Page 57 of Fish in a Barrel
Jackson, Henry, and Ellery all groaned.
“And thanks for making it weird,” Henry said. “Someday I’ll tell you what Lance and I dress up as and revenge will be mine.”
“Someday?” Jade asked, eyeballing him skeptically. “Why not now?”
“Because we’ve only been together since June! Give us some time to think about freaky shit like costumes. For all I know, his fantasies involve being Freddy Krueger fucking Pennywise, and then sorry, I’m out of there.”
“Jesus,” Ellery muttered. “Jade and I will get out first because no. Just no.” He took a step toward the door and then went and gave Jackson the kiss on the forehead Jackson had wanted since he walked in. “No video games,” he reiterated before glancing at the dinner on the tray on the dresser. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t eaten. Gentlemen, make him eat,” he ordered, before heading out for real this time.
“Ta-ta!” Jade trilled. “Off to charm the cobras!” And then they were out the door.
Jackson sighed and picked up the bowl of soup, noting that it was tomato bisque, like he’d told Cody it might be. He took a couple of moody bites and saw that Mike was flipping through the streaming menu, looking for Marvel something or other, and Henry was regarding him quietly.
“What?” he demanded, justoverthe lack of voice.
“Dreams?”
Jackson breathed in and out. “They’re not as prevalent,” he said, wondering if Henry could even read his lips for that last word. “For a while, before my heart surgery, they were almost every night.”
Henry nodded. “I… every now and then I wake up thinking I can smell Malachi, that he’s there in my barracks and he’s about to….” About to rape Henry, who had begged his ex-boyfriend not to do anything to jeopardize their military careers. His ex—also his sister’s husband—had done anything he’d pleased, just to prove to Henry that he held all the power.
“That’s terrible,” Jackson whispered, heartsick.
Henry looked away. “That’s once a month or so,” he murmured. “It’s more than enough.” He turned back. “Eat your soup, Jackson. Get some sleep. We’ll be here if the scary monsters come. There’s no shame in having friends to watch your back when your eyes close.”
Jackson nodded and turned back to his soup, not sure what to say. He was starting to really feel the fever Ellery was bitching about, and his body was listing all the terrible things he’d done to it in the last two days. The spoon was getting heavier and heavier as he dragged it to his mouth, and about the time he realized Mike had pickedMonsters, Inc.,a cartoon about scary night monsters that were conquered by laughter, Henry was pulling the bowl from his hands.
Mike did a little shuffling with his pillows, and he rolled to the side, too tired to even complain. Sometime between the lying down and the falling asleep, he realized that he really did have two friends who had his back, and it was that thought that let him close his eyes.
Charming the Cobras
THE DA’Soffice had reserved the dance club at the top of the Hyatt Regency for their little shindig, which was a lovely venue with black couches, scintillating lighting, and a view of the city to kill for, and Ellery fought the temptation to judge. Wasn’t the district attorney’s office supposed toservethe people? But he had been born into money and privilege, and he enjoyed both. He wasn’t going to feel bad because he had them, but he was going to devote his vocation to service, because that was only fair. If you had the means, you fought for others, right?
At least it had been in his house. Taking a look at Trey Cartman, he wasn’t sure Mr. Cartman had been raised with the same ideas.
A skosh over forty, Trey Cartman was almost the anti-Jackson in appearance. He had Jackson’s dark blond hair, but it was crisply and professionally cut instead of perpetually in his eyes. He had Jackson’s height, but he worked out enough to lead with his chest; he looked taller than Jackson because of it. He had the knife-blade cheekbones and full mouth, but instead of Jackson’s habitual expression of sardonicism and ready fierceness, there was something condescending about Cartman’s mouth, much like the way his murky green eyes raked over the people in his scope, weighing their usefulness to him.
Ellery’s first impression had beensoulless, and as he spotted Cartman now, his costume—a brilliant cloak made of peacock feathers, along with a peacock-feathered harlequin’s mask that he perched on the top of his head—didn’t do much to change that.
As they made their way around the black leather couches circling the dance floor to the open bar, Jade, glancing in the same direction, made a little hissing sound in Ellery’s ear, and he knew she felt the same. Stone-cold like a dancing snake: Trey Cartman all the way.
The two people Cartman was talking to didn’t look comfortable either.
Taller and rawboned, Charlie Boehner had “cop” written all over his ruddy face. Ellery could spot a drinker’s nose a mile away, and Boehner had a beauty, lit up like a Christmas tree from his first—or fifth—drink of the day. He was wearing a bear costume, with the big fluffy head tucked under his arm. It must have been sweltering inside, because his face and his drinker’s nose were sheened in sweat.
Ellery had seen him with that nose at 10:00 a.m. when he was in court as a witness.
He wasn’t sure how the man did it. His eyes didn’t get red, his breath didn’t smell—he must have known all the tricks, from Visine to Tic Tacs, but he couldn’t hide the broken blood vessels on his skin or the sallow complexion that spoke of a beleaguered liver either.
Somehow, though, he managed to be competent and ruthless, particularly when it came to defending police officers from any appearance of wrongdoing. Ellery knew that for such people, a crash was coming—you couldn’t push your body as far as Boehner was pushing his without a reckoning—but he wasn’t sure of how much damage Boehner could do to the police force before it happened.
The other person Cartman was deep in conference with was Judge Clive Brentwood, and he did not look pleased. In fact as Ellery and Jade approached, he glanced up at them, and his face relaxed with relief that seemed a little acute for social discomfort. He was wearing a stunning tuxedo with a Phantom of the Opera mask, and given the good and the bad Ellery had spotted in the man, he couldn’t have chosen a more appropriate costume himself.
“Wonder what they’re talking about?” Jade murmured.
“I forgot to bring my pet fly,” Ellery said back, thinking that the proverbial fly on the wall would be a very handy employee to have sometimes.
“Mr. Cramer,” Brentwood said, a desperately congenial smile on his face as he came to shake Ellery’s hand. “So good that you and your—” His eyes assessed Jade, and Ellery could tell he came up with zilch to quantify what she could be in his life. “—date,” he finished awkwardly, and only Ellery heard Jade’s gentle snort.