Chapter Four #2
Bailey closed the truck door and took the outdoor stairs two at a time to the second floor. When he went into a room midway down, I picked up my cell and called Hardy.
“Hey, Jagger. What can I do for you?” Hardy was always so upbeat.
“Hey, Hardy. I need some information.”
“I’m your man, Jagger.” There was rustling on the other end of the phone. “Go.”
“I want everything, and I mean everything, you can track down about Boyd Newton. He lives in Vegas as far as I know, and he works for Glory Hole Studio on Fourth Street. That’s a—”
“I definitely know what Glory Hole Studio is. Do we know if Boyd Newton is his real name?”
Good point. “No idea. Check his socials to see if you can get a feel for his known associates. Friends, family, bullies. A guy who does porn for a living has to have some right-wing nuts who want to make him feel bad for his choices. See if you can ferret them out for me? Also, run him for warrants. I’ll babysit Dixie for you one weekend when you wanna have some fun. ” That wouldn’t be a hardship at all.
“Yes! When Monty comes back, I’ll take you up on it. He and Sparky are loud. I’ll be more than happy to get away for a few days.” I chuckled at the meaning behind Hardy’s comment. I was sure he wasn’t exaggerating at all.
“You got it. Uh, I’m home for the rest of the day if anyone’s looking for me. If we get a call for a pickup, call my cell and let Sparky know that Bailey Gregory is staying with me at my duplex on South Sorrel. He’s not going to jump bail.”
“Got it. See you tomorrow, Jagger.” The line went dead as the passenger door opened and Bailey got inside.
“Should you call your wife to tell her you’re going to have company for a few days?” He dropped a duffel on the floor and hopped inside.
I didn’t respond. “I could have waited for you to shower and change.” He still had grease paint in his hair, though the clown makeup was gone.
“Only cold water in the shower. Shampoo didn’t suds at all. It’s going to take an industrial grease cutter to get it out.”
I started my truck and shifted into gear, turning onto Paradise to East Desert Inn to get to the highway. My duplex was in the southeast valley, not far from Boulder City and Hoover Dam. I had a great view of Black Mountain from my small concrete patio. The sunrises were exceptional.
“Where do you live?” Bailey was looking out toward the desert at the solar-paneled roofs and cookie-cutter stucco houses that looked as if seeds had been scattered in a garden. That was why I’d moved farther out, into an older part of town where every home wasn’t the same.
“I live in the southeast valley. It’s just inside the Arizona border. Small residential community.”
“Nice. I’ve got an apartment outside of Carson City. I live not far from one of the public access ramps for the Carson River.”
Wow, we were really starting small. “Do you fish?”
I glanced at him, trying to imagine Bailey in waders and a fishing vest in the middle of a river. Before my mind could put a hat on him, I had him stripped out of the waders and into a Speedo on a double raft in Cancun. My head was fucking spinning.
“Eh, I’ve done some deep-sea stuff on vacation, but it’s not really my thing. I raft when I can. You ever white-water raft?”
“Yeah. I grew up in Reno, so, uh, we’ve rafted a lot on Lake Tahoe, where we go camping and boating.
Nieces and nephew have jet skis. I have two brothers and my folks in the area.
I don’t go see them as often as I’d like.
They’re still pissed that I quit working for the governor. ” That was an understatement.
“You get along with them?” Bailey reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a half-full handle of Jim Beam, twisting off the cap and taking a gulp as we exited the highway.
I quickly glanced at the rearview, grateful there wasn’t a cop behind us. One could drink walking down The Strip with a yard of one’s choice of alcoholic beverage, but it was still illegal to hoist a handle of Jim Beam riding down I-11.
He spun the top back on the bottle and put it on the floor, turning to me as if waiting for my response to a question I’d already forgotten. “Sorry, what did you ask?”
“Your family. You close?”
“Eh, not really. We have a difference of opinion on things, which makes it better if we steer clear of each other. My brothers and their families live not far from my parents in Reno, and both have kids. My parents want me to get married, but I haven’t met the right person, so I don’t go home because I get tired of the pressure. ” That was half of the truth.
No one in my family was homophobic that I knew of, but I told myself it was just because they didn’t know anyone who was LGBTQ+. I didn’t want to be the first gay man they knew. The awkwardness of potentially watching them figure out how to be around me made me uncomfortable.
My dad was a mail carrier, and my mother was a receptionist at an insurance office.
They had three boys: Robert, me, and Kaleb.
Rob had two girls, and Kaleb had one boy.
I never wanted my siblings to tell me they didn’t want me around their kids, so I stayed away. It wasn’t like they reached out either.
“Ah. Got it. My father’s dead, but Mom’s still kickin’. She lives in Philadelphia and runs a charitable foundation. And then, of course, there’s Thomas. At one time, he and Lindsey talked about adopting, but as far as I know, that was all it was…talk.”
I turned from Bronco Road onto Saddle Lane, making the right onto South Sorrel Road, pulling into my side of the double driveway to wait for the garage door to lift. “It seems like you and the governor are close though.”
Bailey chuckled. “We shared an egg and a womb. It’s easy to guess we can’t really live without each other.”
My brain raced. The governor was secretly gay, so was Bailey saying what I thought? Was I brave enough to ask outright? I’d shake a Magic 8-Ball if I had one, but I knew the answer would be Not likely.