A pack of Wolves: Brad & Peter

 

 

Brad & Peter

Peter was running as if the devil was on his heels. It wasn’t far beside the truth, as he was followed by two gorilla-like men, who were assigned to catch him and to bring him back. Dead or alive, that wasn’t important.

He was getting bloody tired, and wasn’t sure how long he could keep running like that. He had to hide somewhere, before they could catch up and kill him.

As he ran through the streets, past the quiet houses, he looked for shelter. Suddenly, he saw an open door. Peter didn’t think about what was behind it. He ran inside, and with his final strength, he jumped behind the first obstacle he could see. He crawled against it, made himself as small as possible, and sighed breathlessly.

Safety. If only they didn’t see him.

He didn’t look around to see where he was. He had seen a large man when he burst in, with grey hair and a moustache. He could hear a vacuum cleaner. The man still vacuumed, and didn’t come to ask him questions. Maybe that meant he was safe for now?

“Gentlemen!” The vacuum stopped, and Peter heard a deep, masculine voice snapping rather indignantly. “I’m still closed!”

Oh gods, they had seen him and had followed him inside... Peter crawled away a bit further, trying his hardest to keep his breathing shallow and quietly.

“We’re sorry to disturb you,” one of the gorillas said, breathlessly. “Did you accidentally see a blond guy?”

The man’s voice raised an octave. “A blond guy? Where? Please bring him to me!” He sounded like a fag. “No, I’m so sorry, gentlemen, I didn’t see anybody. I was too busy cleaning!”

“If you see him, please call this number,” the other man said. “He’s blond, about twenty, and he’s wearing jeans, a white sweatshirt, and a long black leather coat.”

“I hope to see him!” the man answered, still with that over-the-top queer tone of voice. “Bye!” The door shut with a bang, and was audibly locked. “You can come out now,” he said with his normal, deep voice. “They’re gone.”

Slowly, Peter stood up. He was behind the bar of a pub, he saw. When he carefully looked at the window, he saw the name of the place. The Blue Ardvark. Nervously, he laughed.

“What’s so funny?” The man walked behind the bar to the kitchen, and didn’t wait for an answer.

Peter followed him quickly and closed the door. Finally, he relaxed.

“Coffee?” the man asked.

“Yes, please,” Peter said shyly. The kitchen was cozy and warm, just like the pub. Peter sat at the rough wooden table and accepted the mug. The man joined him.

“What’s your name?”

“Peter. Peter Bruin.”

“My name is Brad Cogan. And this is indeed the Blue Ardvark, what you had to laugh about.”

“I’m sorry about that, I was nervous.”

“Whatever. Why were you pursued?”

Peter looked down in his cup. Brad sounded offended. He hadn’t laughed at the name, he knew the Ardvark. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Mr Cogan,” he said timidly.

“You didn’t?” asked Brad dryly.

“No. But you pretended to be a sissy, and that surprised me, and then I saw I was in the Ardvark… I didn’t mean anything with it.”

“Stop crawling and answer my question.”

“I work nearby in the cocktail bar, do you know it?” Brad nodded and he continued, “I work behind the bar, and start early to prepare the day, just like you. I have the keys, and I made up the till, and then I noticed I missed a large amount of cash.” He drank his coffee. Brad was silent, and waited for the rest of the story. Peter sighed.

“I reported the shortage, and thought the boss would come and check things with me. Maybe I missed something, or did he put it in the safe or whatever. But instead, he sent those two gorilla’s after me. He accused me of theft.” He shrugged. “So I ran away.”

“Why?”

“What?” Peter looked up, frowning.

“Why did you run away? Did you steal the money?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then why did you flee?”

Peter stared at him. “Are you serious? Would you try to reason with two Neanderthals? They won’t listen to a blond guy! The boss told them to eliminate me, so that’s what they’ll do. Simple as that.”

“Fair enough,” Brad shrugged. “So, what’s your plan now?”

“I- I don’t know yet. I didn’t have much time to think.”

“You had time enough, when I played sissy.”

Peter laughed. “I keep saying the wrong things, don’t I?” He put his mug away. “Oh, please forgive me. I’m nervous. I didn’t mean it like that.” He observed the man. He saw a powerful, weather worn head with thick, dark hair, greying sideburns and a large moustache. “I’m really sorry,” he said. He meant it.

Brad didn’t respond. He stood up and walked to the door. “There’s more coffee in the pot, if you want it. I’m going to finish my cleaning.”

“Is there something I can do? Can I do the dishes?”

The man looked at the dishwasher. “D’oh…” Without looking up or back, he walked into the pub.

Peter was left behind. Brad had pretended to be very interested in blond guys. Apparently that had been just acting. Feeling a bit hurt, he started the dishwasher. That hadn’t been a good suggestion either.

*

Brad took his time in the pub. He watered the plants, dusted the window sills and even all the bottles, only to stay away from the kitchen as long as he could. Eventually, the pub was sparkling clean, and he couldn’t think of anything to do. With a deep sigh, he opened the kitchen door.

He held his breath. The whole kitchen was cleaned and polished. Stains that had been part of the décor for years, had been removed. The floor was polished, the windows cleaned. He looked around in awe. Apparently, Peter had stretched his time as well.

“Are you hungry?”

Brad looked at the young man, and at the neat pile of sandwiches on the table. “Yes, to be honest I am,” he said slowly.

“Tea or coffee? I made both.”

