Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
He thinks I don’t want him -- don’t want to touch him that way, Valenti thought despairingly. God help me, if only he knew ...
“It’s not that, and you know it,” he said quietly. “It’s just ... aw, hell, Sean, I don’t know. You don’t think it’ll be weird?”
“Not if we don’t let it bother us,” his partner replied, lightening up and clapping Valenti on the back. “It’s just another undercover assignment, Nick, that’s all. Now come on -- you in or out?”
“In, I guess,” Valenti replied, feeling like a drowning man going down for the third time. He wondered if it was O’Brian’s use of his first name that made him agree; his partner only called him Nick when he was really serious about something.
“Great.” O’Brian’s face lit up, and his eyes were deep sea green again. “I’ll go tell Harris. We’re gonna nail this scum, partner. You wait and see.”
“As long as we don’t get nailed in the process,” Valenti said. He had meant to be sarcastic, but his words came out quiet and a little sad. O’Brian looked at him strangely and shook his head.
“Don’t worry, Valenti. Nobody’s goin’ down but Conrad. Hey, it’s us-against-them time -- the Mick and the Spic against the forces of evil. Who do ya think’s gonna win? Gotta be us, right?” He winked and ran one hand through his thick thatch of reddish-blond hair.
“Right,” Valenti returned dutifully. He wondered why, if the outcome was so certain, he felt such a sense of foreboding as his partner turned and walked with jaunty steps back to Harris’s office.
“We’ll take it,” he heard O’Brian say. “So when do we leave?”
Chapter Three
“A project like this, you got to do some research. Got to e-du-cate yourselves, you know?”
They were sitting in the ShySide bar, talking with their good friend and best information source, Turk. Turk was a huge black man with a head as bald and shiny as a billiard ball, and enough muscles to crush anyone who was stupid enough to get on his bad side. He was the owner of the ShySide and regularly wore color combinations that would make a blind man cry. But he always had the latest news on the streets, and his information was never wrong.
Today Turk was dressed to the nines in lime-green pants and a bright pink shirt. The outfit made Valenti think of a psychedelic watermelon, and the white slice of a smile that split Turk’s face almost lightened his mood. Almost.
“Hey, we didn’t come here to ask for advice on how to work the case, Turk,” O’Brian replied, grinning to show he was kidding. “We came for information. I mean, me and Valenti been in and outta the gay bars on different cases often enough to know what’s going down in there.”
“Yeah, but every time you been there, it was as cops, not as patrons,” Turk pointed out. “I’m just sayin’, it wouldn’t hurt you to go down to one of those bars and just hang out. Ob-serve the regulars and get some per-spec-tive, if you see what I’m saying.”
“We’ll think about it. Now, you know anything about Vincent Conrad or the RamJack?”
“What I don’t know, I can find out.” Turk smiled again. “But what I do know, you are not going to like.”
Valenti closed his eyes and groaned out loud. What next?
“What’s wrong with him?” Turk asked O’Brian, jerking his head at Valenti.
“Ah, don’t mind tall, dark, and gloomy there -- he’s afraid we’re not up to the challenge of actin’ Mary enough to fool the other Marys. Like it’s gonna be so hard.”
“Might be more to it than you think,” Turk warned again. “I’m telling you, my man, ed-u-ca-tion is the key.”
“I just think we might have bitten off more than we can chew, O’Brian.” Valenti said desperately. “I mean, Turk’s right -- what do we know about acting gay?”
“Apparently more than the other guys down at the Metro,” O’Brian shot back impatiently. “Or Harris wouldn’t have laid this one in our laps. Now, come on, Valenti, get with the program.” He turned back to Turk. “No more chit-chat, T -- spill it. What do you know about Conrad and the RamJack off the top of your head?”
“Well, normally I wouldn’t know too much about that scene, you understand. But it just so happens I have a cousin, Antwon, who swings that way. He’s stayed at the RamJack on several occasions, courtesy of a good friend of his, if you know what I mean. In fact ...” He snapped his thick brown fingers in excitement. “Antwon would be the best person to tell you all about it. Everything I know is secondhand from him. I’ll call him up, get him to meet you at his favorite hangout tonight. Then he can help ed-u-cate you boys. What do you say?”