Scott Sherman - Third You Die

“Then, the moment I hung up, I scooped up the errant doughnut filling to discover-much to my chagrin-that a terrible mistake had been made.”

I held my breath, anxious to hear what she’d gotten wrong. Maybe there was something she’d discovered I could use-even if the connection wasn’t clear to her.

“The bakery had given me a blueberry jelly doughnut. Blueberry? I’d requested grape! I get a grape doughnut there every day-how could such a thing happen?”

She sounded near tears.

“And…” I prompted.

“And?” she asked. “And what? I mean, whatever happened to customer service? To loyalty? To… oh, you mean about your friend?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Not that I don’t sympathize with the whole doughnut debacle, but-”

“Quite right,” Mrs. Cherry interrupted. “I’m afraid I did lose track for a moment. Yes, well, after I forced myself to choke down that blueberry filling-which, by the way, really wasn’t that bad-I looked at my notes from the other day and realized I had the wrong boy! I’d been so sure. A former SwordFight model, the right age and coloring, how many of those could there be? But the names were different, darling. What a disappointment. And none of my subsequent calls turned up a ‘Brent Havens,’ either.”

I wasn’t so sure Mrs. Cherry hadn’t gotten it right, though. I knew Brent had changed his name at least once for professional reasons. Maybe he’d taken another alias. Or, more likely, now that his work was no longer in the public eye, maybe he was using his real name. My heart beat faster with the sudden conviction I was right.

“The boy you found,” I asked, “he wouldn’t be ‘Richie’ something, would he?”

“No,” Mrs. Cherry said. “I have a ‘Richie’ working for me, so I’d remember that.”

“You do?” I asked. Could Brent have a second job? “Maybe-”

Mrs. Cherry read my mind. “He’s been with me for two years, dearheart. He’s a black gentleman in his forties. I don’t think he’s your boy.”

Well, so much for that theory.

I guess I hadn’t found Brent. Or made any other progress.

“No,” Mrs. Cherry lamented. “I’m afraid I’ve been no help to you. The boy my friend was talking about was… oh, where did I put those notes…?”

She paused and I heard the rustle of paper. I hoped she hadn’t eaten them.

“His name was something like Larry. Lucky. No… wait. Here it is! Lucas Fisher!” Mrs. Cherry was thrilled to have found her notes, then remembered that wasn’t the name I’d given her. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

Lucas Fisher. The first boy who’d gone missing from SwordFight. I was afraid he’d suffered whatever fate I feared had befallen Brent. That he was another victim of whatever was going on.

I was glad to hear he was okay. In a way, it gave me hope for Brent.

On the other hand, knowing his obsession with Brent had me initially suspicious of him. Now that his whereabouts were accounted for, he’d gone full circle from suspect to victim to suspect again.

“Actually,” I told Mrs. Cherry, “I’ve been looking for Lucas, too. He was a friend of Brent. He might know where he is. This is great. Can you give me the info you got on him?”

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Cherry gushed. “So, I was helpful after all?”

“You were amazing,” I assured her. “No one else had any idea where to find him. I was just about to give up.”

Mrs. Cherry gave me Lucas’s address and phone number, sounding quite pleased with herself.

“Now, you will remember to be discreet, won’t you, darling? Mr. Fisher’s patron pays quite handsomely to keep his dalliance with this young man out of the public eye. I don’t know how far he’d go to protect his privacy.”

I’ve seen firsthand how far famous people went to hide their clandestine affairs. No secrets that they were willing to die for, but a few they’d kill someone else to keep. I didn’t take Mrs. Cherry’s warning lightly.

“I owe you flowers,” I told Mrs. Cherry. “Thank you so much.”

“No bouquets, please,” Mrs. Cherry said. “They just die and depress me. But I’d be happy to give you the number of my local bakery. Just tell them to get the order right, okay?”

And so it was that, less than an hour after I promised Andrew I’d stick around the office, I was sneaking out again.

What else could I do? When I wanted to talk to Brent’s boyfriend, Charlie, I had to wait till he went on shift at the bar. My “audition” with SwordFight took even more elaborate planning.

But getting to Lucas should be easier. I knew where he lived. I could call first, but if he were involved in Brent’s disappearance, it’d probably be best to take him by surprise. I didn’t want to give him time to come up with any excuses, or, worse, make a run for it.

I didn’t want to put it off. I had no idea where Brent was. But if there was chance it was somewhere unpleasant, if he were being held against his will-and I couldn’t imagine another scenario in which he at least wouldn’t have told Charlie where he was-time was of the essence.

BTW: I’ve always wanted to use the phrase “time was of the essence.”

Of course, there was always the risk Lucas wouldn’t be home. I mean, what does a kept boy do all day? Go to the gym, I’d imagine. Shop. Play video games. Maybe he was in school.

I remembered Lucas’s sexy slacker vibe, though, and struck that last possibility.

Whatever Lucas was up to, and whatever he knew about Brent, I planned to find out soon enough.

On the way over, I called Freddy. Partly to fill him in, partly to let him know what I was about to do and make my increasingly frequent request of him to call Tony if he didn’t hear from me after a few hours.

“I’m coming with you,” Freddy said defiantly. “There’s no way I’m letting you go into this one alone.”

I was touched. Freddy and I had been through a lot together, and the degree to which he wanted to protect me proved what a loyal and true friend he was.

“I’m afraid seeing two of us will scare Lucas off,” I said. “And you know I can handle myself if he gets physical. I’ve taken down bigger guys than him. But I really appreciate your looking out for me.”

“Who said anything about looking out for you? We watched him on video together, Kevin, so I know you’ve seen that world-class ass. There’s no way I’m passing up the chance to get into that little hottie’s pants.”

Okay, I retract all those warm and fuzzies. Freddy was a pig.

“This is not,” I said firmly, “about getting into someone’s pants. This is about finding a missing friend.”

“You want Lucas to talk, right? Well, I’ve learned,” Freddy observed blithely, ignoring the annoyance in my voice, “that with the right kind of boy, a good and thorough plowing has a positive effect on the flow of social… intercourse. Loosens him up, so to speak.”

“Huh. And you’re prepared to make this sacrifice in the interests of helping to locate Brent?”

“No, I’m prepared to make this sacrifice in the interests of burying my dick so deep inside his butt that he feels it against his tonsils. But, if it helps find Brent, then, hey, all the better, right? Never let it be said I’m selfish.”

“You’re selfish,” I said.

“I thought I made it clear never to say that, bitch. Where should I meet you?”

“You shouldn’t. But, I’ll make you a promise-if I can’t get him to talk, we’ll try your approach.”

“Really?”

“Probably not. But you can dream, which is better than nothing, right?”

“Barely.”

“Besides, you’ve got Cody. What would he think about your shameless pursuit of a retired porn star?”