favors. Fuck, the kid needs a keeper, Ronnie.”

His brother’s mouth twisted. “And are you offering to keep him?”

“I dunno. I mean, that’s a lot of shit to be wading into, isn’t it?”

His brother shrugged. “You’ve had experience with shit, Lon. Especially my shit. Maybe if you really like this guy, then you’re what he needs.”

“Who knows what he needs? I just met him. Heck, I don’t even know his last name. He could be sleeping his way through every guy at the park. He could be trying to get in my pants to steal my millions.”

They all laughed at that. Who the heck would be stupid enough to live in a caravan park if they had a million dollars?

“Well, as long as you’re not going to cause him any further trouble, Lon. Next time you come, I want an update, okay? Now, I don’t want hear about all that funky shit you two get up to, because I still don’t understand why the hell you’d prefer dick over pussy, but you tell me how he’s doing, ’kay?”

Lon nodded.

All too soon their ninety minutes were up, and the prisoners had to return to their room. Ronnie clasped Lon to him. “Thanks for visiting, bro. I keep telling you, you should forget about me and leave me to rot in this place. You never did listen to me.”

Lon smiled bravely and clasped his brother’s hand in his. “We’re brothers, Ronnie. That ain’t nothing I can forget.”

As usual his brother was on the verge of tears when he said something like that. One of the guards called his name and he broke away and marched resolutely down the corridor without looking back. Visitors had to wait until the prisoners were away before moving from their seats. Then the stone-faced guards ticked them off the visitor’s log. Once back in possession of his wallet, Lon stopped by the cashier and put some money into Ronnie’s account, as he did most visits.

Paul dropped him off and left, as he had to work that night.

As usual Lon was angry and restless after he visited Ronnie. He needed to get drunk or to hit something. And as usual Lon had to carry the responsibility of being the mature one. The gym would have to do as a very poor second.

A
S
IT
seemed to do each year, one week in December turned into a heatwave. In forty degree temperatures, everyone melted and complained. Some years the heatwave would be the week of Christmas, which was painful. Other times it decided to come early. The heatwave would be followed by cooler temperatures or a huge summer thunderstorm, as if God were saying, “Hey guys, it’s summer. Here. Have some hot weather. Oh, never mind. I’ve changed my mind.” Lon sweltered in his non-air-conditioned van and decided it was way too hot to be spending a Monday morning inside. Grabbing a towel and some gear, he headed to the beach to cool off.

He sighed as he remembered that Western Australia truly has the best beaches in the world. Lon had never believed the hype. He’d grown up with the beaches and never appreciated what was in front of him until he visited some overseas countries. Their beaches were tiny, or full of rocks, or dirty. He smiled now as he looked out over the expanse of pure white sand to the sparkling blue ocean.

Perth’s Cottesloe Beach, a bit farther north, was top-class. But really anywhere along the coast was pretty good. The caravan park had its own beach access, which led to a tiny inlet. It was small and relatively private. There were only about twenty other people there, unlike the hundreds who would be at the bigger beaches. The drawback was that it wasn’t maintained as a public beach. There were no rubbish bins, drinking fountains, open showers, or changing rooms. You had to make do with what you could.

Lon found a spot and dropped his beach bag. Perth sun could burn you in two minutes. No joke. Hats and sun cream were essential. Lon wore his somewhat dorky, broad-brimmed bamboo hat. His mates laughed when he bought it and told him that he should be wearing a trendy baseball cap, but he’d laughed back at them when they’d come home with sunburnt ears and the back of their necks lobster red. Lon had no intention of dying from skin cancer at age forty.

The wind was blowing an easterly, which meant the temperatures would soar in the afternoon as all that hot, inland air was pushed over the city. But the easterly also meant top calm conditions on the beach. In the afternoon the Fremantle Doctor would come, whipping up the beach sand as it brought the cooler sea air in. Like any person who’d grown up in Perth, he lived for the Fremantle Doctor—the idiotic name given to the sea breeze that came most afternoons. Lon snorted as he thought about the virtual gale that people in Perth called a “breeze,” but he still lived for the moment the breeze would come. The cooler sea air would drop the temperatures by as much as ten degrees in a thirty-minute period. Lon could still remember his mum telling the kids they weren’t allowed to play outside until the Doctor arrived. Ronnie and Livvy would be glued to the window, waiting for the weathervane cock to swing around in the right direction so they could play without getting heatstroke.

He smiled when he thought of the good days and of happy memories with Ronnie. Thoughts of Ronnie soon led to thoughts of Casey, and Lon’s good mood fizzled. Lon hadn’t seen or heard from Casey since Thursday night, and he was a little miffed—miffed that Casey hadn’t come by, and miffed because he didn’t know where Casey lived or his phone number, so he couldn’t find him.

Obviously he knew that Casey lived somewhere in the caravan park, but he wasn’t ready to lower himself to ask around for where a cute twink more than ten years his junior lived. That was being desperate. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Casey was regretting his two nights with Lon. Had Lon been a bad lover? Had he done something to scare Casey? Or even worse, had he been forgettable?

He tore his shirt over his head and told himself to stop being a whiny little girl. He yanked his gray Speedos out of his bag and took a quick look at the others on the beach. Unfortunately there was a mother with two little girls nicely playing sandcastles nearby, so he grabbed the towel and slung it around his waist before dropping his shorts into the hot sand.

Chapter 6

C
ASEY
CAME
over all hot and flustered as Lon’s brown shorts dropped to the ground beneath his towel.

“Holy, holy, holy shit.”

Casey’s new mate, Devon, was practically panting with excitement and his tongue was almost hanging out. Seated next to Devon on another towel was Ash. The three of them stared lustfully at the sight of Lon’s daks falling.

Casey had spotted Lon almost immediately as he walked onto the beach. His heart had jumped and started beating a funky rhythm, but Casey was still embarrassed about the revelations he’d blurted out to Paul last Thursday and didn’t want Lon to see him. He knew he was being juvenile by avoiding Lon, but he freely admitted he was a dick. He was a dick and he didn’t want Lon to know it, so he quickly hid behind Devon and didn’t say anything.

Unfortunately for him, Devon was a manwhore and spotted Lon soon after. Casey had met Devon in a club soon after he’d moved to Perth. Devon had made a pass, and when Casey regretfully turned him down, offered his hand in friendship. Casey had accepted and was still not sure if he’d done the right thing. At least that’s what he told Devon every time the guy did something crazy. Being friends with Devon meant that, by extension, he was friends with Ash too. Ash was Devon’s best mate, and where one went, the other followed.