This is a story I started writing almost 2 months ago, but only just got around to finishing.
Disclaimer: Do not, have not, and never will own KKBB, its characters, or anything else about it. blah blah blah
"OK, not that I'm complaining or anything, 'cause I'm totally stoked about this, but why are you letting me do surveillance?" Harry asked his partner.
Well, OK, his boss, but Harry did as much, or more work. It was just that he did all the boring, tedious shit that Perry would rather not do.
Anyway, tonight was one of those rare nights that Perry was going to let his office slave get out and do some real detective work. He was going to tail some cheating husband as he trolled the L.A. bar scene. Pretty cool, wasn't it?
"First of all, never use any expression as fucking idiotic as 'totally stoked' again." Perry gave him a thoroughly disgusted look as he said this. "Now, as I told you before: I'm too well known in these parts. I'm Gay Perry, Hollywood P.I." He straightened his back and lifted his chin regally. Very gay. "You, on the other hand, are--"
Harry sat up in his chair and wiggled his nine and a half fingers. "The Amazing Harold, AKA Captain Fucking Magic--"
"AKA the obnoxious moron at the end of the bar that gets ignored."
Harry slumped back down in his chair.
"Now, repeat back to me the details of the case," Perry commanded in his most condescending tone.
"Well, this lady from San Diego called you and--"
"Briefly."
"Right. The client is a San Diego pharmacist."
"And she called me because...?"
"After one of her husband's business trips, she found Ro- Rop- Rohy... um, a rufee in his suit pocket."
"It's Rohypnol, twit. Now, what is our job tonight?"
"I follow the husband after he leaves his hotel. If he goes inside somewhere, I follow the bastard and find out what he's up to!"
Harry was really keen to do this. One, Perry was not only allowing him to do surveillance, but to do it alone. And two, Harry really hated scumbags like that. Until Harmony, Harry had not had the greatest batting average, but he had never -- would never -- resorted to doping. He had two good hands if all else failed.
"OK, now, Harry. I will have my phone with me. You have my number on speed dial, right?" Nod. "Good. Now, I'll be making discreet inquiries in some of the bars he's already visited. We know from his credit card charges that he sticks to Hollywood, so I'll be close by. He starts leaving, you call me right away. Got it?"
"Got it." Harry stood up. "We ready to roll?"
"Not in that, we're not," Perry said, giving his assistant's clothing a disgusted look. "You're supposed to look inconspicuous, not slovenly. You have ten minutes to make yourself decent."
Sometimes it was a real pain in the ass working for a gay man.
A change of clothes, 90 minutes driving (fucking L.A. traffic), and an hour of sitting in the car saw Harry still waiting for the target to leave his Monterey Park hotel.
It was fucking boring. OK, so at least in this part of L.A. he did not have to worry about getting hassled, but it was definitely one of the least exciting parts of Los Angeles. Like Hollywood's homely sister -- the one you only talk to because you really want to nail the hot sister. Why the hell did the target have to stay here?
Harry glanced down to the case file that occupied the passenger's seat. Perry had printed a helpful cover page that read "Our Case: For Dummies." And for insulting emphasis, there was also a post-it (pink) with "Keep it in your tiny brain, fuckhead!" stuck onto it. Since receiving it, Harry had embellished the file with a variety of drawings. He really thought his cat pictures had improved...
But, back to the case at hand... Apparently the asshole target had regular business dealings with a company here in Monterey Park. He stayed the night because his associates liked to play golf in the nearby course on Saturday mornings. Which made it very convenient for the target to go on the prowl Friday night.
"Fucking finally," he said as the target stepped out of the hotel at last and walked to the parking lot. Can you say midlife crisis? Harry thought as he again looked over the Miata that the man drove. Still, an electric blue convertible was a pretty easy car to follow.
Please don't take the 10, please don't take the 10, please don't take the 10...
But the target, a useless San Diego driver, ignored Harry's psychic pleas and drifted into the turn lane for the freeway onramp.
Nice signal, fuckhead. This was not going to be an easy tail. Not only did Harry have to worry about not being noticed, but he also had to follow an asshole who did not know what a turn signal was for through the fucking Bermuda Triangle of fucking Los Angeles freeways.
But a few miles and more than a few exclamations of "FUCK!" saw Harry safely (and discreetly) parking his car in the paid lot for some jazz club. The target had used the valet service, but he did not have a tight-fisted boss. Really, Perry could be such an old lady at times.
