Forever Haunt

Chapter 1-2

Carmen Ramirez was living in fear. That was no way to raise a son. That much he knew.

* * * *

“Clara O’Brien was a good friend, as feisty as they come.”

“Ma, coming from you, that could be taken as an understatement.”

Maggie reached out and stuck the tines of her fork in Jimmy’s forearm. “Smart-ass. Clara’s daughter, Maeve, told me the family was holding onto the place and would sublet it.”

“Cheap rent, lucky,” Meaghan said. “I should have asked about it. For me and the baby.”

“You’re going nowhere, missy,” Maggie said.

“Clara was like ninety, right?” Mallory asked, taking a bite of her chocolate chip cake. She dipped it in fresh whipped cream. “Lived a good, long life. Now another family gets her apartment and the chance to create their own memories. I think it’s great. Circle of life.”

“Kind of sentimental, Mal,” Meaghan said. “What, you itching for a family now? You and Taylor moving forward? Gonna move back to the ‘hood?”

“Taylor and I are just fine. Status quo,” she said. A bit defensively. “And no.”

“Ouch,” Meaghan said. “What about you, Jimmy. How’s the hot cop?”

“No comment,” Jimmy said. He took a sip of his beer. Not exactly the best complement to the sweet chocolate chip cake but he wasn’t in the mood for a cup of tea or coffee. All through dinner he’d been reflecting on Carmen and her son settling into a new place with no furniture and whatever makeshift dinner they conjured. Probably a pizza they had delivered. He pictured the two of them gathered on the wood floor amidst the array of unopened boxes, their future sealed with tape somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow. Unlike the staid comfort found in the McSwain household, where they’d enjoyed steak, potatoes, green beans, and now, an indulgent dessert that was fresh from the oven. Jimmy put some whipped cream on his fork, ate it. Sometimes life could be sweet. Didn’t happen often.

“How I raised three such ornery children, I’ll never know,” Maggie said, “and in case any of you think to answer, know that mothers can ask rhetorical questions. Mallory, it’s your week to do the dishes, and Meaghan, you need to get some rest. Which means go to your room. Jimmy, I suppose you’re out to save the world tonight?”

He smiled. “Haven’t decided.”

“Still thinking about the woman and her boy?”

“Something seemed off. I’m thinking Help is Here might…well, help.”

A charity for which Jimmy had done some work for last December, Help is Here did good work for people in trouble. The Ramirez family could be eligible for financial assistance or even counseling, depending on their circumstances. Jimmy still assisted them as he could, so perhaps he could direct Carmen to Melissa Harris-J’Arnoud and her staff while also offering his investigative prowess for whatever was going on with the errant husband. What he didn’t want to do was make them feel like a charity case. She’d barely let him lift a box for her.

“Better them than you. Last thing you need is to take on the responsibility of a mother and her young son.” Maggie paused, sipping at her tea. “But I admire your chivalrous nature, Jimmy. Even if it meant you were late in bringing the chocolate chips here. Okay, enough motherly advice for one night. I think I’m going to turn on Jeopardy!.”

It was a typical night at the McSwains, each of them going off to their respective corners after a shared meal, highlighted by an exchange of ideas, barbs, and memories. Jimmy continued to sit in his usual chair, sipping at his beer while his mother and sisters went about their tasks. He was left alone at the table, but in truth he didn’t feel that way. Because the empty chair at the head of the table called to him. Joseph McSwain had sat there, and he’d always enjoyed his beer, too. Each Monday night when the family gathered, Jimmy would pour a glass for his father, and there it fizzed until it was rendered warm. Seeing the empty chair made him think, not for the first time tonight, about the situation with young Sonny Ramirez’s father, who by Carmen’s response at least seemed very much alive. He hated when things nagged at him.

Jimmy got up from his seat, the scrape of the chair against the floor catching Mallory’s attention.

“You okay, Jim?”

He thought about his answer. An easy one didn’t come to him. “I’m going out.”

“Big surprise.”

Mallory stood before the sink, water pouring over dirty dishes. He kissed his sister’s cheek. “You have concerns about Taylor, solve them. Not like you to take a back seat to anything. That’s not the tough as nails defense attorney I know.”

“Relationships are complex,” she said. “Speaking of, say hi to Frank for me.”

Jimmy paused. “Maybe I’m just going to Paddy’s.”

“Jimmy, since the new year you two have been inseparable, though private. When are you going to invite him to dinner? Give us a chance to get to know him.”

“Maybe I’ll invite him to your wedding.”

She playfully punched him. “You’re an asshole.”

“I think Meaghan beat you to the punch,” he said.

