When Tom dropped to the bed and lifted Stanley’s legs once again over his shoulders, Stanley cooperated fully. Sometimes acquiescence was the epitome of tact. Hadn’t Thoreau said that?

  116 Victor Banis

  Or was that Xavier Hollander? He was sure he’d read it somewhere. It was easy to get philosopher’s mixed up at a time like this.

  Or, he forgot his aversion to this pastime right up to the moment when what felt like a red hot baseball bat was suddenly shoved unceremoniously up inside him. He’d have groaned, too, and probably would have lodged another protest, but Tom was kissing him again, hard, all the while driving that locomotive, like the Wabash Cannonball roaring into the station. Smoking as it went.

  Well, Stanley thought resignedly , it is Tom Danzel. And he did love the man, for better or for worse. Besides, he had prayed for him last night, in a manner of speaking, hadn’t he? He suppressed a moan and opened himself as wide as he could to accommodate Tom’s determined thrusts. If you wanted to look at it philosophically, he told himself, if you couldn’t handle what your man had, you might as well turn in your fairy wings, right?

  Although it did seem as if Tom had grown another six inches, and about as much in girth.

  At least it went quickly, Tom kissing him ceaselessly and all the while pounding him fast and furious with that monster. The pain got less as Stanley got accustomed to it, and anyway, wow, this was the man of his dreams, the one who turned him on like nobody ever had before him, and whom he had thought sure he would never get into the sack with again, and here he was laying atop him, kissing him ardently, having at him to beat the band.

  Okay, the former was more enjoyable than the latter, to be sure.

  Still… Stanley kissed back, and clung to Tom’s broad shoulders, and decided that maybe, pain or no pain, he was in some kind of Carnal Heaven. Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life… Sing out, Jeanette.

  Nonetheless, it was a relief to realize the climax was near.

  Tom came with a series of grunts, burying himself to the hilt, his whole body going rigid while he jumped and spasmed inside Stanley. He lay without moving for a long moment; finally, with a long expulsion of breath, he slipped out and rolled onto the bed beside Stanley.

  They lay like that for a couple of long moments, side by side, not speaking, not even looking at one another, just getting their breath back. Finally, Stanley said, “So, what was that?”

  DEADLY WRONG 117

  “Stanley, please don’t talk until we’re finished.”

  “Oh.” Stanley had to think about that. “We’re not finished?”

  Tom sighed, turned on his side toward Stanley, putting one arm around Stanley’s shoulder, and with his free hand, he reached down and took hold of Stanley’s still rock hard erection. He began to stroke it.

  “What are you doing?” Stanley blurted out, too surprised to remember the proscription against talking. This was one thing Tom, not so long ago, had said flat out that he was never going to do—and here he was doing it.

  “Stanley…” in a warning tone.

  “Okay,” Stanley said, “I just—”

  “Stanley.” Sharper. The hand had stopped moving.

  “I… um. Uh huh.” Stanley did the lock thing with his lips and nodded. The hand began to move again.

  It wasn’t the best hand job he’d ever had. For one thing, Tom was holding onto it like he thought it might fly away, and his movements, while steady and rhythmical, were determined more than excited. Stanley felt pretty sure this was the first time in his life Tom had ever jerked off another man. Felt pretty sure, too, that Tom personally was taking no pleasure from the act. The performance was altogether dutiful.

  Still, Stanley was in such a delirium at this point that it was unlikely that any attention, however amateurish, wouldn’t produce results, and Tom’s did. It took little more than a minute of methodical stroking to bring him to a panting climax, his load spurting high into the air and cascading down over his belly, his thighs, and Tom’s still moving hand.

  Tom continued his rhythmic hand movements until it was clear the eruption was over. Then, wordlessly, he got up, walked into the bathroom, holding his hand out to the side as if afraid of letting his cum-stained hand come in contact with any other part of his body. Stanley heard him taking a noisy pee. He came back wiping his hand on a towel, tossed it to Stanley and dropped back down on the bed again.

