Remembered By One - Chapter 11

Chapter 11

© 2017 Finn Marlowe 

Although clearly too young to have known Geremy Miller, Mason showed the photo to the ridiculously buff African-American man leaning on the doorframe. After giving the tenant the same spiel as everyone else on the street who’d been home, he couldn’t exactly refuse to let him see it now. “You know this kid?” Not that he would twenty-seven years after Geremy left the neighborhood.

“Nah, I got no idea. There’s so many little shits running around here all the time, I can’t hardly tell ‘em apart. All they do is make a bunch of noise and get on my nerves. I don’t know any of them.” The man, half-naked and sleepy-eyed, leered at Mason. “But I know you.”

“What?” Mason had never laid eyes on the man before.

 “I know what you like. I can tell. I can always tell.” The man’s eyes raked over Mason and he followed the eye-fuck with a suggestive thrust of his hips.

Oh, good god. Despite his best intentions otherwise, Mason’s eyes dropped to the alarmingly active trouser snake straining to escape the man’s loose, silky shorts.

“Why don’t you come in?” the owner of the swelling bulge asked. He grinned invitingly—he was an attractive man—and palmed the snake overtop of the fabric. “And lemme show you a good time.”

This was what came of going door to door in questionable neighborhoods. Nobody had tried to shoot him, and he’d only been called a fag once, and not nicely, but no guns had made an appearance. Yet. And now here he was getting propositioned. “I…uh…” Mason turned, hoping to find Randy and his intimidating frame nearby where he’d last spotted him. A second later, Randy emerged from under a porch overhang and started striding over to the next block of townhouses when he spotted Mason. “I’m with someone.” Backing down the steps, Mason flashed what he hoped was a charming smile. “Him.”

“Fuck, that’s one big dude.” The man’s grin grew wider. “But I don’t mind if he joins us. The more the merrier.”

For a second, Mason couldn’t think of a suitable reply. Was the man kidding? His visibly stiffening dick said, quite plainly, no he wasn’t kidding and would love to have Mason. All kinds of ways. “Er, thanks, but I don’t think he’d go for it. He’s kind of possessive.”

Randy, with impeccable timing, crossed the road and hopped up on the sidewalk. His scowl would have put anyone off, let alone Mason’s propositioner with the great physique. Even the way Randy walked somehow managed to look like a clear and present threat. No wonder Nat found him so intimidating.

“I see what you mean,” the man agreed. He lowered his voice. “Anytime you wanna ditch him and come over alone, I won’t say no to your company. Make sure you remember where I live.” Then with a quick glance at Randy, he shut the door.

“Everything okay?” Randy asked, stomping over to where Mason promptly joined him on the broken sidewalk.

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Suspicious Randy was so suspicious. “He was just a little…flirty.”

Randy made a fist and his knuckles cracked. “I can fix that.”

“Nah, he’s harmless.” Randy, not so much. “Any luck?”

The scowl immediately vanished, replaced by a familiar victory smirk. God damn it.

“After our steak, we’re having pie for dessert.” Randy looked extra smug.

“We are not! You did not just find the first clue. Bullshit!”

“Strawberry rhubarb pie.”

“What? No. That’s disgusting. Who eats rhubarb of their own free will?”

“Better than the blueberries on anything and in everything like you like.”

“No way in hell am I eating rhubarb pie.” If the leaves were poisonous, what did that say about the stalk? Barely edible, unlike blueberries, which were tasty and good for you. Surely they could reach a compromise? They were both adults. “How about banana cream?”

Randy shook his head. “Lemon meringue?”

“Sold.” Mason hadn’t had a slice of pie in ages. He even liked lemon meringue better than banana or chocolate cream pie. Maybe even more than ice cream. Nah, nothing beat ice cream. “But you better cough up some proof, Porterhouse, before I concede.”

Randy’s grin dissolved back into his most annoying smirk. “I’m getting a real kick out of proving things to you all the time.” He waggled a brow. “Come on, then. Granny wants to talk to you.”

“Granny?”

Randy laughed loudly and headed back to the end unit with the overhang he’d just come from. Mason followed, noting the yard had actual grass, and some flowers in pots, and more edging the side of the building. The paint around the door had faded a bit, but overall, the place seemed in decent shape. Nice to see someone around here still cared. Could Randy be right? Had someone actually lived here long enough to have known Geremy Miller?

Before Randy had a chance to knock, the door opened. A middle-aged woman in faded scrubs joined them on the porch. “I’ve only gotta a sec, or I’ll be late.” She yelled goodbye to someone inside and locked the door. “Your friend,” she nodded at Randy, “said you’re looking for a kid that used to live around here, what, twenty-five years ago?”

