Eden Scott's Blog

Reese pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He needed to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the heavy pounding in his head.

It seemed like only moments ago he’d been chatting up the witness…what was her name? Sally? Susan? Sabrina? No. It was… Sarah. Yeah, he’d been hired to keep Sarah safe and under surveillance until she delivered her testimony. How he ended up alone and face down on the floor was anybody’s guess. When the boss found out he’d screwed up an assignment as simple as babysitting a female witness, his reputation would be circling the drain along with his career.

He tried to stand, but vertical was not an option. What do you do when you can’t walk? You crawl – in a manly way of course.

On hands and knees he scuttled between dark tables and empty chairs, barely avoiding the unidentifiable globs decorating the floor. Damn, the carpet reeked. The stench of old fish, feet and beer made his stomach roil.

“Hey! You down dare. You trolling for change?” Two scrawny legs wrapped in black opaque stockings and sensible shoes blocked his path. He lifted his aching head, rubbed his eyes and studied the diminutive woman in front of him.

“Ms. Nakamura?” His voice was a cross between a lawn mower and a growling tiger. “Man, am I glad to see you.” Using his stellar powers of observation, he deduced he was scouring the floor of Ginger Origami, a Japanese restaurant he frequented around the corner from his house. “Did you see where my date went?”

Hands on hips, Ms. Nakamura leaned forward frowning. “Get off floor, Reese. Customers see you laying like dead man, bad for business.”

Reese felt his stomach do another cartwheel and ignored her request. “My date. Where is she?”

“You mean dat sweet gurl was sitting next to you before you slide down under table?”

“Yeah, that’d be the one. Where’d she go?”

“She left with man who pay for expensive Ginjo Saki. Good tipper, too.” Ms. Nakamura pushed her coke bottle glasses further up her short nose. “Don’t you remember?”

“I drank Saki?” Reese winced as his brain lurched into gear, the throb between his eyes sharpening. He had no recollection of sipping Saki with a stranger and he’d bet his last pay check the guy slipped a little sleepy-time powder in his drink before it was delivered to their table. Had he drugged Sarah too?

“You know, Confucius say man who can’t hold water shouldn’t drink from well.” She crossed her arms over her flat chest and pinched her narrow lips together in disapproval.

Reese’s mouth flew open, ready to defend, but after a second’s deliberation he decided to keep it shut. His head hurt too badly to argue his innocence and the longer he wasted time imitating a throw rug, the longer the distance grew between him and Sara’s captor. At the moment, finding Sarah was the only thing that mattered.

Rolling to his knees, he used a nearby table to help him to his feet. When the world tilted, Ms. Nakamura’s reedy arms flew out steadying him on his Doc Marten’s. “You gonna be okay, big guy?” Her voice grew heavy with concern. “Somebody I call come get you?”

“I’m fine. Just need a minute.” He picked up a glass of water deserted by the table’s former customer and gulped it down. Clearing his throat he asked, “The guy that walked away with Sarah, what’d he look like?”

“Ahhh, hard to say.” She hunched her shoulders. “Deez glasses don’t work too good all da time.”

That was the understatement of the year. Ms. Nakamura’s farsightedness was legendary. Day or night, she could hardly see her own hand in front of her face.

“Can you give me any details? It’s important.”

She sucked her bottom lip between her front teeth. “He short. Well, shorter dan you.”

Reese rolled his eyes. At six foot, four inches, most everyone was shorter than him. “Black, white, Latino…?”

“Hard to know. His head wrapped up and he wear hat for playing baseball.

“Wrapped up? In bandages?”

“No, silly. Black scarf. Skin weren’t white neither… He Akarui chairo.”

“What?”

“Akarui Chairo.” Ms. Nakamura’s gaze roamed until it fell on a butler’s tray in the corner. ‘Chairo. Dis color.” She pointed to a small cardboard box balancing on the tray’s straps.

“You mean tan?”

“Yeah, yeah. He colored tan.”

“Anything else stand out about him? Earrings? Tattoos? Missing teeth?”

Ms. Nakamura’s painted-on brows, like bird wings, fluttered to the center of her forehead. “Hmmm. His voice very, very high like woman’s and…”

“And what?”

“He smell funny. Like car gas.”

Bingo. There was only one thug-for-hire in their burg that fit that description. Pablo ‘Squeaky’ Morales. He boosted high-end cars when he wasn’t thugging and anyone who mistook his helium-laced voice as an open invitation to make fun of him, didn’t live long enough to tease him a second time.

Reese pulled Ms. Nakamura into a bone-crushing hug, lifting her off her feet. “Thanks, doll. You might have just saved a life and a career.”

“Put me down. You crushin’ me.” She smacked at his shoulders, the curling corners of her mouth betraying her fondness for him.

Reese released his hold and she slid down his big body until her tiny black shoes found purchase on the carpet. Wanting to compliment her, he bent to her ear and whispered, “Anata wa, furui mono to minikui, Fujin Nakamura.”

Ms. Nakamura’s head snapped up and her razor-sharp glare nearly sliced him in half. “What? Who teach you Japanese? You just call me old and ugly!”

Ooops! “So, sorry,” he muttered, bowing piously while picturing his hands around the throat of his practical joke-loving neighbor and teacher, Taro Fugiomi. Ducking his head, he staggered to the front door, swung it open and let his Doc’s beat the pavement.

Jimmy bent over Keith’s prone figure. “You sure about this?”

“I am.”

“There’s no going back, you know.”

