Unhinged (22 page)

Gene had felt like a tub of Jell-O, thinking that maybe this was just going to be a lecture while his dad reminisced about how bad his own father had treated him. His punishment was now just a waiting game.

“You know, I remember when I was fourteen and my father got me laid with a hooker. We celebrated with a beer afterward. We can't even do that, ya pansy.”

Gene merely cried as blood ran down his chin.

“I guess you don't need your balls, do ya, boy? You ain't gonna be fuckin' no ladies with your dick, are ya?”

His dad kicked Gene in the groin, and he fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The pain that emanated from his testicles was the worst he had ever felt. His dad tried to kick him in the same spot again as Gene cupped the area.

“I'll make sure you don't ever use ‘em again, you faggot,” he yelled as he kicked him repeatedly.

The last thing Gene remembered before he passed out was the sound of his mother softly crying in the back bedroom. That event had birthed the first-ever realization of how terribly alone he really was.

“That motherfucker,” Spider mumbled as he collected his trophies from his stomach and wiped them with a rag. He let his tears run down his face and drip onto his chest. Any pain he felt was deserved. He wrapped up his moistening areolas in the same foil and placed them back in the freezer.

For a week, Spider had been following Marcy Latner from her house in Metairie to work at the Windjammer restaurant at West End. She was extremely attractive, and he hated her for it. Her straight, blonde hair was cut to her shoulders, and her figure was shapely. She had a slight over-bite, which to him was a deformity, but he remembered Decland had adored it.

She had the same schedule all week, and now that the week was starting over, it was time to make his move. It was 11:00 p.m. as he waited for her to return home. The trees in her front yard were thick and provided perfect cover while she took her time finding the house key.

Spider leaned against the tree with a knapsack of supplies at his feet, feeling every groove of bark against his back. He was a stalking predator, hearing nothing but his own heartbeat. He kept his breathing steady. As soon as the door was open, he leapt from behind the oak tree and pushed her inside, knocking her down with a thud. He would be back for the knapsack within minutes.

Tying her up and gagging her was easy, thanks to the element of surprise. He left her in the spare bedroom, straining to make noise through her taped mouth. Her hands and feet were bound with rope, balled up like a calf at a rodeo. Then instead of going out to a gay bar and taking a chance on finding his other lamb, he simply made a call to the man he had met at the airport bar last night while in disguise. Charles was in town on business, and Gene's gaydar told him he was approachable. Finding his man early was easier than dealing with the possibility of not being able to pick up anyone.

Charles answered quickly, as if waiting for Gene's call, and wrote down the directions to Marcy's house. Gene tried to imagine what Decland's expression would be when he discovered his very first sentimental fuck was dead, another pleasant, meaningful memory violated. He wanted an unsettling, bilelike taste to form in Decland's mouth every time he was reminded of Marcy, just like he had done with June and Angel.

Spider's life could have been normal, like Decland's, if he was given half a chance. Why couldn't his mommy have stood up for him against the beatings and mental torture? Why couldn't he just like girls? How could his father have known he was gay at the tender age of five? The man was simply pure evil.

He took off his shirt and rubbed at the scars and cigarette burns on his arms and chest, a scrapbook of the sick therapy that had been inflicted on him. Decland Dupree was supposed to be his friend, someone he could confide in—or was he someone to love? Did Spider desire him or just want to be him? Most of the time he knew that he loved Decland, but then an unwelcome thought would enter his head: Decland would have been the perfect heterosexual son for Gene's dad.

Spider placed his bottle of absinthe on the coffee table, and his mind became lost in its emerald hue. Decland appeared before him in what had been the greatest night of his life. Marcy's house became Abby's Bar, and Gene was laughing along with Decland. They toasted and did shots and put their arms around each other's shoulders, talking about life, Paulina, and love. Decland confided about things he'd sworn he never spoke of before.

“Let's drink some absinthe,” Decland had commanded.

“I've never had that before,” Spider declared. “Let's try it.”

They had drunk Absinthe Original for the rest of the night, pouring chilled water over a sugar cube into the green spirit and feeling superior and adult. They took their last order home to Decland's new apartment, and Spider sat next to him on the sofa as Decland wondered aloud if Paulina had suffered.

