Chapter 5 Denver
Chapter five
Denver
Pilot lived on the northwest side of town, inside of the main metro area of Denver.
When he wanted to go out for the night, it always involved picking Johnny up and driving to the Jefferson County station and taking the bus into town.
Johnny came down the driveway wearing painted on skinny jeans in black and a ripped up t-shirt.
His hair had been styled in a purposeful mess that flopped over one eye and made him look younger than he was, especially since he’d ditched his hipster glasses.
When he got in Pilot's old Mustang, he had to pull hard to slam the door and he cussed under his breath.
Pilot chuckled softly. “You trying to get laid tonight?”
“Shut up. Just want to look good. That a crime?” Johnny snarled back.
Pilot put the car in gear and it roared as he accelerated away from the curb. “You've sure been cranky lately.”
“I need to get laid. Doubt that's happening tonight, but it's been too long.” Johnny gripped the oh shit handle as Pilot took a curb a bit too fast. “Fuck, but there are no decent gay men here.”
Pilot couldn't help smiling at his friend.
He knew Johnny was right on one level, but he also knew Johnny had been working too many hours trying to get their dream going to even look for a decent man.
He also knew Johnny wasn't interested in starting a relationship with any of the men he would find in Denver.
It wasn't an ideal situation. He wanted the best for his friend, his brother, and he was in the same situation, but they had to keep the right attitude about it all.
He parked at the station and they waited for the bus into the city without much conversation. Johnny kept rubbing his arms like he was cold, but in July, it wasn't cold at all. He fidgeted around until they were settled on the bus. “What's wrong with you, J-man?”
“Oh, fuck off, Sean. Don't call me that stupid junior high nick name.”
“Don't call me Sean, then.” There wasn't any heat behind his words.
This was the same old tease they always went through, just following the motions.
It started when he came home after his discharge.
Pilot had no desire to answer to his given name.
Why should he when his parents weren't ever going to call him and his siblings were shit? Even if that strain had loosened over the years, he still didn’t much care for the name or anything that too closely attached him to his given family.
“Seriously, John. What's going on with you?”
Johnny sucked in a long deep breath and released it just as slowly. “I'm just lonely and over worked.” He rubbed at his arms again. “And no pockets or anywhere to tuck my hands.” He laughed as he realized what he’d been doing.
“'S'allright, Johnny, but you do know you can talk to me. Right?”
“Right. Always.” Johnny smiled, obviously trying to reassure Pilot that everything was fine, but the smile didn't reach his eyes and a real knot of concern for his friend twisted itself around in his gut.
After a brief silence between them, Johnny finally confessed. “So, your asshole brother showed up at work this morning.”
“What? What the hell?”
“Yep. He demanded I do his taxes for him. Figure out his big fucking cluster fuck of a mess. At a discounted rate, no less. Then he dropped a three inch thick folder of bullshit on my desk.”
“I'll kick his ass. He's not doing that to you. Don't worry about it.” Pilot's gruff words were probably meaner than the situation called for, but they both knew there was more to it than just trying to get nepotistic favors.
“You know he’s not going to let up until I do it.”
“If you do it, you’re charging him extra. He’s taking advantage.”
“Soooo...you want me to do them?”
Pilot thought about the situation. He didn’t want Johnny inconvenienced, but his brother could be a total dick.
He didn’t really want to deal with it at all, despite his earlier outburst. If he had to kick Colin’s ass, it would get really ugly with his family, and they’d just started acting like a family again.
His sister and his mother seemed to finally accept him, but he didn’t want to push his luck.
He hung his head and bit at his lip, trying to decide what to say.
Johnny snapped at him, “What the hell? Are you afraid he's going to go rub your gayness in your parent's face if you don't do what he wants? You going to let him hold you hostage over it?” Johnny, as usual, knew exactly what he’d been thinking.
“Damn, Johnny. Seriously. It's not—”
“It is.”