Anyway, Harry was glad that the man had selected a place like this. It was much easier to keep track of a sleazy businessman in a restaurant/bar/jazz club than in a joint with strobes and overcrowded dance floors.
As Harry joined the line to get in, he lit up a cigarette (last one he would be allowed until he got out of the club). Then, he sent a quick text to Perry to let him know where he was.
"Don't screw it up," was the trust-filled reply. Harry sighed and slipped his phone back in his pocket.
Finally it was his turn with the maitre-d'. "Do you have a reservation, sir?"
"Um," shit, what if I can't get in? "No, but I just wanted to hang out at the bar."
"Just a moment, sir," the man said as he held a hand to his earpiece and began talking into a mic. "You're in luck. A group just cleared out and there's some space at the bar."
"Thank you," Harry replied, but his gratitude ended when he was asked to pay a $20 cover charge. And was informed oh so politely about the two drink minimum. He fought to keep his expression smooth.
Still, the maitre-d' noticed his disgruntled expression as he handed over his Sentron, Inc. credit card. "It would be more if we had a more famous musician booked tonight."
"Thanks again," Harry mumbled as he made his way to the bar. He casually surveyed the room as he entered. That was natural, right? He noted the target at one end of the bar, chatting animatedly with the bartender.
Wonder if he thinks that'll get him better service, Harry mused as he approached the counter. He caught the bartender's attention and ordered a beer (fucking five dollar beer). Apparently he had caught the target's attention as well -- in his peripheral vision he could see the man looking at him. Has he made me somehow? Harry worried when the man's eyes remained on him for longer than what most people would consider normal.
But the target went back to talking to the bartender. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry took his beer to a table near the door. From there, he could watch the target while seeming to be only enjoying his drink and the music. There really was not much to this surveillance business.
The music's actually pretty good, Harry decided, even if the beer is only average. Maybe he should bring Harmony here sometime. She would wear one of her tiny party dresses. They would listen to sexy jazz music and drink tequila and then...
"Hey, pal, you look like you could use some company." He was startled out of his daydream by a man's voice talking to him. "Mind if I join you?"
Fuck! It was the target. Why the hell is he talking to me? There were several beautiful girls in the room. Harry had not failed to notice that. Act natural. "Sorry, you surprised me. Er, pull up a chair." Shit! Why did I say that?
"I'm sorry, too -- I didn't mean to startle you." The target had a smooth, low voice and good manners. He did not sound like a date-raping asshole. "You did look a little lost in the music. Are you a jazz lover?"
"Oh, well, I used to play the saxophone a bit, until this happened." Harry held up his maimed hand.
"Ooh, what happened there?"
"My girlfriend slammed it in the door." Mixing in the truth would make it more believable, he hoped. "That's why I'm here -- gotta find someplace nice for our anniversary."
The man nodded sympathetically. "Women can be such pains in the ass about that crap. It's all birthday, Christmas, anniversary, and Valentine's until you want to chuck the calendar out the window." He raised his glass. "Here's to romance and marriage," he toasted ironically.
Harry grudgingly returned the toast and even more reluctantly joined the target in chugging. Perry is going to kill me. He's going to kill me and feed me to those damned seagulls at Venice Beach. He was supposed to watch this man, not get drunk with him!
"What are you drinking?" The asshole asked. "Allow me to get you another."
Think of some excuse, damn it! "Just beer, thanks." Fucking moron!
The target went back to the bar and ordered the damned drinks. Harry had to think of some way to get out of this and he had to do it fast. He could fake a phone call and step out for a moment... He took out his cell phone and looked at it, but the only phone call he could imagine at that moment involved an angry Perry using twenty different words (half of them unknown to Harry) that all meant stupid.
"Here you go." Too late! Fuck! The target had returned with the drinks and an oddly full smile.
"Thanks." It definitely was not what Harry wanted to say.
"It's your turn to toast."
"Oh, um, OK... Er..." What toast should I make? "To long prison sentences for sex offenders" was a good one. Or "may you soon get the fuck away from me." However, neither of those would get Harry what he wanted, which was quietly out of this situation. He finally settled on, "To jazz music and those who can still play it."
"Here, here." The man's smiling stare was beginning to give Harry the creeps. It was like this pig back in Embrey, Indiana that would just look at you and snort occasionally. It would follow you with its eyes no matter what you did... and snort, until you wanted to kick it or scream at it. "Down the hatch," the target prompted.
