Kiss Kiss Bang Bang fanfiction (part 2/2)
Jul. 12th, 2008 09:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
small_henTitle: Insert Clever Title Here (or Some Stuff that Happened to Me a While Back, Part 2/2)
Author: Harry Lockhart (dictation taken by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ennui_blue_lite)
Rating: R for language
Word Count: 3,615
Author’s Notes: Part 1 can be found HERE.
Hello. Back for part two? Everyone gotten a snack? Everyone gone to the bathroom? ‘Cause I don’t want anyone to get up while I’m talking. Okay? Okay.
Okay…thinking back over this, I think it’s really important to clear something up.
Perry is not a heartless bastard.
Yeah, I know. Failed reciprocation of “I love you?” Bastard. Cheating behavior? Bastard. But all that and insults aside, he can be incredibly sweet when he wants to be. Remind me sometime to tell you about the case of the cross dressing arsonist. It’s Perry at his best – brave, and heroic, and downright mother hen the way he took care of me after all of that smoke inhalation. Plus, he rocks a pair of heels.
Anyway, if that’s the Perry you’re looking for, too bad. He doesn’t always come off like Mother Theresa in this one. Don’t like it, go elsewhere. Except don’t, ‘cause then I don’t have anyone to tell this to… Look, I promise a little mushiness in the end, okay? Think you can hold out that long? Good.
I love Perry. I love him. Isn’t that insane? I’m in love with a guy. Two nights ago, I said it for the first time, and it’s actually true. I, Harry Lockhart, have fallen madly in love with Perry Von Shrike, who was, at that moment, walking into the house of a man who could have been a cover model for “Out and Wild” magazine.
Go me.
My hands shook as I tried to snap pictures through the windshield, half a block away. Don’t ask my why I was taking pictures, ‘cause I have no idea. Who was I going to show them to, myself? Maybe I wanted to wave them under Perry’s nose. And then he’d say, “I can explain.” And then he’d explain, and it would make total sense, and I would stop feeling like my heart was being ripped from my chest.
I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be running a background check on Jacob Pierce, the owner of the “I’d have to clean it to make it a crack den” house Samantha Morris was at the other night. Perry asked me to, but I didn’t get around to it. Of course, he was supposed to be not cheating on me, so I guess we were even. I stuck the camera in the glove compartment and turned the ignition. No reason to hang around – I didn’t feel like playing masochist right now. It just wasn’t the same without the nipple clamps.
Fuck, I needed something. A bar, or…no. Something else.
* * * * * * * *
The gum was easy. Gum is always easy – small, cheap, rarely electronically tagged. Gum is my default lift, when I start to get that sticky finger feeling. Out of the rack, into the pocket. Easy. Very little risk.
The toy store, though…that was a little harder. Stealing toys requires a certain finesse, a casual, cool head in the face of danger. It’s best if you can get a toy out of the packaging without anyone seeing. Into the coat it goes. A nostalgic lift. I hit my first toy store when I was ten. My mom had gotten me the wrong Star Wars toy for my birthday.
Still too easy.
The liquor, at least, was a challenge.
Ever robbed a liquor store? I have. Ever been caught robbing a liquor store? Yeah, done that too. It’s not pretty. That day I was willing to risk it, though. I’ll tell you now, I wouldn’t recommend it to an amateur. There’s a trick to it. Go in with a big coat, and a hat pulled down over your face, and they’ll throw you out on your ass before you’re through the door. Go in without cover up, and the cameras got you. But I’m not an amateur. I was in and out in five minutes with a bottle of JD under my jacket. Plus one of those little bottles of vodka in the pocket.
Too bad none of it made me feel even a little better.
As soon as I got home, I opened the Jack and spread my loot out on the coffee table. Let him come home and see it. I didn’t care. Right? Right. Not like it should bother me that he was going to be disappointed in me. That the cheater was going to be fucking disappointed in me. I took a swig.
What was Perry’s problem anyway? Wasn’t I a good enough boyfriend? Hadn’t I given up stealing for him (today excluded)? Hadn’t I always worried about him when he was out on a job? Didn’t we have tons of great sex? What was he getting from this guy?
Yeah. What could he possibly be getting from Mr. Hard Body? Think about it, Harry.
I ran a hand over my stomach. I’m not in bad shape. Sure, not as muscular as Mr. HB. Or as tall. A little older. With some gray hair. And scars. And wrinkles. Oh fuck. Grasping the bottom of my sweatshirt, I yanked it over my head and looked down. Oh. Fuck.