  “Can I talk now?” Stanley asked.

  “No.”

  118 Victor Banis

  “Like, what was this all about?”

  “Stanley, I don’t even want to think about what we just did, let alone talk about it.”

  “Oh.” Stanley thought about that for a moment. “Well, then, what about, how did you get here?”

  “My pickup,” Tom said.

  “Well, sure, I knew that, we drove here in it from The Handle Bar. Which, by the way, my car is still there. Libby’s car, I mean. We’ll have to go back for it. What I meant was, why are you here?”

  “Why? To save your ass, why do you think?”

  “And I’m glad you did, but, how did you even know I was here, in Bear Mountain?”

  “I went by your apartment, and your boyfriend there—”

  “Chris. He’s just a friend.”

  “—He told me you were here, that you’d come up here to solve a murder. Jesus, Stanley,” he rolled on his side, facing Stanley, “you know trouble zooms in on you like flies to a watermelon. You can’t go around the block without somebody wanting to kick your ass, and then you go and come up here to solve a murder, without me to look out for you? Are you nuts?”

  “You told me you didn’t want to work on any cases with me in the future.”

  “That was in San Francisco, at the Department. I didn’t know you were going to turn into a fucking Sam Spade private eye and go out on your own looking for shit to get into. And, when I found out, well, I must have set a land speed record driving here, I drove the whole night, flat out, and all I could think of the whole way was, somebody’s gonna bust his head open—and I got here just in time, too. Do you have any idea what those guys were gonna do to you, if I hadn’t showed up when I did? You’d have been lucky to get out of there alive.”

  Stanley had stopped following this narrative several words back. “You came to my apartment, in San Francisco? What for?”

  “To deliver your goddamn mail. What in the fuck do you think I came to your apartment for, Stan?”

  DEADLY WRONG 119

  “Stanley.” He sniffled. “Why are you so mad at me?”

  Tom was a long time answering. He sighed again. “I’m not mad at you,” he said more gently. “I was just scared, is all.”

  “For me?” Stanley stopped sniffling and grinned despite himself. Tom was worried about him?

  “Plus, it wasn’t true, what I said a minute ago, that wasn’t the only thing I thought about, driving here. I thought about…

  well, shit, if you want to know, I was thinking a lot about what I just did. That’s why… fuck, I was about to explode, thinking about nailing your ass. I could have pole vaulted in and out of the bar. You think that guy’s pool cue was something, you should have seen the club I had in my pants. I could have cracked skulls with it.”

  Stanley giggled. “You were pretty hot. I’ve never had anybody actually rip my knickers off me before.”

  To his surprise, Tom laughed too. “Sorry about that. Was I too rough? I get like that sometimes. My nuts take over.”

  “No, it was great.”

  “I know you don’t like getting fucked.”

  “I loved it,” Stanley lied. “No, really, I did, it was hot. I mean, sure, I know I said I wasn’t into, well, you know, that way, but that was by, you know, just anybody. It’s different with you. I loved it, honest.”

  “Stanley you are the world’s worst liar,” Tom said. He reached a hand across and tousled Stanley’s hair. “So, now, tell me about this murder of yours.”

  “Okay.” Stanley hesitated briefly. He lifted his head and looked down the length of their naked bodies. “Uh, should we put our clothes on?”

  “No.”

  “You want to discuss a murder while we’re lying naked in bed?”

  “Yes.” A pause. “It’ll save time. After you tell me all about your murder, I’m going to fuck you again, and you can show me how much you love it.”

  “Oh.” After a moment, Stanley said, “You brought two condoms, to see me?”

  120 Victor Banis

  “I brought a whole box. I keep them in the glove compartment. Don’t get all excited.”

  “I’m not all excited.” Tom gave him a look. “Well, a little bit excited. I’ve never been with a man wearing a hot pink rubber.”

  “They’re not all hot pink. There’s different colors.”

