Left on St. Truth-Be-Well (9 page)

“But I don’t know nothing!” Jarred whined, and then he ran down the hall as fast as he could, leaving his maid’s cart in the dust. Carson thought about going after him but picked up his phone instead.

“Y
EAH
,
what’d you find?” he asked, knowing it was Dale without even checking. Nobody from Chicago would be calling him right now, and he didn’t even want to think about what that meant for his social life.

“I found a bunch of fucking parrots almost starving to death. I ran across to the Chevron store and got them a shit-ton of sunflower seeds, man. They were driving me fucking crazy.”

“But no Beatrice?”

“No. It’s weird. I didn’t see her.”

“Yeah, me neither, but I did find a weaselly little man-maid who broke the lock on the door and mopped up the drag marks of the body on the concrete, though.”

“Well done. Did he say where the drag marks led?”

“No, you called and he bolted.” Carson realized he was still standing in the room with the recently rented bed and wrinkled his nose. The smell of rancid sex and his own rumbling stomach were making him more than a little queasy. He walked out, carefully not closing the door or putting his hands anywhere he’d leave prints. At the moment, the only evidence he could have left was on Jarred’s rumpled tan shirt.

“I am starving!” he complained unrepentantly. “Is there any way we can get me some food?”

“I thought you were supposed to eat before I picked you up!”

“I was sleeping, Toppy McTopperson, so sue me, but buy me McDonald’s first, or I refuse to put out.”

“That’s rude,” Dale said with a grunt. “But I’ll do it. McDonald’s it is. Shakes are on me.”

“Don’t be a cheap bastard. I want pie too.” Carson started to look around the corridor, trying to figure out the way to cut through the hotel to get to the lobby. There had to be a way, right? All hotels had one.

“Any food with that food?” Dale sounded like he was moving too, and Carson hoped they weren’t going to walk right by each other in parallel corridors.

“Yeah, a salad wrap, because that’s just the way I fly.” Okay, good. Left. There, that hallway looked promising: it had a men’s room on the right, which you didn’t usually see unless you were close to the lobby.

“Now that’s going too far. A hamburger, by God, that’s as far as I’ll go!”

For a second, Carson was disoriented because it sounded like Dale’s real voice, and then he looked up, and, hey, there was the man himself, faded jeans, zippered blue hoodie and all. Carson hit End Call and rolled his eyes.

“That’s my limit, burger boy. I want a fucking salad wrap or no deal.”

Dale’s full lips curled up into that slow, inviting smile. “Well, if you’re gonna lay down the law….”

Carson felt a thrill in his stomach that had nothing to do with food. “Yeah, all kidding aside, can we get the fuck out of here? This place is about to give me a willie-killing attack of the heebie-jeebies.”

And now Dale’s low, surf-rolling laugh was the only thing that got Carson through the lobby of the hotel—with all of those squawking, pissed-off birds sitting over their bird-shit pyramids—without squealing like a frightened teenager and running away in his bobby-sox.

“God forbid we kill anything about your willie,” Dale said, and Carson didn’t even have a comeback.

He did feel better after eating a Quarter Pounder with Cheese and downing a soda. Dale flat out said he refused to order a salad wrap from McDonald’s, and since he was in the front of the car, Carson had to cave and eat some red meat. “Okay, fine, you just remember what happens to men who eat dairy. You’re the one who wanted to top.”

“I can handle gas,” Dale said as he pulled on his own shake. “I don’t know if I can handle you getting all wussied out because you’re afraid of it.”

“God, picky much?”

“I’m really fucking picky, and don’t forget it,” Dale told him as he licked his fingers before wiping them on the napkin, and Carson rolled his eyes.

“I’m picky too. Wash your hands like a human when we get to this mystery serial killer cabin in the woods, okay?”

“It’s not the woods, it’s the swamp, city boy, and I’m not joking about alligators in the backyard.”

Carson grunted sourly and threw his napkin into the bag, along with the two cartons and straw wrappers and other detritus that came with eating your dinner out of a white paper bag. “Yeah, I know. Ivan called me and told me I was looking for Stassy, and I googled the place to make sure none of the nature channels were exaggerating. I’m fully aware once we get there I’m at your mercy, surfer boy, don’t worry. If you really are a serial killer, I’m screwed.”