Perry didn’t find me attractive. And now he’d found someone younger and better looking, and how much did I just sound like a woman? Thank you so much, Perry. My exposure to the massive amounts of gaydiation you give off finally turned me into a chick, like some kind of rainbow Chernobyl. God, I’m glad I came to this city.
I had another drink.
* * * * * * * *
“Hi honey, I’m home,” Perry sang out from the foyer half an hour later. He was in a good mood. I could tell ‘cause when he’s in a good mood, he plays up the gay, lisp and all. Usually I found it cute. Not tonight. I took a pull off of the half empty bottle.
Perry’s good mood lasted about eight seconds. That’s how long it took him to get from the foyer to the living room and survey the scene. Then: “What the fuck, Harry?”
“Oh, this?” I said, gesturing to the table and accidentally knocking my new Spiderman action figure off his feet. “It’s nothing. Jusht,” I swallowed. “Just something to lift my spirits. Yeah.”
“You’re drunk,” Perry said, clenching his jaw. “You got drunk and went out and stole toys and candy, you idiot, you absolute amoeba, what if you’d gotten caught?! What if you’d ended up in prison for a fucking action figure?!”
Perry, in case you didn’t know, does not dick around about prison. When Perry talks about prison, he uses words like ‘inevitable’ and ‘eventuality’ and ‘sweet holy mother of God on a pogo stick, Harry, what am I going to do with you?’ His eyes get big and freaked out, no matter how many times you explain that it was just a candy bar or a coke, and no one saw. Doesn’t matter. When Perry talks about prison, you know he is dead fucking serious, and you’d better listen.
I was gonna listen. But first, there was a little matter I wanted to clear up. “No, no, no, no, no, you’ve got it wrong” I said. “First I stole, and then I got drunk. So there was really very little risk of –”
“God damn it, Harry!” Perry yelled, running his hands through his hair and pacing the living room. “What is this about? Seriously, what the fuck is with you?”
“What’s with me?”
“Yes! Yes! WHAT is with YOU?” he shouted, “We had a job tonight! I thought you wanted to ‘do the detective thing” (yes, he did the quote fingers).
“I do,” I said, “but –”
“So why are you reenacting the final scenes of Leaving Las Vegas, surrounded by $23.95 worth of stolen crap?”
“It’s not –” actually, I couldn’t even argue with that, it was total crap.
Perry huffed. “You said you wouldn’t steal anymore,” he said, which made me really. Fucking. Mad.
“Oh, I did, huh?” I barked. “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Perfect, Mr…Saint…Perry, you emotionally stunted, prissy bitch, but we can’t all be as wonderful and lovely and fucking honest as you. You know, the- the sun can’t shine out of everyone’s ass the way it - shines out of - yours.” To punctuate my point, I tried jumping to my feet, but I got dizzy halfway up and fell back on the couch. “You – you – don’t care…” Then I lost my train of thought. I should probably limit myself to less than half the bottle next time.
I couldn’t read Perry’s face. I liked to think he looked guilty, but I was probably kidding myself. “Did you even do the background check on Pierce?” he asked. I didn’t answer. “So you want to do detective work as long as it isn’t actual work; as long as it’s just fun like your stupid little books,” he snapped. “I was really going to let you help tonight – teach you about carrying concealed weapons and everything. I thought you were getting serious about this.” He shook his head. “Shame on me, huh?”
“I could still go,” I sulked, disappointed at the thought of losing a chance to prove myself.
“You’re so drunk that you’d probably accidentally shoot me in the back.”
“I can still shoot.”
“You can’t even stand.”
It took me a minute to come up with a reply, and by then, Perry was already in his office, rooting through the closet where he keeps his guns. ‘Hey, Perry, where do the shy faggot guns like to stay? In the gun closet!’ I remembered telling that joke, and Perry sighing and rolling his eyes, but he’d smiled too. Perry usually smiled at my stupid jokes. Suddenly, I felt like crying.
“I’ll be back in two hours. Don’t smoke, I want my house to still be here when I get back.” The front door shut, and Perry was gone.
* * * * * * * *
Once Perry was gone, what was there to do but drink some more? Yeah, mistake one. There’ll be more. After a few amber-colored rounds of vomit, I crawled to our bed and passed out on the floor next to Perry’s side.
I woke up a few hours later with the distinct feeling that something was wrong. Also, I was still really drunk, and I had carpet burns on my cheek. And I had to pee.
