Shattered Glass (18 page)

“I suppose if I trusted you’d believe me, I’d tell you that, no, I didn’t, Austin.” He turned slightly and met my eyes. “But, if you ask me again? I’ll say I want a lawyer.” “Why are you so cryptic?”

“Why are you so difficult, pushy and conflicted? One minute you trust me, the next you have nothing but accusation in your eyes. I’m a whore, then I’m practically your boyfriend. You want to get to know me, but you follow me into the bathroom in order to hookup.”

“My whole life has been upside down since I met you! A little confliction is—.”

“Not my fault. Your confliction is not my fault or my problem.”

The laugh that pushed out of me had more air than humor.

“You’re right. I’m not your problem. Not your type. Not your anything. I’ve ignored all your hostile rejections, the insults and the lies. You wanted me to leave you alone. I’m finally listening, Peter.” Moving past him to the exit, this time I halted at the door, eye-to-eye with him. “Next time I come after you, it’ll be to bring you in.”

He didn’t follow me out.

Temper, Temper

Detective Frank Marco looked and sounded like a pig: a squashed nose rammed between red, pockmarked cheeks, draping jowls, and a constant wheeze whenever he exhaled. He was also a remarkably soft-spoken guy with a gentle demeanor.

Go figure.

By contrast, his partner, Max Delmonico,
was
a pig, though he could steal the spotlight from the prettiest of starlets.

Delmonico had a hard voice and an even harder set of green eyes. Next to them, Luis was the poster boy for average.

By the time I arrived at the station, Alvarado’s body was on

its way to the medical examiner’s office, and Frank Marco and Max Delmonico were gathered near our desks and locked in deep conversation with Luis, who was handing them files.

As I approached them, all three sets of eyes turned from their semi-circle of discussion to me. Was I imagining an apology in Luis’s frown? I wondered how much Luis had told them.

Probably everything. And considering who the detectives were, I would know in less than five seconds just how intimate and detailed Luis had been.

“Glass,” Marco nodded.

“Well, if it isn’t Richie Rich,” Delmonico sneered. I exhaled with relief. Obviously Luis had said nothing about my relationship with Peter, or Delmonico’s jibe would have included some form of ‘fag’, ‘queer’ or ‘fudgepacker’.

“That’s it? That’s your big insult? A reference to a defunct comic book character? You need new material, Del.” It wouldn’t help. The only way to improve Del’s wit would be to exchange his brain with that of a coma patient.

“What’s up with your suspect?” Marco said to me. It took me a second to realize he meant Peter.

Luis had told them about him, apparently. Hopefully it was just that Peter and Prisc were lovers and had a recent disagreement Luis and I witnessed. “Said we should direct questions to his lawyer,” I answered.

“What was your take?” Luis asked. The glance that passed between us was almost telepathic. ‘Sorry,’ mine said. ‘You fucked up. Now you know. Get on with it,’ Luis’s shrug conveyed. He knew I wasn’t going to make the same mistake, not with Peter, or ever. Unfortunately, I was about to make a

bigger one in the next few minutes.

“He’s hiding something, but I couldn’t read if he’s our perp.” A partial lie. My read was Peter didn’t do it, but I no longer trusted myself where he was concerned. “Any witness statements yet?”

Delmonico spoke up. “Regular train of boys running through that house. Prick certainly had a taste for the teenagers from what the nosy biddy across the street says. Some uniforms talked to her.” Del flipped a few pages in his black notepad and started reading, “Here it is. ‘Mrs. Millicent Waters was at a late mass yesterday. She saw three figures between the time she got home at ten and went to bed at 11:40-11:45. Which covers the time when Mr. Eduardo Ynez,” he flipped a page up and over, ”next door, says he heard the gunshot.” “How good a look did she get?”

Del flipped another page, shot me the bird and continued his recitation. “As I was saying, one with dark brown or black hair, thin, tall; definitely male.” Del made air quotation marks, “Gangly,” then went back to reading from the pad. “Not long after him, another one left, she can’t say boy or girl—just long blond hair and, emaciated. Her word again.” Another flip of his notepad. “Last one she swears was a girl, but every neighbor says they haven’t seen anything without balls enter the vic’s house in the four years he’s lived there. We’ll assume they include his ball-busting wife. Just young boys other than that.”