“Yeah.” Dale nodded, completely serious. “It’s one of the reasons I put off getting a dog. I don’t want him to be alone all the time.”

Carson sighed a little and looked out into the amazing darkness. No streetlights illuminated the quiet area. He could see the short palm trees and some of the other lush vegetation that made the place Florida only as a deeper black filigree against the darkness. “Isn’t that the worst part about being a grown-up?” he asked out of nowhere. “You have these things you think grown-ups should be, ways they should be, and you still believe that, even if you reach adulthood and realize that you can’t be that way. It’s like you’ll always be a failure because you can’t have your own dog, or you don’t have a wife and kids, or you don’t get a college degree or get famous, right? Even if you’re happy, you’re pretty sure you blew it.”

The truck made its way through a series of twists and turns in what looked to be a small semisuburban neighborhood of little houses with big overgrown lawns. That topography was followed by a long, bumpy stretch of nowhere, and just when Carson stopped talking, Dale turned right, drove through a tunnel of underbrush, and stopped abruptly because the driveway ended.

“You’re not happy,” Dale said, “and don’t get out yet.” From down under the front seat, he pulled a giant halogen lamp, which he plugged into the outlet in the truck and then switched on. It flooded the entire front yard with daylight, and Dale put his hand on Carson’s arm. “See? Yeah—gotta be careful at night—they tend to just hide in the corners.”

Carson watched as a snake hiding out by the porch steps uncoiled itself in the glare and slunk silently away. His stomach went cold and he almost dropped his water. “Jesus fucking Christ….”

“It’s okay. He probably wouldn’t have bit us as we were walking up, but you don’t want ’em to get too comfortable, you know?”

“I have… I have no words.”

Dale fumbled for Carson’s hand in the dark and squeezed reassuringly. “It’s okay, Carson. Most of the time we just need to know it’s out there. It’s like your mob-boss boss-guy. He’s probably deadly, but he really has no interest in hurting you, so you ignore him, right?”

Carson looked at Dale irritably as he held the lamp over his head. “You ever think of having a light post put out here, with a sensor and everything, so, you know, you drive up and all the scaly things go away without your help?”

Dale smiled down at him, and a reassuring warmth and smell started to seep through Carson’s pores from his nearness. “I think that’s an outstanding idea, and I shall put that on the top of things needed to be a productive grown-up. I think you can get out now.”

“Smartass.”

“When you have intimate knowledge of my ass, then I’ll allow you to make an assessment.”

“Yeah, since you claim to always top, I don’t see when that’s going to happen.”

Dale’s laugh wasn’t reassuring this time. It was downright dirty. “Don’t worry, Chicago, we’re gonna know all there is to know by the time this is through.”

Carson wasn’t looking out on the lawn of terror anymore. He was looking up into Dale’s steady, handsome face as Dale searched the lawn of terror, and Carson was strangely comforted. Dale wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

“You’re not happy,” Dale said into the sudden silence. “Or you weren’t.”

Carson swallowed. Dale was close enough, hovering with the light, for Carson to lean forward and bump that strong jaw with his nose. “Who says?”

“You did.” Dale held the light steady, but he turned to Carson so close Carson could see light flecks of green in his ocean-blue eyes. “You said you were lonely. I can fix that, Chicago. I may not be able to put a light pole up, but I can fix that.”

Carson swallowed, closed his eyes, and resisted the urge to beg. “Is anything gonna jump out and bite me? Because the lease is up on my soda and I’ve got to pee.”

“Carson?”

Carson had his hand on the door to the truck. “Alligator?” he asked, jerking away like it was red-hot.

“No. Emotional intimacy.”

Carson grunted in disgust. “Almost as bad. What about it?”

Dale lowered his head and kissed Carson’s temple, then whispered against his skin. “When we are bare-assed naked, you will not be able to hide from me. You know that, right?”

“I need to get out of this truck,” Carson said harshly. He did. Because if he didn’t get out of the truck, he was going to make Dale turn it around, and Carson wasn’t sure which decision was worse for the state of his man card.

“Yeah you do. And I need to shower. Go ahead and go, I’ll put the light away.”

Carson was out of the truck and halfway across the lawn before he realized he forgot his little clothes roll of shame. He turned around to go back and get it, but at that moment, Dale turned off the light and Carson was alone in the dark with imagined scaly/bitey things all around his feet.

