Chapter 8
“Hey,” Alex said, pulling open the door and stepping back. John stepped in and, without saying a word, pulled Alex into a hug. Alex sighed into the embrace, the brown bag of Chinese in John’s hand warming his back and shoulders. He nestled his face into the crook of John’s neck and breathed in the scent of his friend, using the soothing aroma of his cologne to calm him down.
“Hi,” John answered, squeezing Alex before pulling back to hold him at arm’s length, studying him for a moment before leaning in to drop a comforting kiss on his nose. “How are you holding up?”
Alex shrugged before blurting out, “I fucked one of the security guards.”
John’s eyes widened. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He dropped his gaze down to the floor before looking back up, moving his hand from John’s back down his arm and around his wrist, the tips of his fingers pushing against John’s palms and leaving indentations from his nails. He could see John grimace from the pain, but he didn’t say anything, letting Alex do whatever he needed to feel better.
The men stood in the doorway for several minutes before Alex moving his fingers from John’s palm to interlace with his. He pulled John over to the couch and shoved him down before taking a seat himself, taking his phone out of his pocket and tossing it onto the coffee table before putting his head on John’s shoulder. His stomach was growling, but he couldn’t convince himself to get out of the embrace to open the bag.
John kissed his forehead before murmuring, “So . . . a guard, huh? It went that bad?”
Alex scoffed and sat back up. “Why would it have had to have gone bad for me to have sex? Maybe the guard was just really hot.”
John raised an eyebrow and looked at Alex through his lashes, his nose crinkling and the corner of his lip twitching as he struggled not to make too insulting of a comment. “You always fuck someone after you get news about George. I just figured that you’d do the same after actually seeing him. Let out some of the sexual tension and whatnot.”
Alex sniffed and grit his teeth. “So I’m a slag, that’s what you’re saying?”
John tilted his head forward. “Do you really have to ask me that?”
“Jesus, John, I asked you to come over so that I could talk about today and figure out what I want to do about the case, not get a fucking guilt trip about what a whore I am.”
“What use would I be as your best friend if I didn’t give you a hard smack into reality? I’m just saying, I know seeing George was hard on you, so don’t question why I’m not more surprised that you fucked a guard. Hell, I put condoms and lube in your car for that exact reason.”
“Wait, what? Really?” Alex hadn’t even noticed they were there. He blew out another breath and shook his head. “Never mind. That doesn’t matter.”
“Well, was he hot at least?”
“George or the guard?”
“The guard, duh. I know what George looks like; he couldn’t be any less attractive to me if he had tentacles growing out of his forehead. But if the guard was hot, hey, maybe then I could condone you going back out there to see George again, if you were getting a hot piece of ass on the side.”
“How do you know I’m going to go see him again? Maybe I’ll just do what you said earlier and let months go by without contacting him again. It’d serve him right.”
“Because you’re Alexander Hamilton, and you could never say ‘no’ when George Washington was involved.” He adjusted his hips so that he was facing Alex. “So. Was he hot or not?”
“Yes, he was. Very much so.” Alex reached over and picked his phone back up from the coffee table. He opened up his messages and went to the thread that Ryker had started halfway through Alex’s drive home. There weren’t any words, but Ryker’s pictures more than spoke for himself: he wanted a repeat of today.
Alex stared at the close-up of the man’s cock before opening the picture that showed his full body, the close-up included. He was standing the same way that he was when Alex walked into the bedroom, his foot propped up against the bed and putting everything on display. He was completely naked, and was facing the full-length mirror that was on his closet door. The picture was taken in the mirror with enough light that everything was on perfect display.
Alex swallowed thickly at the arousal that rushed south before turning the phone around and handing it to John. John’s eyes widened and his mouth began to gape, his tanned cheeks darkening as his eyes moved over the image.
“Damn, Alex, I definitely can’t say that I blame you on this one. Think he’d be up for a three-some?”
“That depends. Are you going to go with me the next time I talk to George?”
“Do I have to help prove his ‘innocence’ or can I just eat my ‘lunch’ in the break room with Mr. Huge-Cock here?” Alex gave John a look. John looked at him and chuckled before turning his attention back on the picture, his eyes getting darker as he used his index finger and his thumb to zoom in. Alex rolled his eyes and took the phone from him, clicking it off and tossing it onto the adjacent chair before John had a chance to take it back. “That wasn’t very nice. I was enjoying that.”