  “What else?” He thought for a moment. “Blue might be nice, wouldn’t it, sort of like the Silver Surfer might wear? Or yellow. I don’t know about green, though, I mean, the idea of it, being penetrated by a—”

  “Stanley. The murder?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Tom listened without interruption while Stanley gave him the abridged version of the story Carl had told him. “I might have left out a detail here or there,” he said when he’d finished.

  “And there’s other stuff I’ll have to fill you in on eventually.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I just wanted to get your version. I’ll need to hear it from him anyway.” He paused. “So,” he said. The syllable hung on the air, like a dominant chord awaiting resolution.

  “Carl’s probably still around. You want me…” Stanley sat up in bed, but Tom turned toward him and shoved him forcefully back to the mattress.

  “We have unfinished business,” he said. “Stay here.”

  He got up and went back to his clothes, fumbled in the pocket for another foil wrapped package. Stanley got another look at some of his favorite scenery.

  “Jesus, I’m starved,” Tom said, coming back to the bed and rubbing his belly on the way. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I only stopped once on the drive, for gas.”

  A bit disappointed, Stanley said, “There’s a coffee shop about three blocks away, if you want—”

  “I’ve already told you what I want.” Tom dropped to the bed again.

  “Oh.” Stanley watched him open the foil package, deftly slip on a condom. “Green? Didn’t I say…?”

  “What? You don’t want this?” Tom took his latex clad erection in hand, brandishing it like a billy club.

  “Actually, it’s not exactly green, is it?” Stanley said brightly.

  “More like chartreuse, is what I’d say. It goes with the curtains.”

  Which, now that he gave them a quick glance, were brown and white checked. He turned on his side, his back to Tom. That way, he figured at least he wouldn’t have to see an acid green member preparing to enter his anal cavity, like a missile from Mars. “Let’s try it like this.”

  122 Victor Banis

  Tom scooted up behind him, already positioning himself, but, just when he had begun to push his way inside, he paused.

  “Is this okay?” he asked.

  “Totally,” Stanley said, and pushed himself back against that enormous invader, suppressing the urge to moan loudly as he felt it enter. Oof. Relax the muscles, he chanted a silent mantra: uhh, relax the muscles, uhh, relax the muscles uhh, relax…

  Tom continued to push inward, but at the same time, he reached around and took a firm hold of Stanley’s cock, which quickly sprang to full erection. Stanley turned his head, meaning to say something encouraging, and Tom kissed him. Hotly, but not as brutally as he had done before.

  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Uhh… relax…

  § § § § §

  It wasn’t. It wasn’t exactly an unmitigated pleasure, but it was very romantic, especially the fact that Tom so obviously wanted him, and so badly. And, if this was the way Tom wanted him… well, when you asked a favor of the Gods…

  Nevertheless, he made a mental note: have a chat with Miss Selene next moonlit night. Probably she thought this was all a big chuckle. Those old Greeks had some funny ideas. Probably they did it like this all the time on the moon.

  Afterward, they showered. Not together, as Stanley would have liked. Tom went first, alone, without inviting Stanley to come along, and Stanley was shy about suggesting they might do it a deux, so he waited until Tom had finished, was toweling himself dry, before he took his turn. He bathed quickly, half afraid he’d come out of the bathroom to discover Tom had vanished. Tom had a habit of doing that.

  He didn’t on this occasion, though. He was still there when Stanley finished in the bathroom and came back to retrieve his scattered clothes. The briefs, he decided, were unsalvageable, but he found that a meager price to pay for a major matinee performance.

  Tom was fully dressed by this time, standing at the window, looking out. “He’s just sitting out there,” he said. “On the deck.”

  DEADLY WRONG 123

  “Who?” With what had just happened, Stanley had forgotten Carl altogether. “Oh, you mean Carl.”

  “Is that his name, the kid? You think he’s been sitting there the whole time? I hope he wasn’t, like, listening. Or peeking through the window. While we were, you know.”