He turned back toward the porch and waited until he felt the heat of Dale’s body passing him before he docilely followed the man up his porch steps and into the little cottage.

The inside had new tile, an old sink, and counters with peeling tops. The table was sturdy and wooden, with matching chairs and nice little cushions, and the floors in the living room and the one bedroom were all hardwood with faded throw rugs on top, the kind with the dark jewel colors and the floral arrangements. Red tapestry couches sat in the living room, with a battered wooden coffee table from the same family as the stuff in the kitchen. Carson couldn’t see it, but he imagined the bed was made from the same solid red-tinted wood. None of the windows had glass panes; instead, they were all screened, with giant wooden shutters propped open to let the breeze through. The result was a surprisingly cool interior, and the overhead fans that switched on with the lights took some of the ever-present moisture from the air. Houseplants covered every available flat surface: windowsills, the coffee table, the top of the entertainment center.

“It’s nice,” he said, feeling it. He was suddenly achingly aware that the only living thing in his little studio was himself. A houseplant—couldn’t he even get bamboo or something? People said a nuclear holocaust would only make that shit grow bigger. “It’s….” He swallowed, and suddenly, finding the right word was of tantamount importance. “It’s human.”

“Good,” Dale said, and then he winked. “So’m I. And I’m going to go wash some of this human off of me.”

“I need to do that myself,” Carson said, and Dale shrugged.

“Procrastinator.”

“Yup.”

“Fine. Did you bring a change of clothes?”

Carson grimaced. “Yeah, but they’re in the truck.”

Dale grinned. “Excellent. You go ahead and shower first. You’re stuck in a towel until I take pity on you and scare away the critters.”

Carson gave him a flat, unfriendly look. “That is not the way to get laid.”

“I didn’t say that’s how I was getting laid. I just said I get to see you naked as long as I want.”

“Or in a towel, unless you really do live like a savage.” Carson got up and headed for the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah, a towel. There’ll be a cold beer on the porch when you get out, ’kay? Make it quick.”

The bathroom was all white tile, inexpensive but new and clean. The man products were simple—shampoo, bodywash, comb, razor—and Carson felt almost at home as he stripped mindlessly and turned on the spray. He froze for a second when he saw the gecko on the upper portion of the shower, where the tile faded to white-painted wall, but the critter seemed to be ignoring him, so he returned the favor. He was getting the feeling more wildlife lived in this portion of the States than human life, and he’d already embarrassed himself enough. Running out into the other room screaming because of a fairly innocuous lizard was just too embarrassing, even for Carson.

And speaking of embarrassing:

Carson, Carson, what are you doing? You’re having an affair with another man.

You’ve banged your share, why does this surprise you?

Because I want it so bad
.

Yeah, well, enjoy that. You know this can’t end well
.

I’m going to pretend it can
.

By the time he had himself all set up in Denial Hotel, he was done soaping everything that mattered, twice, and had given his hair a cursory scrub too. When he was done, he dried off, wrapped himself in a towel, gathered his clothes, and padded out to the porch, which he could see adjoined the living room. As he walked by the bedroom door, Dale popped his head out and grinned.

“Nice. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“You know, I don’t usually plan so much for sex. It had better be worth it.”

“Hey, right backatcha. I don’t usually throw my clothes in a hamper for anyone.”

Carson smiled in spite of himself. “Did you watch out for geckos? There’s one on the wall in the bathroom.”

Dale winked. “That’s Roger. He keeps me company in the morning.”

“Well, he’s good company,” Carson said, because talking to the lizard about getting laid seemed a little less embarrassing than talking to himself.

Dale winked again. “You can throw your dirty stuff into my hamper. I can do it in the morning while we’re surfing.”

Carson ducked his head. “Appreciate it,” he said, and Dale disappeared into the bathroom. Carson ventured into the bedroom for a minute and had to smile at the evidence of a quick cleanup. The bed quilt and sheets had been pulled up to the pillows, but the bed was still rumpled, and the hamper had been filled and overfilled, but the lid hadn’t been closed. An old-fashioned dresser stood in the corner, in black wood instead of the cherry-red kind, with an oval mirror that reached about chest high. A solid, brand-new pedestal candle sat reflected in the mirror, the kind with three wicks, all of them flickering as it emanated faint sandalwood.