The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (2 page)

He had time available, in a large city away from Washington. He had plans, and he would put off the necessity of sleep for a few hours until he could see them through.

A certain amount of discretion, if not complete anonymity, seemed wise, so Albert took two different taxis and a circuitous route for the trip to the French Quarter. Then he walked up three blocks, and across two, before choosing a seedy hotel at random, though he signed the register in his own name.

He glanced briefly around the drab little room for which he’d just paid a small fortune and walked over to push at the mattress. The chenille cover was rough, patched and of indeterminate color, and the bed itself rocked from leg to leg, though the mattress seemed surprisingly firm. Albert grimaced, then cast an even more critical eye at the mirror.

For a while he stared at his image, discovering anew all the crude imperfections. It had been years since Albert was prey to the disappointments and self-consciousness that were an inevitable part of struggling through the transition from child to adult. But he could regret that he was driven to this, impatient with the undeniable need in him even as he recognized that it should be one of the more joyous qualities of being human.

Joy was not the prevailing emotion of those he soon walked amongst. It took a careful thirty minutes to find an option he thought even remotely possible.

“You looking to party?” the young man asked.

When Albert drew off his dark glasses, his companion politely followed suit, tucking his own into the back pocket of his jeans. Albert considered the figure before him, stepping to one side for the full effect of the late-setting sun’s illumination: male, of primarily Hispanic background; eighteen or perhaps nineteen, which was getting old to be on the game; one-seventy, an inch taller than Albert; light brown and dark brown. Further than that: undernourished, and had been for months if not years; clothes old and torn, though fairly clean and assembled with a harmony of color; eyes too bright; demeanor anxious, assessing. Some might have considered the haunted expression romantic, those who thought fey meant something more whimsical than the tragedy of ‘fated to die’. But Albert was instead drawn by the spark of intelligent curiosity.

“If party is a euphemism for having sex,” Albert said, “then, yes, I do want to. Frankly, I have no idea why else I’d be approaching you.”

“Well, I don’t do cops.” Though he continued to hold Albert’s gaze in what seemed a challenge, rather than turn away.

“I’m not a cop, I’m federal, so the petty crime of prostitution is somewhat below my jurisdiction. Apart from which, I’m off-duty.”

The young man laughed humorlessly. “So you’re the first cop I’ve met who didn’t take the job home with him every night.”

“Are you interested in earning your drug money or not?”

The too-bright eyes sharpened. “Is that an accusation?”

Albert heaved a sigh and feigned patience. “The Drug Enforcement Administration has jurisdiction over narcotics violations. I  assure you I simply want to  … party.”

After a long moment of parried stares, the younger man quirked a weary smile. “Then, G-man, I’m your boy.”

“Hardly. As opposed to most of your colleagues who would not have reached the age of consent in the most liberal of states.”

The smile turned to a frown, more deeply felt. “That a problem for you? Me being older, I  mean.”

“Quite the opposite.”

“Fine. So where are we going?”

“I have a room at the Oberon.”

“Obviously a man of style.”

“Amazing,” Albert commented as he turned to walk beside the youngster. “A two-bit street brat capable of irony.”

“You think we’re all too stupid?”

“Whoring is hardly the career choice of an intelligent person.”

“Yeah, well, that goes both ways - slumming it with the likes of me is hardly the most intelligent way of getting laid. But you enjoy the dirty end of town, huh?”

“Unfortunately, that rather depends on you.”

“That so,” the kid said flatly. He paced along at Albert’s side for a few minutes, silent, arms folded and shoulders huddled. The swift twilight descended, and the city seemed to breathe easier.

Now that he had the briefest chance to reflect, Albert found himself glad this was a man he was about to have sex with. He had considered himself bisexual ever since he was old enough to think the issue through, to realize all the implications of his sometimes wayward urges - but somehow it was reassuring right now that this was someone of his own gender.

When they reached the hotel entrance, the younger man came to an abrupt halt and cast a defiant glance at Albert. “Let’s talk money, princess.”

Albert let a beat go by. “That endearment at least had the benefit of surprise. How much do you propose charging for further blandishments?”

The kid looked askance at Albert, and said, “Depends what you want to do, and how long it takes.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, and maybe an hour or two.”

“Fifty.”

“Cheap, aren’t you?”

The sullenness grew irritated. “What the hell is your problem, princess?”

Albert didn’t break the silence. Instead he indicated the hotel with a nod of his head, and led the way through the foyer. Within moments he was standing just inside the door to the shabby room he’d rented, watching the hooker glance around in much the same way as Albert had when he’d first entered.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what he wanted, or that he was unsure of the mechanics of it all, but Albert lacked the experience to know just how to proceed with this boy. Albert’s one vanity was a wish never to lose his dignity. That was proving damnably difficult right now - he had an overwhelming need, and was vastly unsure how to go about meeting it. He started by saying, “Tell me your name.”

The boy looked at him, giving little away. “Rick. Ricardo.”

“Mine is Albert.”

“Really?” The laughter did nothing to ease the atmosphere, though it was friendly enough. “I guess you didn’t make that up.”

“I wouldn’t bother lying to you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m not important enough to lie to. Well, get down to business, or talk for two hours - it still costs fifty.”

“I can imagine places more conducive to conversation, if that was my intent.”

“So, are you coming over here? Or do you have a kink for doing it against the door?”