“Fine. But, you know…fuck it! I'll pay the difference. Just do his damn taxes,” Pilot grumbled, resolved to find a more diplomatic way out of the situation. Colin was just as big as Pilot and worked out just as much, even if he didn’t really know how to use that muscle.
He was a mechanic with a string of brokenhearted women behind him.
He was determined to sleep his way through Denver, the miserable bastard.
He never had anything to do with Pilot, but he'd harass Johnny any time he could, as if he blamed Johnny for Pilot being gay, for joining the military, for coming back a changed man, or for being so entrenched in Uncle Gary's security company.
None of it had anything to do with Johnny, except maybe the security company.
That was their dream, together, to buy out their parts of the company from Gary.
It was Johnny's legacy and one both Killebrews had generously let Pilot share when his own family had turned on him.
Well, just fuck Collin. He'd have to get his sister involved. She was the only one with sense and she'd come down hard on the asshole.
“No. That's not fine.” Johnny muttered. “At all. Sean, damn it. I'll do the taxes, but he's paying fucking extra.”
“Okay.”
They got off the bus and walked the two blocks up to the club, Trip Chill, in silence. When they got to the door, Johnny started grumbling. “Why do we always come here? I hate Trip Chill. Can't we go to the Apollo? Just once, for Christ's sake?”
“Stop bitching. Give me an hour or two, then we'll go to the Apollo.”
Johnny's eyes narrowed as he stared at Pilot.
He knew damn well what Pilot was up to, but he wasn't going to say anything, and Pilot was glad of that.
He didn't want to argue with Johnny, but he needed to see a few people at Trip Chill.
He knew the club was trashy. He knew Johnny preferred the classier Apollo, but he'd have to wait. Pilot had needs.
Once they got inside and parked their asses at a high top table near the rear of the bar, Johnny relaxed a bit and slid out on the dance floor.
Pilot watched him. This was the regular MO—Pilot staked the table, Johnny danced, and drinks flowed.
He ordered two rum and cokes and sipped on his own, watching Johnny gyrate against some taller guy wearing purple pants and a silver vest. It showed off two full sleeves of colorful tatts over bulging biceps.
Not Pilot's type at all, but Johnny seemed to go for the bad boys.
Purple pants had earrings in one ear that dangled down and swung against his cheek as he moved on the floor.
He was certainly Johnny's type, which worried that knot in his gut just a little more.
He sipped his drink, trying not to be too concerned.
Soon enough, the reason for his visit to the tawdry club sauntered up to his table.
“Pilot!” he called out over the music and stuck his fist out.
Pilot bumped his own fist against it and nodded for the guy to stay.
Pilot didn't know his real name and he didn't care.
Everyone he knew called him Booker for good reason.
“Got anything?” Pilot asked loudly, leaning into Booker so the man would hear him over the pounding bass.
Booker nodded, his dark unruly rat's nest flopping around his head.
His hair was a mess because he probably never brushed it; it was nothing like Johnny's styled chaos.
Booker's eyes were practically black and glistened with possibility as he met and kept Pilot's gaze while simultaneously digging his wallet out of his back pocket.
His jeans looked like they were crusted over and able to walk away from the table on their own, they were so dirty.
Finally breaking eye contact to look at his back pocket, Booker pulled out a card and slid it over to Pilot across the table. He held up two fingers. Pilot knew that meant he had two spots open.
The white card had a phone number on one side, printed in standard type. The other side was a handwritten date and time with an address below it. Pilot nodded and tucked the card in his own back pocket.
“Good to see you, as always,” Booker barked out, tipped a two finger salute, and then left.
Pilot exhaled letting out anxiety along with his breath. He couldn't stand Booker, the slob, but he was the best way to get what Pilot wanted. With that part done, he tossed back his drink and let his eyes search the dance floor.
The fight he set up was for Saturday night, so he'd have a week to train.
He'd be living in the gym for the next seven days, but he would be ready.
The payoff would go into funding their dream, but it wasn't the money that had him making arrangements with scum like Booker.
Nope, it was the fight, the thrill, the adrenaline.
Nothing in the world matched up to punching some asshole in the face.