While I was in the bathroom (at least I could kinda stand by now), it hit me what the ‘something wrong’ was. “Perry?” I called out. “Peee-ryyyy!” He didn’t answer. He wasn’t home. Somewhere in the Jack Daniels haze that was my mind, I remembered him saying ‘two hours’. That was four hours ago. Somewhere else in the haze, I had a thought. That thought was, 'I have to rescue him'.
Mistake number two.
Don’t ask me what happened next. I don’t remember. At some point, I must have gotten the 14 mm with the laser sighting out of the closet, because I had it with me when I arrived at Pierce’s house half an hour later. Guess I also drove over there. How the fuck I managed that without getting pulled over by every cop in LA, I will never know.
And I couldn’t believe my luck – there was an open window right there, at the side of the house! It was never that easy.
Yep, that would be mistake number three. For those of you keeping score.
“Ow!” I bumped my head climbing – falling – through the window. Click.
That click? That was the sound of the gun pointing at my head. Fuck.
“Hi there,” said the gunman, and why do so many of these douche bags do the friendly but menacing thing? It’s such a cliché, bad guys. I’ve been held hostage by at least five guys who have all done this shit. Anyway, best to play along.
“Hello,” I said. Friendly the Friendly Gunman grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to a bedroom. After he took my gun. So much for friendly.
“Perry!” I said when we got into the room, because Perry was right there, tied to a chair.
“Harry, you fuckhead!” he yelled. Probably he was still mad about earlier.
“Are you okay?” I asked, while Friendly tied me to another chair. Perry looked okay. A black eye, but not too bad, all things considered.
“I’ll live,” he said. “Or, I might have lived, before you showed up. I was bait, you moron! They were using me to lure you here.”
“Oh. Um…why..?”
“Because you know enough to screw us royally,” another voice said, and you’re not going to believe who walked into the room. The cheat-ee, Mr. Hard Body himself.
“Oh, thank Christ,” I cried, and threw my head back in relief. Perry wasn’t cheating on me, he was just doubled crossed by the bad guy. I sighed. Easily the best news I’d ever heard while being held hostage.
Mr. Hard Body raised an eyebrow. “Perry, what in God’s name is your little boy toy talking about over there?”
“No, you see,” I babbled to Perry, “I was sure that you were cheating on me, so I tailed you earlier today, and I saw you going into that guy’s house – that’s why I was so upset – but it turns out, he’s connected to the case! So you weren’t cheating! You were just double crossed by your informant!”
Perry looked at his shoes.
“Hate to burst your bubble, sweetheart,” Mr. HB said, though it didn’t sound like he hated it so much. “But Mr. Von Shrike never came to me for information – I went to him. I needed to find out how close he was. And if I also got to find out that he has a mouth like a satin-lined Hoover, well, that was just bonus.”
I’m pretty sure I forgot how to breathe for a minute. Perry told me that one day it would happen, and today was that day. My brain quit my lungs. And, for that moment, it was like nothing mattered anymore – not the case, not the gun in HB’s hand, nothing. I was going to lose Perry, and I almost wanted to, I was so mad, but then I didn’t, and what was I supposed to do? Probably that doesn’t make much sense, but it was a very confusing moment for me, you understand.
Plus, remember, I was still pretty drunk.
Perry finally looked up at me. “Harry, I –”
“Don’t,” I said.
He didn’t listen. He never listens to me. “Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt…” he trailed off. “It was just that one time.”
“Three times,” Mr. HB said.
“It was just those three times.”
“I don’t think I want to talk to you right now,” I said coldly.
“Harry, I swear to God, the second we get out of here, you can be as pissed off as you want, but right now can we focus on getting out alive?”
“I don’t think so,” Mr. HB said, and I wished he would just go the fuck away. “Who wants to go first?”
“Listen, Eric,” Perry said to HB, “why don’t you give Harry a break? He doesn’t know what’s going on here.”
“He knows enough to bust us. Don’t you, sweetheart?” HB said, pressing the gun between my eyes.
“No!” Perry said. “Me first.”
“What?” HB said.
“Me, do me, let Harry go.”
“What the fuck do you think this is, Sophie’s choice? You both die!”
“He doesn’t know anything!” Perry insisted. “I know what’s going on, kill me. Let him go!”
HB pulled the gun back and I puffed out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. Oh God, oh God, oh –
And then the gun was against Perry’s lips.