Meaghan’s laugh followed him back down the stairs, echoing against the walls in the hallway. Nearly to the front door, he took a cursory look at the rear apartment. He saw only a closed door. He heard no voices, and a glance outside showed no moving van. He reminded himself the Ramirez family was none of his business. He grabbed his iPhone as he hit the sidewalk. It had gotten colder tonight, the temperature having dropped in the two hours since he’d gone on the deli run. He shot off a text.

See you soon?

He walked a few blocks before a response came in.

Home. Bad day. Need you.

Such suggestive words were all Jimmy needed to spur him forward. He edged his way over to Ninth Avenue, where the downtown traffic flow was thankfully sparse. Hailing a cab, he hopped in and instructed the driver to take him to 18th Street and Ninth. After a quick trip, Jimmy was in Chelsea. He paid in cash, giving a good tip for good service.

His heart suddenly beat faster as he realized how near he was, who he was soon to see. It had been a week since he’d last seen Frisano, as the police captain had been preoccupied with the murder of one of his officers. Today had been the funeral for Officer Denson Luke. Jimmy had watched the somber ceremony on NY1News. He felt the wound in himself when he witnessed the man’s young children standing there as his casket was carried out of the church by eight men in blue. He wondered what they thought. He wondered if they understood. Reality would soon settle in. Daddy wasn’t coming home.

Too many fathers were missing.

He approached the squat building, pressing the buzzer for apartment 3A, when he received an immediate response. He pushed open the door, and entered. Francis X. Frisano was subletting this place, so it wasn’t quite home but it was the closest either of them had to share. Jimmy’s office was just too impersonal, and he had yet to invite Frisano home to officially meet his family. Sure, they were aware of him, just as Frisano’s family had heard of Jimmy. In fact, Lieutenant Salvatore Frisano had last December given what passed for a blessing, so long as they kept their relationship on the so-called down-low. As a captain in the NYPD with bigger ambitions, the younger Frisano couldn’t risk a scandal, but even in today’s world of tolerance and acceptance being gay qualified as a strike among the blue rank and file. Jimmy came to the door and was about to knock when it opened wide.

“Hi,” Frisano said.

Frisano was dressed in a simple pair of blue jeans, a button-down shirt left untucked. Jimmy felt a rush of desire spread through his body at the sight of this sexy man. A welcoming smile hit him. Frisano, without effort, sparked a passion deep within him, down to a place he’d never known existed.

“A sight for sore eyes,” Jimmy said.

“Back at ‘cha.”

Jimmy entered the apartment, smacking a kiss on Frisano’s lips. Frisano took hold of him, locked him in a tight embrace of strong arms and growing heat. The kiss lingered, hands searched. Complex emotions filled Jimmy’s heart, his lungs suddenly seeking air. The door closed behind him, sealing the two of them inside. Discretion was a third member of their relationship.

“Rough day?” Jimmy asked.

“Can we talk about that later?”

“You want to talk about something else?”

Frisano paused before saying, “I don’t feel like talking.”

Suddenly both men were kissing hungrily, fingers undressing each other. Buttons undone, zippers sliding down, clothes to the floor. To the bed they went, their bodies entwined as though they’d become one person, and in truth that’s how it had been since their relationship had solidified. They spoke a different language when alone, silence except when allowing the room to be filled with groans, with grunts, both sounds consuming them now.

This moment wasn’t going to be one of foreplay, now wasn’t a time for them to toy with the anticipation of what would eventually happen. Jimmy sensed Frisano’s needs. His c**k was immediately hard. Jimmy tossed Frisano onto his back, opened up his legs. He readied himself, a smile on Frisano’s lips welcoming the moment. My God, the man was the sexiest thing Jimmy had ever seen, and he was here with him. With this man beneath him, waiting for him, loving him even when that word hadn’t yet been exchanged. What was going to happen between them now was an affirmation of life. That’s what happened when you dealt in death every day. You wanted s*x. You craved it.

“Take me, Jim. Don’t ever stop.”

Jimmy stared down at Frisano, running fingers across his dark scruff, down his hairy chest. He loved how rough it felt, the hair so dark, so plentiful. n*****s jutted out from the dense ruff as though striving for attention.

Frisano arched his back. Jimmy slid in, feeling a warmth spread inside his body.

