Airtight

Chapter 1: Gay for Pay

The first, was a middle-age man in his mid to late forties; his graying brown hair was short, and brushed into a comb over. Hard brown eyes were looking up and down the hall as if he thought a quick getaway was coming. I doubt he would be any use if one were on its way.

His stomach was pushing at the buttons of his tight shirt as it begged for freedom. The cheap suit he wore showed its age in every string that was sticking out of place. I was sure if he breathed out the button on his pants was going to take an eye out. I can remember a time when I was younger, when I was new to the tank. I was in such a rush to swim with the big fish. Kennedy had cornered me.

I don't even remember what nonsense he tried to book me on. I ran, and he gave chase. He gave chase for three blocks. The big man moved quicker than anyone would have thought. It wasn't until I climbed a gate that I could get away. He tried as I watched in amusement, toss his fatass over. Again and again he fell. Again and again I laughed. It wasn't until he threatened to shoot me that I ran. I chuckled at my own memory of the detective, good times.

Next to him was a younger man, late twenties, short blond hair that was spiky on the top. Soft green eyes that shone with the eagerness to prove himself to those around him. He was tall if I had to guess somewhere between 6'2" and 6'4," his muscular build accented by his suit. I always say that you can tell a lot about someone by the clothes they wore. The suit this man wore spoke about his character. It was new, slightly out of the detective's price range, tailored to fit him. It showed that he wasn't just going to be some beat cop all his life. He was in this to move up the ranks. His suit was to show his boss how ready he was to take the next step in his career.

My first run in with Mark was of a personal nature. I was still living at home with the folks saving my money to blow this popsicle stand. The banging on our door that night could have waked the dead. Answering the door, I was faced with the angriest cop I had ever seen. Not even giving me time to respond he wanted to know if I was Sebastian Monroe.

Before my lips could form a response, his hand came forward and connected with my jaw. It was after my father pulled us apart, after more pigs showed up that I understood why I was the target of Mark Landon's rage. It wasn't really my fault; he should have taught his girlfriend how to close her legs. I smiled at the annoyed expressions on their faces as the younger cop of the two banged his fist against the door again.

Walking back towards my client my eyes slid over him. His whole look was wrong for what we were going for. Adrian didn't look like a guy that was just rolling around in the sheets he was to put together for that. My eyes fell to his knuckles that were bruised from bashing in the face of his lover. I knew that Mark would take notice of his hands.

Adrian was a boxer though; bruised knuckles were easy to explain away. I ran my fingers through his black hair ruffling it so it didn't lay perfectly on his head. I yanked at his pajama pants so that his pelvis would show, tapping my chin I stepped away from him. I could tell that he was jittery as another pounding knock came.

"Wait a damn minute," Adrian yelled, and looked at me again. I frowned at his snappy comment. It wasn't best to piss these two off. I knew how annoying they could be when they decided you were good for a crime. I could see the worry in Adrian's eyes, could feel the tension in the air he was making. I closed my eyes blocking out his nerves. This wasn't my first rodeo.

"Remember what we went over Adrian." I said, and he nodded, his breathing resembling a woman going into labor. "Deep slow breaths; if you don't want to answer a question you can refuse. If you don't know how to word it take a moment get your thoughts in order." I could see the blank stare on his face as if he was some dumb blond.