“I could kill you first,” HB said. “If you want. Then you wouldn’t have to watch your lover boy die.”
“Fuck you,” Perry spat. HB shoved the gun between his teeth.
I squeezed my eyes shut. There had to be something I could do, I had to save Perry, I had to think, I –
BANG!
I opened my eyes.
“This is the LAPD! You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder! You have the right to remain silent! Anything you say can and will - ”
HB dropped the gun. It dangled between Perry’s teeth for a second before Perry spit it to the floor and looked at me with wide eyes.
“Oh yeah, I forgot,” I said. “I called the police from the car. I probably should have mentioned that earlier.”
What, you thought Perry was dead there? Please, the man is like the Terminator. An army couldn’t kill him. Besides, if he were dead, do you really think I’d be here telling you this? Yeah, that’s likely. Probably I’d be curled up under a bridge with a bottle, crying into my hoodie or something. Or maybe in jail. Yeah, probably in jail. Anyway -
Perry continued to stare at me. I swear, his eyes were like fucking cartoon eyes, you know, like when Bugs Bunny dresses up like a chick, and the villain sees him in drag and his eyes become, like, half the length of his torso? Perry looked kind of like that.
“Harry, you saved us,” he said.
Oh God. Could I have a digital recorder and make that my ring tone? But don’t worry, I refrained from making undignified squealing noises. “Yeah. Who’d have thought?” I said. Very cool.
“Yeah,” Perry said, and he had this really weird look on his face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was proud of me, except the sky wasn’t turning purple, so that couldn’t be it. “Yeah, who’d have thought?”
So then came all of the boring shit where we talked to the police, and – oh, fuck, did I forget to tell you about the end of the mystery? Well, I didn’t find out until after everything was over anyway, so we’re in the same boat. Besides, it was a sucky ending anyway – turns out Little Miss Fucktoy was looking to take out daddy before he could take her out of the will. Hard Body and Friendly were the hit men. Yeah, I know, I told you it sucked. Besides, you didn’t read this for the mystery, did you? Thought not.
Anyway, I promised mushiness, so here it is. Enjoy.
“Perry?”
“Yeah?”
“You were going to die for me.”
We were curled up on the sofa, Perry with one leg stretched out and one on the floor – I sat between his thighs and let my head rest on his chest. Both of us were way too wired from the night to sleep. Even me, though I still had more alcohol in my bloodstream than Lindsay Lohan at her Bacardi-sponsored birthday party.
“He was going to kill us both anyway,” Perry said.
“But you tried.”
“Yeah, well…I love you, Harry,” he said.
How does he do that? I was just sitting here, minding my own business, and suddenly I was a puddle of Harry on the couch. He loved me. He loved me, and I loved him, and that was almost enough for me to let him get away with it. Almost. But I had to be strong. “So why’d you cheat on me?” I asked.
Well, I was trying for strong. The shaky warble in my voice might have given me away.
Perry sighed against my hair in a way that made me not want to have this conversation. “My ego,” he said, finally. “It’s been a few years since a guy that young has flirted with me. And I took the bait, knowing it was a bad idea from the start. And I almost got us killed.”
“Yeah, but –” I couldn’t help but think he’d kinda missed the point. “I’m not mad ‘cause you put us in danger. That’s what we do, we’re detectives, things gets dangerous. I’m pissed because you cheated.
“Harry, I – ”
“No, you gotta listen,” I said. “I need to know if you’re that kinda person, if you’re gonna make this a regular thing, cause I can’t just –” God, this was fucked up. “You really hurt me, Perry,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. It was an idiot thing to do. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I sighed. “But you did.” I wasn’t going to leave him. He knew it and I knew it. I loved him, yeah, but it was more complicated than that. What did I have to go back to? Stealing to get by? Jail? Shitty apartment, if I’m lucky, shelters and living on the streets if I’m not? I’ve done all of that, and I’m not looking to do it again. So Perry held all the cards in our relationship. “Promise me you won’t do this again,” I said.
“I promise,” Perry said, after a little pause that meant, ‘I’ll try.’ “But I want you to promise me you won’t steal anymore.”
I thought of the way my heart pounded when I lifted a magazine. How it felt to grab a DVD or a pack of batteries from Target and walk out without paying. My palms started to itch. “Promise,” I said. And I would try.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“I really do love you.”
I remembered what he’d done for me earlier that night. What he had offered to save me. And I smiled. He was telling the truth, he really did love me. And I loved him.