“The girl?” I prompted. Del’s snickers and sneers were about to get on my nerves. Especially since the idea of young boys being anywhere near Alvarado made me think of Peter—whose

hair, at ten at night, would have appeared dark brown. Though gangly he wasn’t. I said as much to the group.

The only reason Luis and I were at the scene was to coordinate notes and descriptions that had come up in our own investigation. With deep regret, I had to share my next thought.

“My suspect has a brother. Gangly, dark hair, six one or two.

Nicholas Cotton. Age sixteen.” I jotted down the address.

Betraying Peter was easier than I would’ve thought.

“Lots of gangly boys with dark hair,” Marco pointed out with a frown. His way of asking why I zeroed in on the brother.

“Brother was involved with Alvarado. Intimately.” I hesitated. “And just spoke about him in the past tense.” “The girl,” Del continued, scratching his nose with his middle finger while smirking at me, “Millicent says had a skirt clear up to her backside and a bra. Oh yeah, a golf hat.” I didn’t rise to Del’s baiting finger. For whatever reason, he didn’t like me. By his “Richie Rich” comment, I had a feeling my wealth was his particular bone-picking. “Is that a look now?

Golf hats?” I asked with a lift of my lip in distaste.

“You tell us. We heard you turned faggot,” Del said. The blood drained from my face. My head whipped to Luis. “That in fashion, Glass?”

“Next time I bang your sister, I’ll ask,” I ground out, stepping up to Del and peering down. Even my three inch height advantage didn’t intimidate him.

“You need me to turn around, fairy?” “Del, knock it off,” Marco said with a quiet sigh, staring off in the opposite direction of me.

“Fairy?” I said to Luis, jerking my thumb at Del. “Is he for

real? Richie Rich and fairy?” I glanced at my watch again and shook it. “How do I get back to the 21st century?” “Click your heels three times, Dorothy,” Del said. I wasn’t expecting him to get better at insulting me, so I was rendered speechless for a moment.

The heat of humiliation warmed my cheeks as my friend and partner said nothing in my defense. “You want to be my first gay experience, asshole? Turn around, because I’ll click my heels right up your ass until you scream ‘there’s no place like home’, bitch.” I advanced on Del, fists clenched, fully intent on knocking him out. Before either of us could come to blows, Luis had the collar of my shirt, pulling me backwards, and Marco’s arm shot out to block Del.

“Just keep your faggot ass away from me,” Del screamed, bashing his chest up against Marco’s hand.

Walking backwards—or more yanked backwards by Luis—I shouted back, “First it’s your ass I have to watch. Now it’s mine? You sure
I’m
the faggot?” “Enough!” Luis yelled, pulling me to face him. How someone in his shape managed to toss me around like a rag doll, I’d never know.

“What the fuck, Luis? You’re supposed to have my back.

Fuck you!”

“This ain’t grade school, Glass. I ain’t your boyfriend standing up for your honor. You bring that shit to work, you handle the fallout.”

“How the fuck did I bring it here?” I screamed, spraying spit in an unblinking Luis’s face.

Calmly, Luis stared me down, “Five seconds to figure it out.”

I needed ten. “Shitfuck. The interview.” Of course—they had watched the recorded interview with Alvarado and my dad.

“Goddammit.”

“Shitstorm just started, kid. Del’s got a loud mouth, and he don’t like you.”

“Fuck that. I’m more pissed that asshole stole our case!” “No one stole shit. We’re still working the trafficking angle.” “Our fucking supspect is dead.”

“Which just means we don’t have to subpoena financials,” Luis poked a finger in my forehead. “And we can trace the others involved.”

Oh. “Well, okay then!” I glared across the station at Del.

“Why are we here?”

“Why are you still yelling?”

Because I was fucked. I was royally totally incomprehensibly fucked
. “Because I fucked up,” I replied, voice lowering. Even Marco was giving me a pitying look, and he had to partner with Del, the skeeze of the whole department.