“Clearly.” He nodded down at the slight tent that had begun to form in John’s khakis. John spread his legs and thrust up gently, gesturing with his hands down towards his crotch. Alex rolled his eyes and moved back on the couch, pulling his legs up under himself and pointing towards the Chinese food. “Calm your libido down and get my fed.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He grabbed the bag and opened it, giving the phone another longing glance before pulling out a pair of chopsticks and one of the takeout boxes. He opened it and studied it for a moment before handing it to Alex. “Here. Shrimp lo mein.”
“Thanks.” Alex took the chopsticks from John and scooped a bit of the noodles up into his mouth. He chewed slowly and let the flavor of the shrimp coat his tongue, reminding him of the Caribbean food that his mother used to make when he was a child. “In all seriousness, though, I really don’t know what to do about this whole George situation. Do I take on his case or do I let it slide? I want him to have a fair trial, really, but I don’t know if that’s something that I can do without any bias. Half of me wants him to really be innocent, but the other half of me is hoping that he’s guilty and deserves to spend the rest of his life in prison. I mean, I don’t want him there if he’s telling the truth, but I just . . . ” He trailed off, shaking his head and taking another bite of his food.
John ate a few pieces of his sweet and sour chicken before speaking. “I understand what you mean, Alex. He broke your heart, and now you have the chance to break his.” He stared down at the container in his hand before looking back at Alex. “Look, Alex, I didn’t want you going there in the first place, you know that. But now that you’ve gone and seen him again, I don’t think that you’re going to be able to live with yourself if you don’t at least give him another chance to prove himself to you.”
Alex didn’t say anything. He tried to eat more, but at John’s words, he found that his appetite had suddenly failed him. He used one of the chop sticks to swirl the noodles around and the other to stab at the shrimp. Deep down, he knew that John was right, but all the hopes that he had about getting closure from winning the case were beginning to fade away. He no longer felt like he was still madly in love, and all of his feelings for George had grown to nothing more than a few dim sparks over the years, but if they spent enough time together . . . who knew where Alex’s feelings would go.
John must of read all of this in Alex’s face, as he stared at him for a moment before going into the kitchen and grabbing Alex’s laptop. He brought it back in, opening it and typing in Alex’s password (they always knew each other’s passwords; it was a habit they had gotten into when they were boyfriends and one they didn’t break after they went their separate ways). He went to his email and downloaded a file before turning the computer so that Alex could see, as well. “I went ahead and did a search through the databases while you were out there, just in case. I emailed everything to you so that we could look over them and make a decision together. Is that all right?”
Alex still didn’t say anything, but he nodded. He put his feet back on the floor and watched as John opened the first of the files. The image was so grainy that, at first, Alex couldn’t make out what he was looking at, but when John hit a few buttons under the “view” tab, it became clear that he was looking at a missing persons report. However, instead of Martha, it was a report about George missing that he was looking at. It was issued by a Naomi Curtis on October 8, 2015, and stated that she had come to her sister and brother-in-law’s house to find it a mess. She wrote the it had been weeks since she had seen him last, but she knew that he had been home the morning before, as she heard her sister and him talking that very morning when Martha and she were on the phone.
John set the file to Alex’s printer before closing it out and opening up another file. This was another missing persons file, although this was the one devoted to Martha Washington. Naomi was clearly a lot more worried about her sister than she was about her brother-in-law. Rather than a single page, this file was nearly ten pages, and listed every little detail about Martha’s prior whereabouts, from her daily schedule to where in the house she was the last time that Naomi spoke to her on the phone.
On the last page, there was an image of George and Martha. It was one that George had seen before in one of his research-binges. The happy couple was sitting out a hunter-green loveseat in what looked to be the living room of a log cabin. George had his arm around Martha, his dark chocolate skin contrasting with Martha’s peaches-and-cream complexion. Martha’s hair was flowing down around her shoulders and she had a large smile on her face, one hand on George’s knee and the other on the head of some fluffy, white animal at her side. It was Christmastime, the branches of the large spruce tree behind them hanging low, heavy with ornaments and fairy lights.
John printed that document as well before closing it, reaching over and squeezing Alex’s thigh before pulling up a document that was made up strictly of pictures. These, Alex recognized immediately. Just like the article said, George and Martha’s house most definitely looked as though a crime had been committed there. There were papers all of the floor, the couch cushions and throw pillows were torn to shreds and scatted around the living room and kitchen like a textile avalanche, and the white linoleum of the kitchen and bathrooms were littered with crimson dots. In one corner of the kitchen, there was a large puddle of blood next to a broken butcher’s knife, a few strands of blonde hair visible in the close-up shot of the goo. Behind the red, splintered pieces of glass glinting and half-obscuring the broken frame and torn portrait from George and Martha’s wedding.
