The Road.

The Road 14

The Road Part 14

John Bacchus watched Ricky Deeming for most of the evening. He hadn’t meant to, the plan had been to confront him, and to remind him about the conversation with Chief Inspector Gently, just rattle his cage a wee bit. They needed everything they could get on the elusive Arnold Carteret. And at the moment, the freaky little painter, Harriet Colbert, appeared to be their only lead.

He didn’t like dealing with Deeming, the man made him uncomfortable.

John wanted to dislike him, wanted him to be a pervert who preyed on the innocent. But watching him with the girl angered him, why could it not be simple?

At school, he’d alternated between hero worship and resentment. Richard Deeming at Anderson Street Grammar was a star. He excelled at everything in a seemingly effortless way, at sports and academically. He was popular with pupils and teachers alike.

Nevertheless, Ricky was different. He didn’t seem to care about what he was good at. He was always looking for the next thing, the next challenge.

That irritated John; he was never going to shine unless he worked at it. No one would notice him, unless he put himself in their path.

He resented Deeming’s talents, the fact that he took them for granted. Moreover, of course, he couldn’t forget that the Deemings were money. Arty middle class liberals, who looked down on mere mortals like John, while claiming understanding and empathy for the plight of the average Joe.

When the scandal with the English teacher, Mr.Jacques, blew up, John was secretly pleased.

Flamboyant, that’s what the headmaster had called Ricky then, just flamboyant. No question of anything suspect in the boy’s behavior. Mr. Jacques had moved on to pastures new, only the whisper of a stain on his character. But Ricky was marked, for life if he wasn’t careful.

Of course looking at it now, from a police officer’s point of view, there was no evidence of anything, it was all gossip and rumour. Changing room teasing. Deeming spent too much time with the young teacher, with the same interests, discussing books and poetry, and dirty minds did the rest.

Then Joe Webster scarred him with the blowtorch. And all for the same suspicions.

As he watched Ricky dancing close with the sexy little dark-haired girl, he knew there was no way the man was a queer.

Gently had said Deeming was involved with a woman, but it looked like he was involved with more than one.

Not a Queer then

John, felt almost robbed.

Ricky swayed rhythmically against Piri, his hips in contact with her belly. It felt good. She was pretty, soft and, he was certain, a virgin, judging by her hesitation as she moved with him. While it was obvious that she wanted him, he felt responsible in a way he’d only felt once before, and it was not a feeling he liked. Deflowering was not his scene, not something he was at ease with.

Jeez, this was going to be tricky.

Her perfume was delicate, and her full curves incited his hands to investigate. The thought of running fingertips over the naked swell of her belly, aroused him. He knew he should back off, but she clung to him, pushing her softness awkwardly into his groin. The slow, sensuous music stopped, other couples left the floor, but Ricky and Piri stayed, holding each other. She was looking up at him with big, dark, soulful eyes, her lips parted in a soft, invitingly open, moue.

The kiss was meant to be light, flirty. But her mouth was open and seemed to beg his tongue to play there. He couldn’t help himself, he accepted the invitation, it was warm and safe.