“Yes,” Mason showed her the photo again. “Geremy Miller. Did you know him?”

“Well, I know he used to live around here. I recognize that big smile.” She laughed, surprisingly low and throaty. “Even after twenty-five years, I can still picture him riding his bike right down the middle of the street, full speed ahead. Bike was a piece of crap, and too big for him, but that never slowed him down any. He was such a terror. On and off the bike.” She shook her head. “Never wore a helmet either.” She snorted. “Or shoes.”

Jackpot! This was more information than Mason ever hoped to find. Randy really had won fair and square. Bastard also seemed content to let Mason do all the talking, clearly saying this was Mason’s travelling roadshow. “Do you know where he lived?”

“Not for certain.” She gestured in the direction of the units across the street and a half block down. “One of those middle ones, not sure which one, if I ever knew to begin with. It’s been a long time. People come and go so fast now. It’s hard to remember who lived where even a year ago, let alone twenty-five. Nobody stays here for long if they’re lucky.”

“Did you know his parents?”

“Just the father, and only by sight. I don’t think I ever spoke to him. Might have yelled at him a time or two to keep a better eye on his kid, but he would always just give me the finger, light a smoke and hop in that crappy old Ford pick-up of his and drive off.”

“You know his name? Was it Miller like the boy?”

“I have no idea.”

“What about his mother?”

She shrugged. “Don’t think she was in the picture. Might have been some women coming and going, but none of them hung around for long. You kind of notice when someone’s become a regular and who’s just visiting. I don’t recall seeing any women moving in or out. But I can tell you none of them were blonde enough to produce hair like that mop the kid had. Totally white. Every last strand.”

Mason sighed inwardly. This was shaping up to be another dead end. “Any idea what happened to them?”

“No, sorry.” She glanced at her phone, obviously anxious to be on her way. “I kind of wonder though, if maybe the kid got taken away by human services.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well, the boy disappeared months before the father did. At least I think so. I used to see him all the time, all summer long, every day. He was always on his bike, or running between the buildings, playing, and then all of a sudden he wasn’t around anymore, but the dad still was. The father stayed through the winter, as best I can remember.” She cocked her head, as if thinking back in time. “It used to piss me off to no end seeing the kid outside so late at night, alone, with nobody keeping an eye on him. His father sure as hell didn’t care. Should never have been anyone’s father, you know what I mean?”

Mason did know what she meant. In his house, dusk meant you got your ass home and you’d better be either in the house or in the yard when Nat came looking, because his parents had cared what happened to him and Ginny. “When you say late, how late do you mean?”

“Ten, eleven at night, sometimes even later. Midnight. I know it was summer and all, but I never let my kids run around after dark like that. The neighborhood wasn’t so run down back then. We had more owners and less renters, but still. Anyone could have snatched him. It would’ve been easy enough.”

Now that was a thought Mason didn’t care to contemplate.

“But I wouldn’t be the least surprised if he got put into foster care. I don’t know how they managed the rent to begin with, unless they had some kind of subsidy. They were dirt poor. That kid had about two shirts to his name and that’s all I ever saw him wearing, one or the other, and he was kind of scrawny, and that father of his was never around…” she trailed off and glanced at her phone again. “That’s about all I can tell you, and I really have to get going or I’ll be late for my shift.”

“We really appreciate all your help,” Randy said, finally joining in on the conversation. He stepped onto the sidewalk and moved out of the way so she could leave.

“I hope you find out what happened to him,” she said as they all walked together in the direction of her car. She laughed again. Mason really liked her smoky laugh. “And when you do, I sure hope he’s not in jail. He was such a brat.”

Jail? Huh. Mason hadn’t thought of that possibility. Another avenue to research during the next, four a.m. anxiety attack. She unlocked her car and threw her purse in. He had one last chance for another quick question.

“You know of anyone else around here who might remember him and know where I could find him? Or be able to tell me where his father ended up?

She shook her head. “Doubtful you’ll find anyone. I’ve lived here the longest now, everyone else has moved away, and I barely remember him. But you should keep asking. Never say never, I always say.”

They watched in silence as she drove away. “Well,” Mason said with sigh.

“Deep subject,” Randy countered, not missing a beat.

Mason groaned.

“What? That was a good one.”

“Bet you’ve been saving that one for years.”

“Yup.” Randy had a huge grin plastered on his face.