“Yup,” was all Luis said.

Nice. No sympathy there. I had to grin, desperate though it was. “Kiss it and make it all better, daddy?” “Tell me again why I put up with you?” “I always let you drive?”

“That’s so you can stare at my cock.” “I hear gay men are allergic to polyester and bad fashion.

Your cock will always be safe.”

By the time we were at our cars, our banter had significantly reduced my panic. Folding his arms over top of the opened car door, Luis pointed his key at me. “Go see Angelica. You’ll feel

better.”

“She’s not taking my calls, or emails, or texts.” “That’s why you go see her.” He climbed into his car and drove off, leaving me to mull over that piece of advice. Or was it an order?

How did it work to be gay and still be moved by how beautiful Angelica was? Even in her old college sweatpants and a ratty tshirt she retained her elegance. Only the dark circles under her eyes gave me any indication she was suffering. It felt longer than four days since I’d seen her. A whole lifetime of revelations lived in the span of this week.

From behind the open door, a frame of music mournfully surrounded her. I barely refrained from wincing at the lyrics.

“Can I come in?” I asked, hoping I sounded as contrite as I felt.

To my surprise, Angelica tried for a smile. Her lip trembled upwards and then twisted into a grimace. “I wish you wouldn’t.” “Please?”

She stared past me, out onto her front lawn, eyes glazing and then tearing. The fact that I’d never seen her cry made me reach out. I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head, pulling her into my embrace. “We weren’t even that good together,” she laughed, hugging me back. “Can’t think why I’m this upset.”

“I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to come here.” She muffled another genuine laugh into my shoulder. “Austin Glass selfish? What else is new?” Her hands snuck under my jacket and flattened against my back. They were so small and

warm.

“Ouch,” I smiled through the melancholy. “Want my gun? I’ll go get it for you.”

“Ask me again in ten minutes,” she said, taking a deep breath and pulling away. I dropped my arms, feeling the urge to fidget with my tie. A sudden recollection of Sister Francis’s ruler slapping my fingers made me jam both hands in my pockets.

The main entry hall with its marble floors and vaulted ceilings was meant to be intimidating. Angelica often brought opponents here, leaving them standing there while she pretended to be engaged in a phone conversation. Fortunately I was already too anxious to let it affect me as I followed her into the house.

She took me to the bar, which was diagonal to the sunken living room, and stepped behind it. “Bourbon, neat?” “A double if I’m going to be here ten minutes. I want to be numb if you decide to shoot me.”

“I do want to shoot you some days,” she admitted tiredly, setting the glasses out and pouring slowly. “It’s just so…you.

Most days I want to shoot myself, for thinking I could change you from the asshole that leaves women at the altar.” “Honestly, Angel, I’m not panicking about the wedding. I know you still think that, but that’s just not it.” She took a dainty sip, licked her lips and leaned across the bar, avoiding eye contact. “I went online to these websites that Jessica said might help. Would you believe there’s a small cult of women like me?”

“Women with douchebag fiancés?” I drew circles along the rim of the glass, waiting for when, or if, she’d face me.

“Women left by gay men,” she clarified. “Most of them kept blaming themselves. Saying things like, ‘I should have known, he would only have sex a certain way’ or ‘He kept hiring the same contractor who didn’t know how to build anything’. All I could think was, ‘Not my Austin. No one would guess’.” “Least of all, him,” I said quietly with a smile. That’s when she turned to me, frowning.

“How do you not know something like that, Austin?” “You bury it so deep that you forget it’s there,” I sighed.

“And when it tries to surface, you grab someone, or something, and use it to help keep it buried.”

“Melissa,” she said. I nodded at the mention of my other ex-fiancée. “And Justine.” She grabbed the bottle, stepped down into the living room and curled onto the couch.

I followed, sitting down beside her, resting my head on the back of the sofa, its leather caressing my neck. “And night school rather than college, double shifts, overtime to have an excuse not to date or spend time with whoever I was dating, no single friends,
no
male friends except for Dave, always women who wanted commitment,” I added. “I never had to think of it again with them. Just plow ahead into family, kids, eventually work my long hours at the FBI.”