“I know.”

Jimmy hands were shaking as he wiped down his lover’s flaccid phallus with wintergreen antiseptic. The cool minty scent combined with Keith’s earthy aftershave reminded Jimmy of Fir trees draped in fresh snow under a star-filled sky – so unlike his moldy basement, which is where they were now.

His jaw clenched as he swirled desensitizer inside his lover’s slit with a Q-tip like he was stirring a cocktail.

Keith didn’t flinch.

“Doesn’t that sting?”

“Nope. Just feels cold.”

Jimmy had been in the exact same position as Keith just a few days ago. He’d screamed like a girl. Even now he felt light headed. That shot of whiskey he’d sucked down was wearing off too soon.

Jimmy pinched the ridge circling the crown of Keith’s shaft between his thumb and forefinger, testing for numbness. “Feel that?”

Keith met his stare. “Nope.”

“Means you’re ready.”

His heart beat conga drum style as he plucked a tube thinner than a straight pin from a white terry cloth towel. Man, he and Keith were taking DIY to a whole new level.

Jimmy inserted the tube inside Keith’s slot. Keith hitched a breath. The sound sliced through the thick silence.

“You okay?,” Jimmy asked, voice heavy with concern.

“Never better,” Keith squeaked.

The needle was next. It glared at Jimmy from its perch on the towel.

He reached for it and Keith’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Jimmy wanted to reassure him, but he would be lying, so he kept his mouth shut.

Gently, he pierced the smooth, sensitive skin. A rivulet of blood bubbled to the surface. He ignored it; determination girding his nerves. He aimed the needle through the ridiculously thin tube and then pulled it out the other side.

A surgical steel sphere was threaded through the hole seconds later, smooth as butter.

“Done.” Jimmy sighed and the corners of his mouth lifted. “We’re a matching set. You like it?”

Keith sat up, he gaze falling on the jewelry piercing his cock. “Hell, yeah. Does this mean we’re like, married?”

“I’m sure it does in some foreign country.”

“’Till death do us part,” Keith said, grinning. “Let’s hope no one asks to see our rings.”

Jimmy leaned over and kissed him soundly on the lips.

Shoulders slumped, hands jammed into his parka, Perry studied the gold lettering that read ‘Sylvan Jewelers’ etched into the thick glass of the brick-face storefront.

Unconsciously he tugged at his skull cap as tired Christmas music ebbing from the jewelry store added background vocals to the argument currently looping in his head:

His boyfriend Branson had blocked the doorway, arms crossed over his bare chest. “I’m pretty sure we didn’t have a date scheduled for tonight, Perry.”

Perry took in Branson’s flushed face and kiss-swollen lips. “I just dropped by to give you…”

“Hey, babe,” a deep voice interrupted from inside Branson’s loft, “You coming back to bed or what?”

Branson turned away and yelled, “In a minute,” then switched his gaze back to Perry. “Well, this is awkward.” He peered at the box in Perry’s hand. “What’s that?”

Perry shifted uncomfortably. Until that very moment he’d thought he and Branson were exclusive. Awkward was an understatement. “I, ah, thought…maybe um…” He thrust the box toward Branson’s chest.

They’d been dating about a month – if buying Branson drinks and going back to Perry’s to fuck could be defined as dating – and he’d been at a loss as to what to give him for Christmas. That is, until he spied the Lucky Jade ring. Perry had thought even Branson, with his pretty face and muscled physique, could use a little luck. He’d been wrong.

Branson plucked the box from Perry’s fingers and flipped back the lid. His eyes narrowed. “You bought me a ring?” The incredulous tone in his voice made Perry’s heart pound harder. “I’m sorry, Perry, but I’m a free agent. I don’t do rings. You understand, don’tcha?”

He understood all too well. There was more than one man in Branson’s life and Perry would be surprised if he’d made the top five.

“Hey, lover, I’m waaaiiiting.” Deep Voice sang.

Branson took a couple steps back into his apartment, his interest in Perry fading. “No hard feelings then?”

“None.” Perry sighed.

A computerized bell jingled as a customer exited the shop, bringing Perry back to the moment. He slid his hand into his pocket and clutched the ring’s metal case.

An attractive salesman−tall, tan and chiseled−trained his gaze on him as he strolled inside. Perry recognized him as the salesman who’d sold him the ring

“How can I help you?”

Perry perched the box on top of the counter. “This didn’t work out.”

The salesman lifted his chin. “Oh yes, I remember this purchase. Was there a problem? They say the ring bestows instant luck to the wearer.”

“Turns out my ex-boyfriend doesn’t need any luck. Seems he’s been getting lucky all on his own.”

The salesman’s averted his eyes. “Oh, I see.”

Perry sighed. Well, at least he’d found out about Branson before it was too late. Before he’d fallen for him.

Plucking the ring from the box, he pressed it between his thumb and index finger. Was all the stuff about it being ‘lucky’ just a sales gimmick?

He slid the ring on his finger.

“Hey, that looks good on you,” the salesman purred suddenly. “Your skin tone compliments the blue/green color.” He glanced up into Perry’s eyes. “And your eyes too. They’re a beautiful shade of hazel.” The salesman leaned in. “I know this may seem a bit forward but…I was wondering, would you like to get coffee with me?”

Perry tried to keep the shock from his voice. “Ah, sure…” he glimpsed the guy’s nametag, “Russell? I’d be delighted.”

Russell excused himself to help another customer.

Perry stroked his Lucky Jade ring and smiled.