22 Aubie #3
“I’ve got a friend who’s caught up in his shit right now, and I’m talking to a guy whose partner killed himself after spending a weekend with him.”
“There are drugs that can make people compliant,” Maxwell muses. “We deal with them a lot with the Columbians and some of the Mexican cartels.”
“Are they illegal?”
“They are for that use. Okay, give me what you’ve got and I’ll look into it.”
“Thanks, Maxwell. I’m going to text you the name and contact info for the guy who brought this to me. He’s been looking into it for a while and might have some helpful information.”
“Okay, shoot it over. And…thanks, Aubie.”
“Anytime.”
I hang up and pull up my text thread from Maxwell and pass the phone across the table to Ryan. “Put your info in there and Maxwell will reach out to you.”
He types in his name and number and passes the phone back to me. “Who is this Maxwell?”
I include a note reminding him who Ryan is and send the text. “Maxwell Jones. He’s a narcotics detective.”
“How do you happen to know a narcotics detective?”
I grin at him. “It’s not what you think. We went to school together. Now I help him out whenever I hear something he might find interesting.”
“So you’re like a snitch?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Such an ugly word. I prefer ‘purveyor of information.’”
It’s his turn to snort. “You can call it whatever you want. You’re still a snitch.”
“You got a problem with that?”
He shakes his head and lowers his eyes. “No. Sorry, didn’t mean to come off sounding critical. You’ve actually been more of a help than I expected.”
I decide to cut him a break. “Look, Jimi is a friend. I care about him a lot, which means I don’t want to see him get hurt by this asshole Ethan.”
“Is he your lover?” Ryan asks.
That’s a loaded question. “Not in the sense that we’re exclusive to each other, but we have fucked.” Sorry if that’s too graphic for you, lawyer boy.
He purses his lips. “Yeah, I had heard about your…”
“Appetites?” I chuckle. “You can say it. I’m a slut.” He coughs into his hand. “That doesn’t mean I don’t care about my friends. At least, my real friends.” What few of them I have. “Look, Maxwell’s good people. If there’s anything illegal going on with Ethan, he’ll find it.”
He finishes his coffee. “Thank you for that.”
“No problem. Give me your number so we can keep in touch.”
He enters his number on my phone and sends himself a text. “You really think this is drug related?”
I thumb my lip. “I would have gone there sooner if I’d been paying attention. It’s been a while since Jimi had any contact with Ethan, so I just put it out of my mind. I had no idea he was a serial abuser.”
“You thought it was just Jimi?”
“Well, yeah. I figured Ethan was one of your run of the mill nightmare exes. God knows I’ve had a few.” Well, not exes, per se, since I don’t let them stick around long enough, but clingers who don’t know how to let go.
“I thought the same thing until Mason turned up dead. He would never kill himself.”
I’m sure every suicide survivor says that, but in this case, I’m starting to believe he may be right.
Whether or not Ethan is drugging and manipulating multiple men or just Jimi, I intend to stop it.
If Maxwell can’t make something stick, I’ll bite the bullet and go the other route. Consider it a service to humanity.
Ryan stands and pulls on his coat. “Taking off?” I ask, surprised that I’m disappointed. I’m not in the mood to go back to the club and I don’t feel like sitting home alone.
“Yeah, I figure I’ve wasted enough of your time. Sorry about approaching you cold on the street. I considered knocking on your door, but figured you wouldn’t answer.”
You’re probably right.
He stops, frowning. “Can I ask you something?”
“We’ve come this far.”
“What’s Club Eros?”
So, he followed me there. “It’s a private, adults only club.” I watch his reaction, certain that Eros would not be on his preferred menu. He looks too buttoned up for that.
“Are you a member?” he asks.
“Would that surprise you?”
“No, I suppose not, given what I know about you.”
I flash a deviant smile. “You didn’t know I dance there?”
“Dance? As in…?
“Strip.” I lean across the table and watch his pupils enlarge. “Completely bare. You should come by and catch a show sometime. I can get you a guest pass.”
This feels good. This is flirting. Maybe I can still do this.
Trouble is, when I’m flirting I usually have more interest from my dick.
Now? Nada. Zilch. Soft as a pillow.
I pull back and take a sip of my latte. “It was nice meeting you, Ryan. Let me know how the investigation goes.”
He shakes his head as if that will rid him of me and pats the back of the chair. “Okay then. Good night.”
“Toodles.”
I watch him walk away and disappear through the door. Despite the hour–or maybe because of it–there are half a dozen other customers in the shop, all minding their own business. It’s warm and smells good. As good a place as any to waste some time. I grab my phone.
“Okay, you naughty boy,” I mutter under my breath as I type in Ethan Lennox. “Let’s see what Google has to say about you.”