“So…” Losing any game to Randy had always irritated him, but he’d never had to pay with dinner before. How much could Randy eat? His bicep alone said plenty. “Steak and pie?”

“And some kind of salad. Potato, maybe. Or Caesar. And beer.”

“You can buy your own damned beer! The deal was dinner, not Budweiser.”

“Fine.” Randy nudged him with a hand to his lower back. “Go finish grilling the neighbors on that side, and I’ll try everyone else along here.”

“Just because you’ve had your hand on my dick doesn’t mean you can boss me around.”

Randy snorted. “And see if you can manage it without attracting yet another guy who wants to get you out of your pants.”

“I didn’t attract anyone! I only talked to him for ten seconds!”

Randy shot a nasty glance at the unit where Mason had been invited in for a good time. He sighed heavily. “I know you can’t help it.”

“Help what?” Mason’s elation at finding out more information on Geremy Miller sank into anger. Fucking Randy Porterhouse. Nobody had ever made him angrier. Not even the Dickhead when he came home smelling like sex with someone else.

Randy shrugged. “Being beautiful.”

Beautiful? “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” That was the last thing he was. But no point in arguing. It would only turn into an ugly fight and that’s the last thing Mason wanted. Or needed. With everything that had happened in the past couple months, with moving, then moving again and now this crazy fling with Randy that was going to end in disaster, he was too damned confused and disoriented to argue coherently with anyone. Instead of saying something he’d regret, he bit his tongue and stormed over to the next block of townhouses.

Unfortunately, the lady in the scrubs had been right. Nobody else knew a thing. He did find another long-term local, though. With Alzheimer’s. Did that count? He’d come across the senior watering a dead shrub in his yard at the end of the block where the townhouses ended in a small string of single family residences. Joe—said so on his paper nametag—told Mason his life story, including all about his former occupation as a roofer, carpenter and handyman, in the two whole minutes they talked. Joe had been living there since the seventies and knew of no such kid. Apparently that was the last time he’d bathed, too.

Not really a setback. He’d already struck gold in finding another person who remembered Geremy and that was validation enough for him. He had proof Geremy Miller wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

Randy probably hadn’t had any further success either, since he was already done his row of houses. He had, however, found a car in need of fixing and was under a hood with the owner when Mason joined them. They were discussing something about replacing a seal and Randy confirmed it would indeed solve the problem.

Without interrupting, Mason listened to them talk. He’d only seen this side of Randy once, and truthfully, he liked watching him in his element. Not a scowl to be found. He looked twice as handsome too. He kept smiling these little smiles as he bantered with the owner. Did he know he did that?

Did he know how sexy those smiles were?

Why hadn’t he noticed before?

Mason smiled and shook his head. Had he lost his mind or was he really having a fling with Randy Porterhouse?

Finally done with offering mechanical advice, Randy straightened, and noticing Mason, smiled. His face actually lit up with that smile and it did something strange to Mason’s pulse. The wild thing inside his blood stirred from its slumber.

“Gotta go, man,” Randy told the guy he’d been helping.

“Thanks a lot,” the man replied. “Appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Randy walked over, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Ready to go? Or do you wanna do more houses?”

“Nah, I think we’re done. It’s all houses down that way, no apartments or townhouses, and I think we’ve learned everything we can right now. I’d have to come back at night to catch everyone who was at work today.”

“Not alone.”

“What?”

“Don’t come alone. I’ll come with you if you want to come back tonight.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

Randy sighed. “Even I wouldn’t come knocking on doors at night alone around here.”

“Look, just because we’re having a fling, doesn’t mean you own me.” Fuck—now Randy had him calling it that stupid, old-fashioned word.

Unrepentant, Randy grinned at him.

It was because Mason had just admitted out loud to the change in their relationship status. Which was a mistake. One he intended to keep on making because he had no sense whatsoever.

“So, ready to do a little housebreaking?”

“Shit.” Mason had forgotten. “Is that really going to be necessary?”

“Yup.”

“That’s so sick.” By Randy’s expression, it was just another day. “How did you manage to turn out almost normal?”

“Almost? Whaddya mean almost?” Randy gave him a forceful shoulder nudge.

“Brute,” Mason murmured under his breath.

“But you like me anyway.”

“Keep on deluding yourself, buddy.”

And so it went on their walk back to Randy’s house, just like old times. For those short minutes, it felt like the years had never raced by and turning sixteen was the next milestone to hit before they could get behind the wheel of a car for the first time. The senseless and surprisingly fun bickering turned into the best conversation Mason had had in months. Years, maybe.

           What did that mean?