Silence again. Albert watched as Rick paced closer. All the biological knowledge in the world, all his experience in analyzing human behavior, couldn’t have prepared him for this, Albert knew, though he resented the fact. He absently catalogued the physical effects of Rick’s presence: a light sweat; a terrible trembling trying to invade his limbs; helium in the space that his brain used to occupy. Why should this unnerve him, when facing down the FBI’s Most Wanted was so easy? There was little sense to it.

Then Rick’s hands were sliding up the front of Albert’s shirt onto his shoulders, running firmly down Albert’s arms, pushing his jacket off as they went. Smooth, Rick caught up the jacket before it fell, casting it across the nearby chair. Then the hands began to slowly but insistently work at the belt and fly of Albert’s trousers.

“You’re very practiced,” Albert said. “How many thousand men has it been?”

“Enough to pay the rent,” was the mild reply.

“Women, too?”

“If they have the money, I don’t argue. More men than women, though.”

The hands reached up to loosen Albert’s tie, pull it free. It was tossed to land by the jacket. And then Rick leaned in closer, hands sliding to Albert’s waist. Their faces were no more than a breath apart now. As Albert leaned his head back against the door, Rick followed him, his lips ready. But when Albert neglected to seek a kiss, Rick instead offered the caress of skin against skin, gently rubbing his face against Albert’s cheek, then his throat, stretching and twisting like a cat. Albert let out a helpless groan.

Still taking his time, the younger man began to ease lower, his face and hands chasing down sensation. Albert found the rates of his heart and his breathing almost alarming. It was all far, far too much.

“No,” he said. But his trousers and shorts were already dropped to his thighs, and Rick was kneeling on the floor. “No.”

“Hey, you’re ready for me.” The voice was edged with impatience.

And the mouth engulfed him before Albert could think of any other way to delay this. Wet warmth, hot pressure. The skilled sweep of a tongue. Fingers searching.

Albert reached to fit his hand at the nape of Rick’s neck, the sheer sensuality of it all shaking him, the craving in him letting loose. For one moment, he ruthlessly held the boy in place and thrust deeper into his mouth - and then it happened. The white hot gold of orgasm suffused him. Albert cried out, and surrendered.

The sensations were still echoing through him when Albert opened his eyes and frowned down at the boy.

“You certainly were ready for me, huh? That didn’t even take a minute.”

“You surprised me,” Albert said wryly.

“So, you want to pay up for another round?”

“If you think I’m satisfied with that for fifty dollars, you’re gravely mistaken.”

“I must say, most of my clients manage a little more control.”

“I must have been overcome by your manifest charms.”

“Sure you were.” Rick gave him a sour grin, stood up. Although it was Albert who was half naked, his remaining clothes in disarray, it was Rick who seemed embarrassed. “What next?”

Albert reached to run his knuckles down the boy’s cheek. It had been a couple of days since Rick had last shaved, though the re-growth was soft. Judged purely objectively, with the gauntness fleshed out and the eyes no longer betraying his addiction, Rick would be considered handsome. More importantly to Albert, the boy was smart, curious. And, when he forgot to play the obedient little hooker, he was sharp. “You have your charms,” Albert said. “You have as many capabilities and possibilities as any other human being.”

“You think so,” Rick said flatly, uninterested.

“I love you.”

Rick eyed him as if Albert had told him he was visiting from Mars. Silence for a few heartbeats. “A few years ago,” the boy finally said, “maybe I would have high-tailed it out the door, hearing that.”

“But now you’re older and somewhat wiser. You don’t scare quite so easily. Perhaps you’re even listening to me.”

“What do you want, Albert?”

“What do I want? To lose my virginity in style. Whatever you cost.”

“Are you  -? Shit, no, you’re not kidding. You don’t kid around at all, do you? Jesus.” Rick shook his head as if to settle the knowledge. “I’m honored, or whatever.”

“I’m not interested in your sentimentality.”

“Then let’s talk money again, princess.”

“Another fifty,” Albert said. “That’s more than reasonable.”

“All right. Tell me what you want - I bet you’ve got this all planned.”

“Get your clothes off, Ricardo, and come to the bed.” Despite the years of speculation, what Albert wanted this first time was simple enough: the feel of a naked body against his, moving in a dance as old as humanity.

He lay over the hooker, concentrating on the touch and push of skin against the length of his own skin, arching up, then down again to undulate in complex rhythmic thrusts. Coaxing the flesh below his to mirror his need, letting the Louisiana heat inspire him. Learning all the while.

At last Rick murmured, “Man, that’s sexy.”

“You like this?”

The hooker laughed at the naïvety inherent in the words, the tone. “Of course, you moron. I’m not immune to getting it on with the right guy.” He groaned as Albert bent to meet his mouth with his own, groaned through the inexpert but needy kiss. When they broke apart, Rick panted, “For a hundred, you reckon I should fake it?”

“No. I want you to shut up and bring that limited attention span to bear on this.” And Albert kissed him again.

For once, the boy obeyed without question.

Albert lay on the bed, not bothering to untangle the sheet from his waist. He cast a sharp eye over it, observed with distaste, “Perhaps I should have paid extra for clean linen.”

Rick, having pulled on his jeans, was sitting in the chair in the corner, smoking a cigarette. The boy lit a fresh one from the butt of the last, unaware that Albert’s scrutiny had turned to him. He was lost in his own thoughts. Perhaps he was bored.