Once more, Harry reluctantly joined the asswhipe he was supposed to be following in downing a long draught of beer. "Blech," Harry flapped his tongue a few times, trying to get the bad taste off. He knew he was supposed to be polite and all that shit because someone had bought the drink for him, but foul beer? No, that was way beyond the limit. "No way I'm bringing Harmony here," he muttered, forgetting momentarily that names were a bad idea.
"Sorry, must be the dregs of the keg. Shall I get you another?" The other man was all apologies. As he should be... Giving a guy strange, salty beer.
"Nah, that's alright. I still have a drink to go on my two drink minimum."
"I'm really sorry about that..." He trailed off questioningly.
Now, Harry could make up any name he wanted, but if he had to keep drinking beer, he might not remember to answer to that name. "I'm Harry." It was a common name, after all.
"It's so nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Keith, by the way."
I think asshole suits you better, Harry thought as he unwillingly shook the man's hand. It's so not "Nice to meet you, too." Jerkwad.
"So, Harry." Why wasn't he letting go of Harry's hand. "What do you do?"
"I'm a... I'm a..." He had to think of something boring... Anything... But it was like his mind was one of those wind up toys as it runs out of power. You know, slowing down, then giving a little spurt, then slowing... "I'm a... kinda... sleepy..."
"Oh well then," the man, Asshole or Keith or Whatever said. Harry heard his voice at an echo-y distance, but even then it sounded happy. The jerk was probably still staring like that damned... pig... "I'll have to take you someplace where you can rest."
The man pulled Harry up against him and began supporting the near-falling man out the door. "I gotta call..." There was someone he was supposed to call if he was leaving... "Gotta... call..."
"Shh." The voice sounded so far away, though the breath hit his ear. "We'll call them in a little while. After we both rest."
Perry...
Perry hated this place. Loud, obnoxious music and louder, infinitely more obnoxious people. It was the third place he had been to that night, and by far it was the worst.
"'Happy Ending,' my ass," he grumbled, referencing the trite name of the bar. He would have a happy ending to the night when he could leave the empty noise and the forgotten of Darwin behind...
He sighed, straightened his back, and resumed scanning the bar. Come on, one of these places has to have one... There! Finally, his 'Dar tuned into the right frequency. This bartender was gay and knew it.
And would be so sympathetic to the sob story Perry had made up.
"What can I get you?" Ugh, this bartender must play it up for the fag hags who are too nervous to go to West Hollywood.
"Gin and tonic." Perry added a dramatic sigh. "More gin than tonic, please."
"Oh, honey, broken heart?" Get your hand off, you simpering fairy. "Big hottie like you?" Damn, lays it on thicker than an aging starlet's make-up.
Controlling his features, Perry manufactured another sigh. "I don't know. It's my... my boyfriend, you see..." The bartender encouraged him to go on -- probably lived for stories like this. "You see, he's bi, and lately, I'm worried that he's been seeing women behind my back."
"Oh, honey! A Bi? There's no end to worry with them."
"I think he might have come here to meet someone..." Perry channeled his gag impulse into a faked display of emotion.
"Tell you what, you show me a picture, and I'll tell you if I saw him here."
"Oh, would you." Thank God, perhaps the night was over. "Here he is." Perry showed the bartender the picture of the target that he had gotten from the wife.
"Hmm..." The fairy looked at the photo. "I think... Yes! I remember now. I thought it was strange when he left..."
"Why?"
"Well, he came in alone, but he left with a friend."
"A friend?" Perry did not have to fake his confusion.
"Well, the other guy seemed really drunk, but I don't think he'd had that much to drink. Anyway, I coulda sworn they were strangers, but your man there was offering really friendly-like to take him home."
"A guy?" Not a woman? The target was using Rohypnol on men? "What did he look like?" Perry's mouth was inexplicably dry.
"Hm? He wasn't much to look at. Average height and build, dark hair. He used to come in here about once a week, but now I think of it, I haven't seen him since..."
"Dark hair?"
"Like I said, not much to look at, but he was kinda sweet and cute, you know, in a goofy way." Perry froze. "But I don't think your man was cheatin' with him -- I mean, that boy was straight."
FUCK. "I have to go."
