Paying The Piper - 26. Chapter 26

Quent pulled up in front of Steve Mullen’s house. Thankfully, the man had finally moved out of the old Mullen family homestead. Now there was a nightmare. Tara Mullen, mother of eight screaming, obnoxious Mullen offspring – Cynthia and Steve included – had always reminded him of the old woman who lived in a shoe. With dozens of children and no birth control, too.

Most of the Mullen clan was grown and gone. On to better things, thank God. They had been a bunch of scruffy ruffians. Quent always hosted a party when one left town. It was an intimate gathering – just him and his bottle, but a happy occasion nonetheless.

He knocked on the door and heard a bang, a crash, and a muffled curse. A moment later, Steve opened the door. He took one look at Quent and groaned. "Perfect."

"I try," Quent said.

"What do you want?" Steve asked.

"To talk about Cynthia."

Steve’s face flushed with anger. "Now you want to talk about Cynthia. Well sorry, Quent, but I’m busy at the moment."

"I’m sure your inflatable doll won’t mind waiting."

Steve turned purple. "You sick, ugly, twisted bas—"

Quent stepped forward menacingly. "Careful, Mullen," he snarled. Steve shut his mouth, but his jaw continued to twitch. Quent pointed a long finger. "Cooperate or I’ll arrest you here and now. My time is limited. And due to your mental handicap, I’m already anticipating having to stop and define any word over three syllables that may come up in our conversation. Don’t push me."

The stand off lasted over a minute. Predictably, Steve backed down. The anger drained out of him and he slumped in the doorway. "What do you want to know?"

Quent didn’t ask to be invited inside. Frankly, he had trouble imagining anything more distasteful. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his notebook. Steve crossed his arms defensively.

"Marci Patterson was blackmailing you. Why?"

Steve’s eyes grew huge. "How did you know about that?"

Quent’s grip on his pencil tightened. "Just answer the question."

"Don’t you know?" Steve spat.

Quent took a deep breath. He counted to ten, then kept going. He reached twenty before he could speak. "Answer the question."

"She thought…I was…."

"What? Mentally imbalanced?"

"No!"

"A peeping Tom?"

Steve blushed, and Quent burst out laughing. "You’re kidding?" When Steve didn’t answer, he laughed again. Priceless, he thought. Simply priceless.

"Ms. Patterson was a thorough individual," he said with a condescending smile. "I expect her suspicions had merit?"

At Steve’s puzzled expression, Quent rolled his eyes. "She caught you looking in her window?" he barked.

Steve gasped. "No! Eww."

Quent grimaced in agreement. "Then?"

Steve shuffled his feet self-consciously. "She figured out I was following Cynthia. She implied…well, it was disgusting! I was only trying to look out for her."

"Then why pay? And how could you afford to, anyway?"

"Cynthia already thought I was crazy. You were right about that." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I didn’t want to make it any worse," he said sadly. His expression turned hateful. "And Marci didn’t want money from me. She wanted…."

"Spit it out, Mr. Mullen."

"She wanted me to run her errands. You know the ones I’m talking about?"

"Retrieving the extortion payments?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah."

"How did you do that?"

Steve stumbled a few steps to a rickety porch chair. He sat down heavily. "Always the same way. The money was left out on Powder Mill Road. I almost always picked it up."

Quent leaned back against a porch railing and considered. It made sense. Steve had an imposing physical presence. Anyone who may have thought to stick around after the drop and have a chat with their petite blackmailer would have come face to face with Steve instead. Grudgingly, he gave Marci points for ingenuity. Posthumously, of course.

He snapped his notebook closed. Steve looked up expectantly. For the first time since he’d arrived, Quent softened his voice. "Why were you so worried about Cynthia? She was a big girl. She'd made her choices."

Steve looked miserable. "I know. But she’s my little sister, you know? I always wanted more for her. Plus," his expression turned dark, "I had to make sure that psycho stayed away from her."

"Psycho?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Stuart Cobb. The doctor."

"You think he’s a psycho?" Quent asked curiously.

Steve stared at him from across the porch. "Don’t you?"

Quent left, wondering about the nature of coincidence.

**********

Drew unlocked the apartment and ushered Cale inside. Just over the threshold, Cale dropped his bag and turned around. Drew reached for him while kicking the door shut with his foot. They crashed together. The momentum carried them backward against the door.

Drew laughed. "Wow. Déjà vu."

"Except now I have you backed into a corner." Cale pushed his hips forward. Drew inhaled sharply and his laughter died. "In the bedroom. Now." Breathlessly, they pushed and pulled their way down the short hall.

Drew toppled Cale onto the bed. He hadn’t forgotten how his new lover liked to be dominated. "Have I told you how sexy you look in my jeans?" he asked.

Cale unsnapped Drew’s own jeans. He pushed them down over his hips. "Should I say something cliché now about how I’d look better out of them?"

Drew laughed. Cale had such a dry sense of humor. He couldn’t remember ever having so much fun in bed. "No," Drew replied. "Enough talk."

He kissed Cale softly and began to grind his hips in slow circles. After only one night, he knew what drove him crazy. He loved the feel of their bodies squeezed together, rubbing and sliding. He couldn’t get enough of it. Drew vowed to appease that particular desire at every opportunity. He leaned down to continue the kiss and Cale curled up to meet him, but someone chose that moment to bang on the door. Drew sighed and backed away. Apparently, this wasn’t to be one of those opportunities.

Cale groaned. "I recognize that pounding."

Drew rolled off the bed and fastened his jeans. "So do I. Loud, nasty, and insistent."

"Marcus! Open up. And for God’s sake, make sure you’re dressed when you do!"

"And impatient," Drew added under his breath.

Out of sheer spite, Drew stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water before answering the door. When he finally pulled it open, Quent launched himself into the room. "It’s about time, Marcus. What the hell were you doing? Wait!" Quent held up his hand and went looking for coffee. "Don’t answer that."

"How was Steve?"

"Apparently Steve is a cross-dressing voyeur with an unnatural obsession for his sister."

Drew made a face. "Really?"

Quent curled his lip. "No," he ground out, almost against his will. "He does, however, think Stuart is a psycho." He began to fumble with the coffee pot. "Do the beans go in here?"

Drew huffed disgustedly and pushed him out of the way. "Get away from there before you hurt something." He missed Quent’s self-satisfied smile.

Cale sauntered in. He took one look around and laughed. "I see Quent got you to make the coffee again."

Drew glanced up. "He doesn’t know how to work it."

"He’s got the same model at home."

Drew slowly straightened and turned to face Quent. "Really?" he said in a low voice.

Quent examined his fingernails innocently. "You use that word an awful lot."

"All right boys," Cale interrupted, "Enough. What’s your next step?" he asked Quent.

Quent pulled a bottle of scotch out of a crumpled brown paper bag and set it on the counter. "We brainstorm."

Drew paused. "What about the coffee?"

Quent inhaled the aroma of freshly ground beans. "We brainstorm after coffee."