  Stanley started to say, “While you were banging me,” and thought better of it. Tom could be very funny when it came to talking about stuff like this. Probably even more so knowing someone had been just outside, listening or even watching. He had a quick, naughty image of Carl, peeking through the curtains, hand in his jeans… but, no, surely not, why would Carl even be interested in watching two guys go at it? Carl was straight, wasn’t he? Mostly so, anyway.

  Of course, if you looked at it that way, so was Tom. Mostly.

  So he said, repeatedly.

  Stanley came to look out the window over Tom’s shoulder.

  Carl was slumped down in the porch swing. He held something in his hand, staring at it, looking totally dejected. At the distance, looking through a somewhat dusty window, Stanley couldn’t tell what Carl was looking at so stonily.

  “I don’t think he has anywhere else to go. Anywhere he can go, I mean. Part of his parole. He’s supposed to hang around here.”

  Tom turned from the window to look at Stanley. “With you, you mean? You’re sure you’re not poking him? Or the other way around? He’s kind of a cute little guy, in a wimpy way. If he cleaned himself up a little.”

  “You think so?” Stanley said, and then, quickly, “don’t be silly, that never entered my mind.” Which was almost true, and he didn’t think it would do any of them good to admit that fleeting moment of interest. Besides, he hadn’t really been interested. It was just an idea that went as quickly as it came.

  Carl wasn’t that cute.

  Tom seemed to accept the assessment. He shrugged and gave one of his grunts, which could mean just about anything.

  “I’m hungry. Let’s go get a burger.”

  124 Victor Banis

  “I’m supposed to be babysitting. Plus he probably hasn’t eaten either and there’s nothing in the fridge. Can we take him with us?”

  “Probably a good idea. I need to hear the story from him.

  This is as good a time as any.”

  “And I’ve still got details to fill you in on. Family, therapists, all kinds of stuff.”

  “Let me get clear first on what he has to tell me, then we’ll look at the rest of it, okay?”

  When they came outside, Carl gave a little start and slipped the photograph he’d been staring at into a shirt pocket. He looked puppy-dog pleased to be asked—told, really, since Tom made it more of an order than an invitation—to come with them.

  At Tom’s request, Carl narrated his story while they walked, not much different from the version Stanley had given. Tom listened mostly in silence, asking an occasional question, nodding his head from time to time. Carl only stuttered twice, when he was talking about the physical altercation with Donnie.

  “Why are you talking funny?” Tom asked him abruptly.

  Mister Sensitive, Stanley thought, and considered giving his gorgeous butt a good swift kick, just on general principles.

  Carl seemed not to resent it, though. “I s-stutter when I get nervous.”

  “You’re nervous, talking to me?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  If Tom found that surprising, he let it go, only shrugged and said, “Oh,” and then, as if that subject were concluded, “go on, the two of you were fighting over your pecker.” He actually managed to make that sound matter-of-fact, to Stanley’s surprise. “And…?”

  Carl started off stuttering badly, paused, took a deep breath, and started over, speaking normally. Tom nodded his head, apparently indicating approval, though of what, Stanley wasn’t altogether sure.

  Walking slightly behind them on the narrow sidewalk, Stanley had the impression they were bonding pretty well. He DEADLY WRONG 125

  wondered about that. Maybe Carl saw in Tom the father he’d never really had. Stanley studied Tom while they walked.

  He could see it, the father figure thing. Sometimes what he felt for Tom was much like that, with the added dimension of sexual attraction, major sexual attraction, thrown into the mix.

  Tom’s evident masculinity, his solidity—it was easy to find yourself relying on him, leaning on him. He’d observed a long time back, Tom would be an easy man to fall in love with, a hard man to love. In his experience since then, both had proven true. He remembered something somebody else had said to him years before: one end of a dick brought pleasure, the other grief.

  That was certainly true, too, wasn’t it?

  Carl had finished his story. “You realize, both of you,” Tom said, looking over his shoulder at Stanley and to his side at Carl,

  “that if you’re right, about the way it came down, then we really are talking murder, and not just an accident. Somebody came along after you left, did this kid in, left you to take the blame.

  Which leaves us with the question of why. Two whys, actually.