Spider rubbed his shoulder and commiserated with him, telling him that she wouldn't want him to feel guilty about her disappearance. Spider leaned in and kissed Decland. A glorious openmouthed kiss that lasted a good five seconds before Deland's reflexes caught up with his brain.

It was only another five seconds before Spider was knocked unconscious, only to wake the next morning on Decland's floor with a swollen face and a busted mouth. Decland was nowhere to be found. It had been the kiss of a lifetime, and he could never return to Dixie-Mart once Decland told everyone what a queer he was. Months later he found out that Decland had done the right thing and never said a word about the kiss.

Eventually Spider snapped out of his trance when he heard a knock on the door. Spider's latest conquest was only five foot five but in tremendous shape. He had the lips and eyes of a woman but the nose and square jaw of a Roman.

“Well, well, don't you look tasty? What's with the scars? Oh, my God. How did you get these?” Charles ran his fingers over Spider's chest.

“Tough life. Some of them are from candle wax.” Gene smiled. “C'mon in. I don't think I can wait another minute.”

Charles kissed Gene on the lips and then entered. He looked around as he made himself comfortable on the couch. “You know, this place is nice, but I wouldn't think the decor would be your taste.”

“It's my sister's house. We can't go to my crib. Don't ask.”

“I don't care. I'm just glad you called. She's not coming home anytime soon, is she?” Charles took his shirt off.

Gene sat down next to him and took a sip of absinthe, never taking his eyes from his prey. He felt himself becoming seductive and sensual, not wanting to be, but needing to. It was a craving much like an addiction.

Charles put down his absinthe, stood up, and unbuttoned his jeans, letting them drop to the floor. Gene took a swig of his and Decland's beloved absinthe and followed suit, kissing him all the while, letting Charles command the action.

Charles had been made aware of what part each of them was going to play in this one-night stand, he the aggressor, Gene, the effeminate.

Charles butch, Gene bitch.

This was what was understood the two hours they spent flirting over expensive cocktails. Charles spun Gene around and guided him over the arm of the couch, giving him exactly what he needed.

The two men sitting in the black Fusion had followed Lotz and waited while he hid in the shadows at the address listed as Marcy Latner's. The man sitting on the driver's side picked up his mini-binoculars and whispered, “So, that's the Absinthe Killer. All right, let's see how a predator operates.”

They watched Lotz push Marcy into the house, and then he put down his binoculars. They waited. Gene came out to retrieve his knapsack. Then another man made his appearance. The figure within the Fusion handed his mini-binoculars to the other man, picked up his cell phone, and dialed a number very few people were given.

“Lamplight.” He waited a second. “Info correct. Subject entered first, subdued target one. Target two entered next, approximately three minutes ago.” He paused for a response, and when it was received, the men sat back and waited for the Absinthe Killer to leave.

F
ive more days passed, and I was finally on my way to work again, more than a little discouraged, of course. I didn't have a partner or a case. What I did have was a certain government faction that didn't want me in the Gene Lotz investigation. I was my own proverbial island.

I watched for Spider to appear everywhere I went: restaurants, grocery stores, driving down the street. Spider could have been watching my every move right alongside the Feds. I repeatedly told Jennifer to memorize Lotz's picture and to avoid men who approached her.

Ron's suggestion for me to transfer to another unit was odd. He most likely thought Greenwood was going to give me shit cases until I left or he retired. But crap work would be okay for the time being. I was still on a high from my engagement. Jenn was constantly calling friends and relatives to tell them the good news. I had my lady back, and everything was okay in my world again. The only thing left was to set a date.

Once inside the station, I glanced at Ron's battered and barren desk, which drove home the reality that I was alone. I could only hope he'd be like Obi-Wan Kenobi and guide me with the Force.

Before I could make it to Greenwood's office, he came out to the work area to greet me, being the caring boss that he was. “Welcome back. I heard about your attack. I'm glad you're okay.”

I'll bet.

“The Feds want you down at their field office on Leon C. Simon. The deputy director's there to question you about the case. He seemed pretty adamant about it. It looks as though you'll start your new cases later. They might want you to serve as an advisor. They must be desperate. Go on. Go.” Greenwood turned and started back for his office.

I was officially puzzled. Did he come to the conclusion that I was in the right and he really fucked up the capture? It didn't add up. I left the station and headed for the field office off Lake Pontchartrain. This was going to be interesting.