Maybe I held a card or two after all.
*
For an awesome fanart of the last scene, drawn bykagerune, go HERE
Author: Harry Lockhart (dictation taken by
ennui_blue_lite)Rating: R for language
Word Count: 3,615
Author’s Notes: Part 1 can be found HERE.
Hello. Back for part two? Everyone gotten a snack? Everyone gone to the bathroom? ‘Cause I don’t want anyone to get up while I’m talking. Okay? Okay.
Okay…thinking back over this, I think it’s really important to clear something up.
Perry is not a heartless bastard.
Yeah, I know. Failed reciprocation of “I love you?” Bastard. Cheating behavior? Bastard. But all that and insults aside, he can be incredibly sweet when he wants to be. Remind me sometime to tell you about the case of the cross dressing arsonist. It’s Perry at his best – brave, and heroic, and downright mother hen the way he took care of me after all of that smoke inhalation. Plus, he rocks a pair of heels.
Anyway, if that’s the Perry you’re looking for, too bad. He doesn’t always come off like Mother Theresa in this one. Don’t like it, go elsewhere. Except don’t, ‘cause then I don’t have anyone to tell this to… Look, I promise a little mushiness in the end, okay? Think you can hold out that long? Good.
I love Perry. I love him. Isn’t that insane? I’m in love with a guy. Two nights ago, I said it for the first time, and it’s actually true. I, Harry Lockhart, have fallen madly in love with Perry Von Shrike, who was, at that moment, walking into the house of a man who could have been a cover model for “Out and Wild” magazine.
Go me.
My hands shook as I tried to snap pictures through the windshield, half a block away. Don’t ask my why I was taking pictures, ‘cause I have no idea. Who was I going to show them to, myself? Maybe I wanted to wave them under Perry’s nose. And then he’d say, “I can explain.” And then he’d explain, and it would make total sense, and I would stop feeling like my heart was being ripped from my chest.
I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be running a background check on Jacob Pierce, the owner of the “I’d have to clean it to make it a crack den” house Samantha Morris was at the other night. Perry asked me to, but I didn’t get around to it. Of course, he was supposed to be not cheating on me, so I guess we were even. I stuck the camera in the glove compartment and turned the ignition. No reason to hang around – I didn’t feel like playing masochist right now. It just wasn’t the same without the nipple clamps.
Fuck, I needed something. A bar, or…no. Something else.
* * * * * * * *
The gum was easy. Gum is always easy – small, cheap, rarely electronically tagged. Gum is my default lift, when I start to get that sticky finger feeling. Out of the rack, into the pocket. Easy. Very little risk.
The toy store, though…that was a little harder. Stealing toys requires a certain finesse, a casual, cool head in the face of danger. It’s best if you can get a toy out of the packaging without anyone seeing. Into the coat it goes. A nostalgic lift. I hit my first toy store when I was ten. My mom had gotten me the wrong Star Wars toy for my birthday.
Still too easy.
The liquor, at least, was a challenge.
Ever robbed a liquor store? I have. Ever been caught robbing a liquor store? Yeah, done that too. It’s not pretty. That day I was willing to risk it, though. I’ll tell you now, I wouldn’t recommend it to an amateur. There’s a trick to it. Go in with a big coat, and a hat pulled down over your face, and they’ll throw you out on your ass before you’re through the door. Go in without cover up, and the cameras got you. But I’m not an amateur. I was in and out in five minutes with a bottle of JD under my jacket. Plus one of those little bottles of vodka in the pocket.
Too bad none of it made me feel even a little better.
As soon as I got home, I opened the Jack and spread my loot out on the coffee table. Let him come home and see it. I didn’t care. Right? Right. Not like it should bother me that he was going to be disappointed in me. That the cheater was going to be fucking disappointed in me. I took a swig.
What was Perry’s problem anyway? Wasn’t I a good enough boyfriend? Hadn’t I given up stealing for him (today excluded)? Hadn’t I always worried about him when he was out on a job? Didn’t we have tons of great sex? What was he getting from this guy?
Yeah. What could he possibly be getting from Mr. Hard Body? Think about it, Harry.
I ran a hand over my stomach. I’m not in bad shape. Sure, not as muscular as Mr. HB. Or as tall. A little older. With some gray hair. And scars. And wrinkles. Oh fuck. Grasping the bottom of my sweatshirt, I yanked it over my head and looked down. Oh. Fuck.