Ignoring the agitated sounds behind him, Perry dashed out of the bar, leaving the money for his drink and a tip on the wet counter. Once out of the noise, he pulled out his phone and dialed Harry.
Pick up, damn it! he thought as the phone kept ringing.
It went to voice mail. "Shit." Perry reopened the last text from Harry, checking the address of the bar he had gone into.
Couple blocks away? It would be faster to walk than to move his car.
Perry was out of breath and his sides hurt when he reached the jazz club. There was a line to get in and a rather pissy looking maitre-d', but he did not have time for that.
"Police business!" he shouted as he dashed past the man and inside, flashing a fake police badge as he went. The man may have tried to call him back, but Perry did not give a shit. He ran straight for the bar and surveyed the room as soon as he got there, but he could see neither Harry nor the asshole they were after.
"Fuck!" he muttered through clenched teeth. He started to walk up to the bar to question the bartender when someone grabbed him from behind. Shit! I do NOT have fucking time for some brawny, brainless bouncer, he thought as he reflexively twisted n the man's hold and slammed him against a wall with his arm twisted behind his back in a tight hold.
"If you're really a cop, asshole, give me a good look at your badge!" The bouncer tried to play it as if Perry had not just handed him his ass.
"Look, Hulk Hogan, you can analyze my god damned badge with a microscope if you want, but first I've got some crime to fight here." Keeping the other man pinned against the wall with one hand and the weight of his body, Perry again pulled out the photo of the target. "Have you seen this man?" The bouncer took too long to answer, so Perry gave his trapped arm a little wrench.
"Ow! Shit! Yeah, alright! I saw that faggot here. He was flirting with the bartender."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know. He left with some loser who couldn't hold his liquor!"
"Did you see which way they went!" Perry heard the hysterical edge in his own voice, but he was past caring.
"No, but I let them out the back door – man said his friend was gonna be sick. Now let me go!"
"I'll be sure to commend your excellent work in my report," Perry said as he released the man and sprinted as fast as the stitch in his side would allow.
Please don't leave in a car. Perry doubted that the target would risk it, but then again, fucking someone in an alley was pretty risky, too.
He pushed open the back door and stepped out into the back alley. It was actually fairly well lit. Perry could easily make out the dumpster and the crates of empty bottles, but he could not see any people.
Shit, shit, shit! He fought to keep his cool as he looked harder, desperate for any sign of their direction. He strained his ears as well.
There! He could have sworn he had just heard a slight rustling noise and a hushed voice from further down the alley. He moved stealthily toward the source of the sounds, striving to keep his own panting breaths quiet. As he got closer, he discovered that there was aside alley, narrower and darker than the main one and obscured from sight from the back door of the bar.
He crept closer and peered into the dark space. The weak light that made its way into this tiny alley was reflected off pale exposed skin… and the ring on the hand that moved over it.
Perry stood momentarily frozen at the sight before him, appalled and yet fascinated. Harry was pushed back up against a wall, completely naked, his head lolled back and to one side, leaving the vulnerable column of his throat exposed. His eyes were open, but he did not seem to be looking at anything. The target's mouth was pressed against the joint of Harry's jaw, his wet tongue glinted faintly as he licked Harry's jawbone once before resuming a sucking kiss under Harry's ear. Harry gave a small, pained moan and Perry felt a strange heat in his cheeks.
The target's teeth shone dimly as he pulled back with a satisfied smile, "I knew you'd like this, baby," he whispered before moving in to kiss Harry on the mouth. He pulled back again with that smirk still in place. "Keep those brown eyes open, baby. I want to see them when I'm fucking you." Perry followed the man's ringed left hand as it slid down Harry's abdomen, to his hip, around to his ass, and down finally behind his thigh. He pulled forward and up, trying to wrap Harry's leg around his own hip. Then the man shifted position against Harry, clearly trying to get his dick in position. At the contact, though, Harry began to shake his head, some part of him aware of what was happening despite the drug.
"No," he whispered, barely audible.
What the fuck am I doing! "Get your fucking hands off him, dickhead!" Perry burst into the ally and punched the man just as he turned his face toward the interloper. There was a satisfying feeling of breakage as his fist came into powerful contact with the target's nose. The man fell to the ground, groaning and clutching his face.
"Harry!" Perry ran forward to catch Harry as he began to follow his attacker to the ground. He slowly crouched down until he was almost sitting on the dirty floor of the alley, Harry cradled in his arms.
