As is the case with most fairytales, this one ended 'round midnight.
An appropriately named Grandfather clock chimed out; likely loud enough to wake my own Granddad from the big sleep. It sent tremors across the hardwood floors and startled the night.
Though those quakes paled in comparison to the ones in my gut at the sound of the horn ringin'. A phone call at this hour was either one of two things.
A good time or bad news.
Looking around, even in the dark I knew this quaint home hadn't belonged to a kid that received the first. Or made them, much to my dismay.
All of my instincts, Cop and other wise wasn't likin' the sound of that ring. Most of all for a reason other than the unsettling information it likely held. The call had awoken Justin.
Not that I didn't enjoy him as such.
I might say it pleased me to see those baby blue eyes once again.
I might say it excited me.
Or I might not. I can't be trusted to follow a script.
On account that my senses had been on high alert, I'd become fully awake by the second ring. It took Justin until the fourth to completely identify the intrusion to his dream.
A dream I admit, that I'd wondered about. More specifically, I wondered if it'd contained me. A brief moment of ridiculous intrigue. I was tired. Some may argue a tad delirious. I may not argue different.
The removal of the kid's warmth as he scurried to answer the phone, had brought a centimeter of crazy to my brain.
I left that crazy on the couch as I stood and neared in to eavesdrop on the call.
"Ethan, slow down. Where are you?" Justin urgently uttered into the phone.
He caught my eyes with his, they looked worried, confused and sexy. But it was no time for those thoughts.
It looked like the elusive horn blower was safe and sound and reclaiming the blond's attention. I watched as he fumbled for a pen and the words his trembling hands scribbled on the margin of a newspaper.
Looks like my fairytale was already yesterday's news.
'Liberty motel. Come alone.'
Well, that was yet another instruction I could add to my impressive list of 'Not going to follow'. As Carl could tell ya, I was shit at following orders.
Like hell this kid'd be going to that rat hole without me.
Justin hung up the receiver and wordlessly went to put on his shoes. I on the other hand used a lot of words while I slipped on mine.
I needed to know everything I needed to know. I wanted to know everything I didn't.
"Brian, I don't know exactly." he said entirely too calm for my impatience. "He just said he was sorry and that he'd explain everything when I get to the motel...alone." he added, all cute, like he could stop me from going along.
Quickly, he buckled under the pressure of my stare. "Right." he almost smiled, "I suppose you're driving?" he dangled my keys he'd picked up from the coffee table.
I grabbed them and his fingers along with em'.
I stood silently savoring the feel for a moment...before the book bind of my fairytale fully came to a close.
Driving through a sudden downpour of rain and anxiety, Justin and I stayed mostly silent on the way to the creep joint.
Undoubtedly both our heads were full of questions. I put the car in park, unsure as to whether or not I still wanted answers to them.
A neon sign with a bulb as broken as the motel's foundation, flickered a feverish frenzied glow on the night.
The spastic lights appeared to be in alliance with the raindrops to set the scene for reality.
Fairytale officially over.
My wet loafers sloshed and seemed to find every puddle as we walked toward the front desk.
Justin's shoes remained more or less dry.
I was okay with that, as long as the now light rain continued to dampen his hair to his incredible face. Kept drizzling, like it did, down every delicate feature.
My groin and I agreed it was a view worth at least the price of two soaked, squishy shoes.
The first thing I'd noticed about the desk clerk was that he was not my type.
In fact, I'd had a hard time believin' he'd been anyone's.
His dim brown hair clung to his face like mud. His features seemed dis-proportioned to his mis-proportioned head. I'd bet his eyes were equally as uninspiring had they been opened.
The second thing I'd noticed about the desk clerk, was that he was asleep.
Sharing his unenthusiastic schedule was a fleabag, a mongrel, a mutt. Or what you bleeding hearts would call... a dog.
A messy mop of matted yellow fur; who was either deep in dream or long dead.
I suspected I'd have to get real close to check for signs of breath, I'd decided against it. The plan was instead carried out by a different mop of yellow hair, Justin's.
"Hey there fella," he cooed, bending down to pet the beast's head.
I tried to avoid noticing his pants' sudden tight fit to his bending form. Of course by instructing myself not to look, my eyes adhered to his ass. Like I said, I was shit at following orders.
"Hinky." Justin read the dog's tag aloud. It dangled on a red collar as tattered as his owner's appearance.
Ol' Hinky moved exactly once.
That was to barely lift his head and I'd swear, that damned mutt smiled. Which made sense. Under Justin's touch it seemed impossible not to.
The blond smiled too.
Apparently, he liked all things hinky. We almost had that in common, I, having been a man who liked all things kinky.
Justin ruffled the scruffy, presumably paralyzed pooch once more before he stood again beside me.
I tapped the half rusted bell on the desk, the drooling clerk sprung awake. I raised an eyebrow as I watched him scramble to appear professional.
"Cute dog." I said by way of 'hello you fumbling idiot.' "Does he do any other tricks, besides not moving?"
Is it Besides? Beside? I can never remember.
Anyway, that's what I'd said.
"Can I help you?" That's what he'd said.
'Richard.' That's what his tag said.
Justin hadn't said anything.
Neither had Hinky.
"We're lookin' for a fella we think you gots him here." Justin said. "Ethan Gold." he spoke impatiently.
"Gold." The clerk repeated.
It'd have been the perfect time to flip through his records to search, but somethin' told me Richie kept no such documents.
"Yeah, he's here." he confirmed simply.
I hadn't liked the thought of Ethan being so memorable.
"Been here two days. Room fourteen..." he explained.
Justin had not fancied waiting for the rest. Before I could stop him, the kid took off in his own direction. Most likely the direction of room fourteen.
I wanted to follow, but I'd decided to let Ol' Dick finish his sentence.
"...he had no luggage, came in a hack, paid cash." The clerk met my eyes and leaned closer, Hinky didn't budge.
He whispered, (The man, not the mutt.) "I bet this Gold's in hot water right? Yeah," he theorized practically to himself, "he did seem real skiddish like. Never once left his room. Seen that do not disturb sign for days. Even denied maid service." he ended with what seemed to be the most informative piece of information to Richard.
Though I didn't see how not using a maid could incriminate a guy. I looked around; with all the flim-flam around here, it seemed the whole motel had been denying such a service since construction.
Seemed the perfect abode for Gay cats, Clouts and...Jazz musicians.
The man behind the desk rambled on, I tuned him out. I wanted to know just who Gold was hidin' from.
"Stay." I ordered Hinky.
Walking back outside, I heard a cry from a voice I liked and a name I didn't. "Ethan!" Justin had yelled out.
I picked up the pace and burst into the slightly ajar door of room number fourteen.
Stretched before me was a scene my eyes rushed to evaluate.
The facts were these:
1. The room held the bleeding, dead body of one Ethan Gold.
2. Justin's gripping hand held a dripping chiv. Presumably with the blood of the body listed above.
3. Justin's face held a look somewhere between shock, and really, really guilty.
Horn- Telephone
Creep joint- Sleazy motel
Hack- Taxi cab
Hot water- Big trouble
Flim-flam- Shady behavior
Gay cats- Hustler
Clouts- Pickpocket/Petty thief
Chiv- Knife