“Coffee, please.”

Peter poured a cup. They sat at the table and started to eat. “What time do you open?” Peter asked.

“At four,” Brad answered. “Usually, I clean the pub and go back to bed, or I relax until it’s time.”

Peter nodded. “I interrupted your schedule… I’m truly sorry, Brad.”

Brad didn’t look him in the eyes. He looked at his kitchen. “Good job,” he said.

Peter followed his gaze. “It’s the least I could do. Is the pub clean?”

The man only nodded. A painful silence fell down.

Peter broke the silence. “Where do you live?” he asked calmly.

“Above the pub.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, why?” Brad finally looked up and into Peter’s eyes.

“No, nothing. I live in an apartment. I rented it from my boss. Ex-boss.”

“Hm. That will complicate things, won’t it? Do you want to explain it to him?”

“Yes… Of course. But he won’t arrive until late this night. Until then, I need a place to stay.”

“You can stay here, if you like.”

“I don’t want to be of any trouble…”

Brad sighed. “Stop playing around. You already hoped I would offer it to you.”

They continued eating in thoughtful silence. Of course Brad would offer the boy a place to stay. What else could he do, send him back on the street? He wouldn’t have stolen that money, would he? Or did he now take a thief in the house? “Peter, I ask you again, and expect the truth. Did you steal that money?”

Peter swallowed his bread. “No, Brad Cogan, I didn’t steal. I’ve never stolen anything in my whole life. I just loved my job and spent a lot of time on it.” He thought for a while. “Don’t you have a job for me?”

Brad laughed. “You are cheeky, aren’t you! First talk to your boss, Peter. Until then, you can stay here, like I said.” He helped Peter cleaning up. “Let’s go upstairs, there’s nothing to do here anymore.”

*

The Blue Ardvark was originally built in a corner house. Through the years it had been rebuilt, and the house next to it was attached. The pub was built in an L-shape. The second floor reached over both houses. Peter climbed the stairs. At his left, he saw large windows with a living room behind it. At the left, he saw a kitchen and closed doors, probably with a bathroom and bedrooms.

“I’ll give you the grand tour,” said Brad. “That’s the living room, the bathroom is over there.” He opened the door and Peter looked inside. It was large, light, and airy. “Above the kitchen of the pub is my own kitchen. It’s here.”

Peter loved to cook and he admired the vintage kitchen.

“Here’s the spare bedroom, mine is next to it.” Brad opened both doors.

“Very nice,” said Peter. “You sure have style and taste.”

Brad closed the doors. “Go to the living room. I’ll follow shortly.” Leaving Peter to do what he wanted, Brad went into his kitchen and leaned against the sink. It was late. Another hour and he had to open the pub. Damn, that kid interrupted his schedule. Peter Bruin. He smirked a bit. How on earth could he explain a young guy’s presence to his friends?

He knew about that cocktail bar. The owner and he had scratched each others eyes out one time, when he started to rebuild and renovate and the man had made objections. A dreadful man, impossible to talk with. Peter would have a very hard time with him.

He filled a glass with cold water and drank slowly. Thoughtfully, he looked out of the window into the garden. Peter was a handsome kid. Very handsome indeed. Maybe not such a bad idea, to hire him as bartender.

No, that’s nonsense, Brad told himself, shaking his head. What could Wolves do with a cocktail sissy? He needed help, a real man. No vain kid without balls.

He sighed. But Peter sure was handsome…

*

Peter leaned against the window sill and looked at the street below. He was nervous. He had to talk to his boss, tonight. But he was scared.

“Nervous?” said a dark voice in his ear, and a large hand squeezed his shoulder. He startled up and turned with a jerk. “Brad, man!” He saw the man smirking at him. “Yes, I am,” he said, turning away again.

“Why?”

The weight slid of his shoulder and the warm spot chilled. Peter suppressed a shiver. “He won’t listen to me.”

“Perhaps you should phone him first?”

With a sigh, Peter nodded. He took his cell phone and looked up the number. Brad left him alone for privacy, and he dialled. Only minutes later, he stared out of the window again, slightly panting.

Brad came back in. “Well, what did he say?”

“Say? He screamed! He said I was a thief, that I would pay him back, that he’d kill me. I disconnected.” Peter shivered. “I’m sorry, I’m a coward.”

Brad shook his head. “No, your boss is an asshole. But you’ll have to talk to him sometime. What if he goes to the police?”

“But I didn’t do it!” Peter screamed in his frustration. “I don’t want that fucking money!”

“Easy, easy… I believe you. But that’s no use, I’m afraid.”

“It’s a start,” sighed Peter, trying to get a grip. He flopped down on the sofa. After a while, he looked up. “It’s four o’clock…”

*

Brad opened his newspaper and read the headlines. Every day, he saved his paper for this moment. He could read in peace behind the bar, when he just opened and there were no customers yet. Every day. But not today. He noticed he looked at the ceiling. Every time Peter walked around, he could hear the floorboards squeak. He followed the moves. Not because he was suspicious, but because he was interested.

The first customers came in and distracted him. It was Friday. Tonight, the pub would be so crowded he wouldn’t have time to think about the kid. It creaked right above him. Peter was going to the bathroom. He would open his pants and…

Brad shook his head in anger. Was he crazy? Peter was twenty, far too young for him. He folded his paper and turned his attention to his customers. He had to try to keep his mind off the kid.

But it was only trying.