Perry didn’t find me attractive. And now he’d found someone younger and better looking, and how much did I just sound like a woman? Thank you so much, Perry. My exposure to the massive amounts of gaydiation you give off finally turned me into a chick, like some kind of rainbow Chernobyl. God, I’m glad I came to this city.
I had another drink.
* * * * * * * *
“Hi honey, I’m home,” Perry sang out from the foyer half an hour later. He was in a good mood. I could tell ‘cause when he’s in a good mood, he plays up the gay, lisp and all. Usually I found it cute. Not tonight. I took a pull off of the half empty bottle.
Perry’s good mood lasted about eight seconds. That’s how long it took him to get from the foyer to the living room and survey the scene. Then: “What the fuck, Harry?”
“Oh, this?” I said, gesturing to the table and accidentally knocking my new Spiderman action figure off his feet. “It’s nothing. Jusht,” I swallowed. “Just something to lift my spirits. Yeah.”
“You’re drunk,” Perry said, clenching his jaw. “You got drunk and went out and stole toys and candy, you idiot, you absolute amoeba, what if you’d gotten caught?! What if you’d ended up in prison for a fucking action figure?!”
Perry, in case you didn’t know, does not dick around about prison. When Perry talks about prison, he uses words like ‘inevitable’ and ‘eventuality’ and ‘sweet holy mother of God on a pogo stick, Harry, what am I going to do with you?’ His eyes get big and freaked out, no matter how many times you explain that it was just a candy bar or a coke, and no one saw. Doesn’t matter. When Perry talks about prison, you know he is dead fucking serious, and you’d better listen.
I was gonna listen. But first, there was a little matter I wanted to clear up. “No, no, no, no, no, you’ve got it wrong” I said. “First I stole, and then I got drunk. So there was really very little risk of –”
“God damn it, Harry!” Perry yelled, running his hands through his hair and pacing the living room. “What is this about? Seriously, what the fuck is with you?”
“What’s with me?”
“Yes! Yes! WHAT is with YOU?” he shouted, “We had a job tonight! I thought you wanted to ‘do the detective thing” (yes, he did the quote fingers).
“I do,” I said, “but –”
“So why are you reenacting the final scenes of Leaving Las Vegas, surrounded by $23.95 worth of stolen crap?”
“It’s not –” actually, I couldn’t even argue with that, it was total crap.
Perry huffed. “You said you wouldn’t steal anymore,” he said, which made me really. Fucking. Mad.
“Oh, I did, huh?” I barked. “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Perfect, Mr…Saint…Perry, you emotionally stunted, prissy bitch, but we can’t all be as wonderful and lovely and fucking honest as you. You know, the- the sun can’t shine out of everyone’s ass the way it - shines out of - yours.” To punctuate my point, I tried jumping to my feet, but I got dizzy halfway up and fell back on the couch. “You – you – don’t care…” Then I lost my train of thought. I should probably limit myself to less than half the bottle next time.
I couldn’t read Perry’s face. I liked to think he looked guilty, but I was probably kidding myself. “Did you even do the background check on Pierce?” he asked. I didn’t answer. “So you want to do detective work as long as it isn’t actual work; as long as it’s just fun like your stupid little books,” he snapped. “I was really going to let you help tonight – teach you about carrying concealed weapons and everything. I thought you were getting serious about this.” He shook his head. “Shame on me, huh?”
“I could still go,” I sulked, disappointed at the thought of losing a chance to prove myself.
“You’re so drunk that you’d probably accidentally shoot me in the back.”
“I can still shoot.”
“You can’t even stand.”
It took me a minute to come up with a reply, and by then, Perry was already in his office, rooting through the closet where he keeps his guns. ‘Hey, Perry, where do the shy faggot guns like to stay? In the gun closet!’ I remembered telling that joke, and Perry sighing and rolling his eyes, but he’d smiled too. Perry usually smiled at my stupid jokes. Suddenly, I felt like crying.
“I’ll be back in two hours. Don’t smoke, I want my house to still be here when I get back.” The front door shut, and Perry was gone.
* * * * * * * *
Once Perry was gone, what was there to do but drink some more? Yeah, mistake one. There’ll be more. After a few amber-colored rounds of vomit, I crawled to our bed and passed out on the floor next to Perry’s side.
I woke up a few hours later with the distinct feeling that something was wrong. Also, I was still really drunk, and I had carpet burns on my cheek. And I had to pee.