"You son of a bitch!" the target sputtered at Perry. "I'm going to sue you for assault!"
"I fail to see how you're going to do that after you are arrested for rape."
"Rape?" The man laughed nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about. My friend and I were just trying to have a good time."
"Your friend?" A good time! Perry looked down at Harry, who gazed blearily back at his boss.
"Perry… 'sthat you?" The target's attempted self-righteous expression fell away. "'m sorry I messed up."
"It's OK, Chief. Just, go to sleep."
"OK."
"As for you," Perry pulled out his phone as he looked at the sorry excuse for humanity before him. "I'm calling the police."
The client was not going to like it, but… Fuck the client. This sick fuck just tried to rape Harry.
"Attempted rape? With a witness too wasted to remember what happened?"
"I remember. And the bartender at The Happy Ending remembers you. A lot of people might remember you if they see your picture plastered across the front page."
"No, you've got nothing on me!" Perry set down his phone and took out his gun. "You gonna shoot me!"
"No." Perry reversed his grip and gave the asshole a swift pistol-whip to the temple, knocking him out. "I'm just going to shut you up." That achieved, Perry put his gun away, picked up his phone, and called 911. He would rather have called his Hollywood police contact, but Harry should probably see a doctor.
When his call was finished, he again looked down at Harry. He was not asleep. He lay there in Perry's arms, staring up at him.
"You OK, Chief?"
"I'm cold."
"Let's get your clothes on, then." Feeling strangely uncomfortable with Harry's warm body pressed against his own, Perry managed to locate his assistant's clothing and get them on… with Harry's dazed cooperation.
"Perry?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." Harry wrapped his limp arms around Perry's waist and promptly went to sleep.
"You're welcome," Perry replied, feeling oddly embarrassed as he awkwardly patted Harry's head.
~-~Two Weeks Later~-~
"So, I don't have to testify or anything like that?" Harry asked for the tenth time.
"As I explained before, NO. The police have our statements and those of several other witnesses. The man's own wife has made a statement against him. His lawyer advised him to plea guilty to a lesser charge and that's it."
"So I don't have to testify?"
"NO! Let me make it absolutely clear to your tiny pea of a brain: YOU – DO – NOT – HAVE – TO – TESTIFY."
"Alright, jeez!"
Perry, finally able to get back to his newpaper, resumed reading the latest report. It had not worked out for the best, but the client was not asking for her money back, the raping son of a bitch was going to prison, and Harry was all right.
Good enough for me.
"Perry?"
"Yes, fuckhead?" Could he not read for five minutes in silence?
"I keep wondering…"
"What?"
"Why straight men? And why… that?"
"Just forget about it, Harry. We have new cases now."
"Perry."
Perry sighed and met Harry's brown eyes. Their expression was more serious than Perry had seen since the Dexter case. "Would you have reported it, Harry? If that man had actually finished what he started, would you have been able to go to the police and tell them about it?"
Harry's eyes widened. "No," he replied, shaking his head and shuddering.
"That's why."
"I'm glad that fucking asshole is going to prison." Harry's voice was soft, but the tone was firm. "And Perry?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't think I've said it yet, but thank you. Thank you for saving… my ass." His mouth was quirked up at one corner in a wry half smile. Perry, to his mortification, felt his cheeks getting warm. He swiftly raised his paper to hide it, but he had not been fast enough, apparently. "Oh my god! Perry, are you blushing?"
"No, you're imagining things, shithead. Now leave me alone to read my paper in peace."
"You are blushing." It was the happiest Harry had sounded in two weeks. "There's no fucking way Harmony will ever believe me." Perry heard the sound of clothes rustling. "I have to take a picture."
Before Perry could react, Harry had snatched the paper out of his hands and was trying to snap a photo, with his cell phone, of Perry's face. "Harry! You put that away now."
"Not this time, Perry!"
"Harry, so help me, if you don't get that phone out of my face right now you will be dialing it from your rectum!"
"My, eh, wha-- … Ugh!" Harry finally lowered his cell phone and dropped back down into his chair. "You still blushed."
Perry glared at Harry, but the other man's delighted expression was making it very hard to maintain a glower. "Drop it," he said in a close approximation of his usual tone as he recovered his newspaper.
"Ookaay," Harry's reply left a lot to be desired.
And Perry could swear he could still see the other man's gleeful smile through his paper, but he would let it slide.
Just this once.