John paused on the wedding picture before hitting the next button, exiting when he realized that that was the last image. He started to open the next file but Alex stopped him, putting his hand over John’s. John looked up at him. “Do you want to stop looking?”
Alex shook his head. “No. I just . . . John, what should I do?” His cheeks colored at the small, vulnerable tone that his voice took on. “These pictures . . . something bad obviously happened in that house. What if George really did all of that? What if he really did kill her?”
“Alex, that’s not for us to figure out. All that you have to worry about is whether or not you are making the jury think that he killed her or not.” He turned his hand over an interlaced their fingers. “Do you want to keep looking at the files or do you want to take a break?”
Alex hesitated. “I can’t take a break. I have to figure out what to do.”
John nodded. “Okay then. We will continue on.” He let go of Alex’s hand and put his fingers back on the mouse pad. “Here. This file looks like it’s about George’s arrest.” He opened it and skimmed through the first page before his face lit up. He pointed to a line near the bottom of the page, drawing Alex’s attention to it. “There! Our first crack.”
Alex leaned forward and read the line aloud. “’Washington was last seen at ten-forty the night of October the fifth at Magnesium’s Tavern on the corner of Fifth and North Alms. The bartender said Washington drunk several pints of beer in the hour that he was present. He had not consumed any food to go along with his drink, and left the establishment by himself. He was on the phone arguing with someone. He got into a cab and told the man to take him home. The cab driver has yet to be identified’. Okay, and? John, this doesn’t tell us anything, other than that George didn’t see anyone for two days before Martha and his disappearance. How does this help us?”
“If we find the cabbie, we can talk to him and see who it was that George was arguing with. Even if he doesn’t remember exactly what George was talking about, I know all the cab companies north of here keep a recorder in the meter to ensure that the customer is paying the correct fee. We will get a warrant and listen in, and maybe it’ll give us some sort of a hint about George’s alibi.”
Alex waved his hand at the computer screen as he scrolled through the information. “He doesn’t have an alibi. Look.” He pointed to the third paragraph on the fourth page. “’Washington was found the morning of October the tenth in a small inn in Queens. According to the guest logs, he arrived on October eighth in the early afternoon. Security footage showed red stains on his clothing as he entered the establishment. Said clothes have not been located yet. His location between the fifth and the eighth are unknown’. It doesn’t seem that he has an alibi.”
“That stain could have been anything.” He pointed to a stain on Alex’ shirt, dark-red from a past incident with strawberries. “Maybe he just dropped a lot of strawberries on himself. I remember how clumsy he used to be; it’s not that far of a stretch.”
“I don’t know, John . . . the signs just point against him.”
“Isn’t it our job to take those signs and turn them the other way?”
“I guess.” Alex gave the computer a lingering look before he took it out of John’s hand. He closed the lid and put the laptop back on the coffee table. “Why are you trying to convince me to help him, anyway? You hate him.”
John grimaced, his lips pursing into a straight line and his eye brows furrowing. He shrugged. “I know you, Alex, and I know—well, knew George. I really don’t think he’s capable of committing such a crime, but Alex, even if I did think he did it, I would encourage you to try and help him. It’s going to tear you up inside if you don’t give this your best shot. I mean, I know that you’ll be disappointed in yourself if you fight to defend him and the jury turns against him, but if some other lawyer is put on his defense and doesn’t give him a fair trial? You’ll never forgive yourself.”
He leaned forward and gave Alex a gentle kiss, putting his hand on Alex’s jaw. He used his thumb to caress the skin and leaned their foreheads together. “Alex, I love you, and I’ll do anything to make you happy. It was true years ago, and it’s still true now.” He closed his eyes for a moment before locking his gaze on Alex’s. He bit his lip and sat back, dropping Alex’s hands and turning to look at the computer.
Alex’s eyes widened as he took in the way that John was sitting. “You mean that you . . . ” He trailed off, his mouth gaping. “After all this—”
“No!” John held his hands up defensively and turned back to face Alex. “I didn’t mean it like that. I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I just . . . Alex, you’re the best friend I’ve got. George broke your heart once, but he was the one who reached out to you. No matter what happens with this case, this could be your shot at being truly happy again. I’ve seen more emotion in you in the week since you’ve opened the letter than I have in the past five years. Do not throw away your shot.”