I woke up with my head throbbing again, a piece of bloodstained cloth attached to my face. I peeled it off and threw it on the floor. On the back of the piece of paper I had gotten from Jillian, was written the name ‘Jamie Leslies,’ and a phone number. Guess I might start there then... the name rang a bell though I couldn’t quite place it. I fished my phone out of my pocket ring ring. Hmm, Jillian, I answered and got the message that a homeless person had been killed, witnesses say that the last person to come into contact with him is me. She gave me an alibi, confirmed by the CCTV... wait, first this man, next the man I talked to? She caught on before I did: “You look after yourself mister.” She would’ve put me on defence detail, but I didn’t want to be stuck in house arrest and she knew it.
I next rang Jamie Leslies...there was the possibility that she was in league with whoever was killing these people so when we confirmed a time I was sure to carry a knife in my trench. Her house wasn’t really a house; it was just a wooden shack in the outskirts of town. She answered the door before I knocked – must’ve been waiting at the window for me. I instantly recognised her face, she went by Leslie to me though and she was my brother’s ex-girlfriend. He’d found out that she was having an affair with another man a week before he disappeared, no evidence was found for any sort of arrest and my brother was just allowed to slip into history.
“Hey, Tate right... Tate Chandler, you’re his brother.” Oh, she remembered be too then, charmed m’lady. Slut.
“Yeah, but I’m not here about any of that, I’m here about James...?”
“You’re not here about that, but you’re here about James?” Yes, woman... get it into your thick skull. “He was the man I cheated on your brother with...” I stopped, okay, this shit was about to come up again anyway. I stood at the doorway and even through my suggestive looks she never let me in, guess this would be a quick call then.
“Why did you call him the other day to meet him at the warehouse?” She looked at me blankly, “you know, the warehouse just down from here?” She shook her head.
“No, I didn’t say meet me there, I said the club downtown... ‘Warehouse’ That idiot didn’t stand around in an actual warehouse did he?” I paused, yeah...
“That ‘idiot’ is dead.” She nodded, then her face suddenly fell when she realised what I’d said tears instantly ensued and I sighed. “I’ll come back later when you compose yourself Leslie.” She shook her head again, her limp, flaxen hair only slightly moving with her head.
“No, stay... please,” she begged, grabbing my arm as I turned. I shook her off, no, I’d seen her do this before, I don’t like to show emotions around her she’s a leech, a damn leech with a fucking problem about being on her own. Well, I guess I’d just make her even more scared – Bitch deserves it.
“No, get off me,” I snarled, “and by the way, be careful, the murderer seems to be killing anyone to do with this... he might know you and already be coming to tear out your throat,” I said it as calmly as possible, yeah, so I’d probably scared the shit out of her, but I did my moral obligation and told her. I don’t feel bad, I never feel bad for pathetic low-lives like her.
I decided to take the rest of the day off, no way in hell would I investigate that homeless person like this. I need sex, sex and booze, sex and booze and a fucking cigarette. I pulled up my collar coolly, pulling out the last cigarette from its box, flinging the box and lighting it. Ah, sweet smoke. I could feel it filling my lungs and making my insides cough and splutter but I liked it. It was never the same without a good swag of bourbon however, swags of bourbon and a naked woman... or a quivering man. I figured this life is short; I’m not in a mood to be picky.
I walked down to the local bar, Honey was broken and I would need some time to fix her... not today, the sky was overcast and it was like I could almost smell the rain. The bar was empty, but by the time the clock ticked round from two to ten it soon picked up. I knew the owner and after I helped him find his dog he seemed eternally grateful and willing to pay me back: free drinks and the ability to sit for as long as I want.
A man sat at the other side of the bar, he was about twenty-two and so three years younger than me. His eyes kept flickering over to me and I tried to push away the smile as I caught sight of him once, if I played as nervous as he was eventually I’d look like I’d built up the courage to go sit next to him. It was all an act, everything like this, nothing but an act. I offered to pay for his drink, he blushed and agreed. There was a part of myself that hated how I was. Yet, I couldn’t help the fact that I needed sex and this lad was here... the one night stands, the gayness ... I was convinced it wasn’t normal, I was taught that it was disgusting. ‘Follow the Lord’s word.’ My parent’s would’ve died earlier had they known about me.
He commented on my hair, I said I liked his shirt, we giggled at the awkwardness and he lent forward to kiss me, surprised at the eagerness I showed. He called me dark, brooding and mysterious. I spoke a cheesy line about how he had fallen from heaven. I felt as if all this was some sort of play, I felt like a predator because I knew what I was there for and he didn’t know I’d be gone by morning. Everything went to plan, I had convinced him to take me to his place and we spent an alcohol-dazed night in bed.
My body ached for his touch, but I felt nothing on the inside, the pleasure was superficial. As his hands explored my body I trembled in reaction, but something made me feel sick, this happened every time I slept with men, but I always fought it back. I swallowed swags of Vodka on his bedside table and gave him a night he wouldn’t forget. Well, work would have to wait till morning... or late afternoon after how much I’d just drunk.