While I was in the bathroom (at least I could kinda stand by now), it hit me what the ‘something wrong’ was. “Perry?” I called out. “Peee-ryyyy!” He didn’t answer. He wasn’t home. Somewhere in the Jack Daniels haze that was my mind, I remembered him saying ‘two hours’. That was four hours ago. Somewhere else in the haze, I had a thought. That thought was, 'I have to rescue him'.
Mistake number two.
Don’t ask me what happened next. I don’t remember. At some point, I must have gotten the 14 mm with the laser sighting out of the closet, because I had it with me when I arrived at Pierce’s house half an hour later. Guess I also drove over there. How the fuck I managed that without getting pulled over by every cop in LA, I will never know.
And I couldn’t believe my luck – there was an open window right there, at the side of the house! It was never that easy.
Yep, that would be mistake number three. For those of you keeping score.
“Ow!” I bumped my head climbing – falling – through the window. Click.
That click? That was the sound of the gun pointing at my head. Fuck.
“Hi there,” said the gunman, and why do so many of these douche bags do the friendly but menacing thing? It’s such a cliché, bad guys. I’ve been held hostage by at least five guys who have all done this shit. Anyway, best to play along.
“Hello,” I said. Friendly the Friendly Gunman grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to a bedroom. After he took my gun. So much for friendly.
“Perry!” I said when we got into the room, because Perry was right there, tied to a chair.
“Harry, you fuckhead!” he yelled. Probably he was still mad about earlier.
“Are you okay?” I asked, while Friendly tied me to another chair. Perry looked okay. A black eye, but not too bad, all things considered.
“I’ll live,” he said. “Or, I might have lived, before you showed up. I was bait, you moron! They were using me to lure you here.”
“Oh. Um…why..?”
“Because you know enough to screw us royally,” another voice said, and you’re not going to believe who walked into the room. The cheat-ee, Mr. Hard Body himself.
“Oh, thank Christ,” I cried, and threw my head back in relief. Perry wasn’t cheating on me, he was just doubled crossed by the bad guy. I sighed. Easily the best news I’d ever heard while being held hostage.
Mr. Hard Body raised an eyebrow. “Perry, what in God’s name is your little boy toy talking about over there?”
“No, you see,” I babbled to Perry, “I was sure that you were cheating on me, so I tailed you earlier today, and I saw you going into that guy’s house – that’s why I was so upset – but it turns out, he’s connected to the case! So you weren’t cheating! You were just double crossed by your informant!”
Perry looked at his shoes.
“Hate to burst your bubble, sweetheart,” Mr. HB said, though it didn’t sound like he hated it so much. “But Mr. Von Shrike never came to me for information – I went to him. I needed to find out how close he was. And if I also got to find out that he has a mouth like a satin-lined Hoover, well, that was just bonus.”
I’m pretty sure I forgot how to breathe for a minute. Perry told me that one day it would happen, and today was that day. My brain quit my lungs. And, for that moment, it was like nothing mattered anymore – not the case, not the gun in HB’s hand, nothing. I was going to lose Perry, and I almost wanted to, I was so mad, but then I didn’t, and what was I supposed to do? Probably that doesn’t make much sense, but it was a very confusing moment for me, you understand.
Plus, remember, I was still pretty drunk.
Perry finally looked up at me. “Harry, I –”
“Don’t,” I said.
He didn’t listen. He never listens to me. “Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt…” he trailed off. “It was just that one time.”
“Three times,” Mr. HB said.
“It was just those three times.”
“I don’t think I want to talk to you right now,” I said coldly.
“Harry, I swear to God, the second we get out of here, you can be as pissed off as you want, but right now can we focus on getting out alive?”
“I don’t think so,” Mr. HB said, and I wished he would just go the fuck away. “Who wants to go first?”
“Listen, Eric,” Perry said to HB, “why don’t you give Harry a break? He doesn’t know what’s going on here.”
“He knows enough to bust us. Don’t you, sweetheart?” HB said, pressing the gun between my eyes.
“No!” Perry said. “Me first.”
“What?” HB said.
“Me, do me, let Harry go.”
“What the fuck do you think this is, Sophie’s choice? You both die!”
“He doesn’t know anything!” Perry insisted. “I know what’s going on, kill me. Let him go!”
HB pulled the gun back and I puffed out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. Oh God, oh God, oh –
And then the gun was against Perry’s lips.
“I could kill you first,” HB said. “If you want. Then you wouldn’t have to watch your lover boy die.”