“Oh, yes, Jim…oh…that’s what I need. I need my baby, my lover…”

Jimmy thrust at him, not once and not twice but a series of hungry actions that took hold of him. Nothing mattered but this moment, this connection between willing men. Jimmy went at him, hard, and he went long. Neither wanted the moment to end. For a time it didn’t seem like it would. As they continued to lock bodies, Jimmy’s in total control of the moment, their sexy talk turned to begging, their breathing became panting. Jimmy felt Frisano’s strong arms lock on his back, a way to keep him close, keep him tight, inside. They locked eyes and they kissed deeply, a reminder to them that this was more than empty s*x, it was an expression of how they felt about each other.

“Oh, Jim, I’m getting ready…”

“Me, too,” Jimmy said, thrusting still. Still.

A wild cry bounced off the walls. Jimmy watching as Frisano erupted. Streaks hit his chest, a sight that simultaneously released the passion built up inside Jimmy. He pulled out, fast, slipped off the condom and finished himself off, his own hot load mixing with Frisano’s all over his furred chest. It was a sexy mess that would require a shower, which usually turned into another session of hot, indulgent s*x. But Frisano didn’t move this time. He just exhaled, satisfied. Like he’d let go of something bottled up inside.

But just as suddenly his mood shifted.

“Today sucked,” he suddenly said.

Jimmy fell back against the bed, propped himself up on his elbow. “I saw the highlights.”

“Horrible word. No such thing, highlights for a funeral for a slain cop.”

“True. Sorry.”

Frisano leaned up and kissed him. “That wasn’t a criticism. I know you know.”

“Any clues?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Time is no friend of an active case,” Jimmy said.

“He wasn’t on the roster that night. So he wasn’t on patrol and there was no reason for him to be in uniform, and even so, the east side, certainly the piers, was nowhere near his jurisdiction. None of that matters right now. Today was about celebrating him. I’d only known him six months. Still, as his commanding officer I bore the truth of losing one of my men. I never experienced that before. One of mine was gone. It about destroyed me when I had to present his wife and children with his badge. A mere token but necessary.”

Jimmy grew silent. He snuggled in tighter. Finding safety, offering security.

Silence fell between them, the fantasy of their intense love making and the reality beyond these walls creating a sudden bridge between them. Jimmy had more questions about the murder, but so far he had avoided asking them. During this past week, and even now, in the afterglow, he wondered what Officer Luke might have been doing on the piers at that late hour. But Frisano was a captain in the NYPD, and he had to go by the book. Jimmy was a private investigator, the proverbial loose cannon. Each based their lives on questions, each constantly seeking answers that possessed a cruel truth. No time was good to bring up the subject of murder. Or as Jimmy recalled since he’d first seen the report on NY1, an execution. That’s what the commissioner had called it.

“He died of a single bullet wound to the forehead,” Jimmy suddenly said.

It was like shadows drew in, the enclosed light inside the apartment darkening. “Not now, Jimmy.”

He always called him Jimmy when talking business. McSwain when they were in public and in the presence of others. And of course a simple, intimate Jim when in the afterglow. Differing degrees of a complex relationship, and the tone in Frisano’s voice suddenly took on a definite chill.

“Come on, Frank,” he said. “You can’t turn a blind eye. Surely you’ve thought about it. The coincidence. The method in which Officer Luke was killed. Same as Mickey Dean two months ago. One a common thug running a chop shop, then a dedicated cop with a family. What’s the connection? There has to be. Officer Luke, do you think he was on the take?”

“We just buried the man. Leave him some honor.”

“Why are you refusing to talk about this?”

“It’s not your case. Jimmy, leave this to the cops. To those higher up than me.”

“Like your father?”

Frisano shifted, got up from the bed. Jimmy’s arm slipped away like it had been rejected.

He watched as his hunky lover walked away from him, entering the bathroom to wash away the dirt of this damaged day, as well as the silky remnants of their passion. He closed the door with a definitive click. A sure sign that Jimmy wasn’t to follow him in. Jimmy would not be making love to him in the shower, as they had so often done before. He’d pushed too far, too fast, on the wrong night.

Jimmy McSwain was like a dog with a bone sometimes. He never gave up. No matter how long it took. Fifteen years, that’s how many revolutions of the clock it had been since his father was gunned down. New clues about the shooting deaths of both Mickey Dean and Officer Luke had stoked his suspicions. Pieces of a deadly jigsaw puzzle, where the edges were just as jagged and sharp as those in the interior. He saw conspiracy, one that had gone on for too long. But in this moment, while he lay naked in an empty bed that just moments ago had born witness to undeniable heat between two people, he suddenly felt horribly alone, like that fourteen-year-old boy he’d once been, covered with blood. You never got the blood out. It stained your soul.

He guessed he wouldn’t be staying overnight.

He got up, and he got dressed. He put his guard back on, too.

The sound of the door closing behind him echoed too many emotions. Remorse sealed it.