“Fuck you,” Perry spat. HB shoved the gun between his teeth.
I squeezed my eyes shut. There had to be something I could do, I had to save Perry, I had to think, I –
BANG!
I opened my eyes.
“This is the LAPD! You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder! You have the right to remain silent! Anything you say can and will - ”
HB dropped the gun. It dangled between Perry’s teeth for a second before Perry spit it to the floor and looked at me with wide eyes.
“Oh yeah, I forgot,” I said. “I called the police from the car. I probably should have mentioned that earlier.”
What, you thought Perry was dead there? Please, the man is like the Terminator. An army couldn’t kill him. Besides, if he were dead, do you really think I’d be here telling you this? Yeah, that’s likely. Probably I’d be curled up under a bridge with a bottle, crying into my hoodie or something. Or maybe in jail. Yeah, probably in jail. Anyway -
Perry continued to stare at me. I swear, his eyes were like fucking cartoon eyes, you know, like when Bugs Bunny dresses up like a chick, and the villain sees him in drag and his eyes become, like, half the length of his torso? Perry looked kind of like that.
“Harry, you saved us,” he said.
Oh God. Could I have a digital recorder and make that my ring tone? But don’t worry, I refrained from making undignified squealing noises. “Yeah. Who’d have thought?” I said. Very cool.
“Yeah,” Perry said, and he had this really weird look on his face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was proud of me, except the sky wasn’t turning purple, so that couldn’t be it. “Yeah, who’d have thought?”
So then came all of the boring shit where we talked to the police, and – oh, fuck, did I forget to tell you about the end of the mystery? Well, I didn’t find out until after everything was over anyway, so we’re in the same boat. Besides, it was a sucky ending anyway – turns out Little Miss Fucktoy was looking to take out daddy before he could take her out of the will. Hard Body and Friendly were the hit men. Yeah, I know, I told you it sucked. Besides, you didn’t read this for the mystery, did you? Thought not.
Anyway, I promised mushiness, so here it is. Enjoy.
“Perry?”
“Yeah?”
“You were going to die for me.”
We were curled up on the sofa, Perry with one leg stretched out and one on the floor – I sat between his thighs and let my head rest on his chest. Both of us were way too wired from the night to sleep. Even me, though I still had more alcohol in my bloodstream than Lindsay Lohan at her Bacardi-sponsored birthday party.
“He was going to kill us both anyway,” Perry said.
“But you tried.”
“Yeah, well…I love you, Harry,” he said.
How does he do that? I was just sitting here, minding my own business, and suddenly I was a puddle of Harry on the couch. He loved me. He loved me, and I loved him, and that was almost enough for me to let him get away with it. Almost. But I had to be strong. “So why’d you cheat on me?” I asked.
Well, I was trying for strong. The shaky warble in my voice might have given me away.
Perry sighed against my hair in a way that made me not want to have this conversation. “My ego,” he said, finally. “It’s been a few years since a guy that young has flirted with me. And I took the bait, knowing it was a bad idea from the start. And I almost got us killed.”
“Yeah, but –” I couldn’t help but think he’d kinda missed the point. “I’m not mad ‘cause you put us in danger. That’s what we do, we’re detectives, things gets dangerous. I’m pissed because you cheated.
“Harry, I – ”
“No, you gotta listen,” I said. “I need to know if you’re that kinda person, if you’re gonna make this a regular thing, cause I can’t just –” God, this was fucked up. “You really hurt me, Perry,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. It was an idiot thing to do. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I sighed. “But you did.” I wasn’t going to leave him. He knew it and I knew it. I loved him, yeah, but it was more complicated than that. What did I have to go back to? Stealing to get by? Jail? Shitty apartment, if I’m lucky, shelters and living on the streets if I’m not? I’ve done all of that, and I’m not looking to do it again. So Perry held all the cards in our relationship. “Promise me you won’t do this again,” I said.
“I promise,” Perry said, after a little pause that meant, ‘I’ll try.’ “But I want you to promise me you won’t steal anymore.”
I thought of the way my heart pounded when I lifted a magazine. How it felt to grab a DVD or a pack of batteries from Target and walk out without paying. My palms started to itch. “Promise,” I said. And I would try.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“I really do love you.”
I remembered what he’d done for me earlier that night. What he had offered to save me. And I smiled. He was telling the truth, he really did love me. And I loved him.
Maybe I held a card or two after all.
*
For an awesome fanart of the last scene, drawn by
kagerune, go HERE