The Quicksilver Kid

Chapter Two.

By the time Cole slipped into the office at ten to eight, there was a note from his editor waiting on his desk. No telling how long it had been there. He groaned, wiped the crumbs of that morning's pastry off his shirtfront, and squeezed through the melee of bodies, errant papers, and desks. Vic's office was at the far end, not much neater but a fair bit quieter with the door closed.



That morning it stood open and he knocked at the doorjamb before entering. Vic was, as usual, standing over her desk doing about a hundred things at once.



"Tanner," she barked.



"Ma'am."



"Have a seat." Adjusting her spectacles, she glanced up at him, gave him a brief once over. "Where've you been?"



Smooth as silk, Cole replied, "Following up on an old story. Sorry I'm late." He wasn't late, not really, but he suspected Vic kept a wardrobe somewhere in the building and never left. Perhaps it was behind that pile of folders in the corner.



"What are you smirking about?" She eyed him severely.



"Nothing, sorry." He sat up straight in his seat. Somehow, as tiny as she was, Vic reminded him of his old lieutenant. Tough as leather and mean to boot. Not unfair, though. "What do you need?" Usually a safe question--for Vic or his lieutenant.



"I need you to get off this political bent you're so taken with lately. You review books, not the state of the union."



"Pardon?"



"It turns out a few members of the board actually read our paper and they aren't happy with the sway of your work as of late. At least one of them thinks you're unpatriotic."



Cole's eyebrows rose. "Me?"



"I tried to set them straight. You're a war hero, I know that. You're entitled to your opinion. They don't seem to think so."



"What, they never heard of the First Amendment?"



"They've heard of it. They don't care."



Cole stewed on that for a minute. "Well, what are they going to do, fire me? Fine."



"Come off it, Tanner. They'll sack me first. You think they aren't itching to get rid of the bitch on the third floor? They're looking for a reason. So pick up something nice and palatable. Edgar Burroughs has a new one. Something about martians. Nice and easy, understand?"



Mumbling, Cole said, "Yes, ma'am."



"All right, that's it. You can get back to counting sheep out there with the rest of those bums."



"Yes, ma'am."



"Remember what I said. Burroughs. Now, get lost!"



Happy to oblige, Cole returned to his desk. The board, he mused. The board could stuff it. At least until next week.



All attempts to focus his mind on his work--a review of an actually decent second novel--failed miserably. All thoughts turned inevitably to Rick. They were time-consuming, frustrating thoughts--frustrating in a number of ways for they excited him, even the most mundane recollections: Rick's careful, knowing smile. His dark, watchful gaze.



Sitting back in his chair, Cole groped his pockets for his kit, sprinkling soft tobacco onto a paper and rolling it up. With a flick of his tongue and the scrape of a match, he lit up, studying the ceiling as he puffed in thought.

Normally Cole tried to forget such couplings, and he'd done a well enough job of it before the surprise reunion in Rick's hotel. He thought back, his mind's recreation of that night one year before murky at best, imagined at worst. The beard, though. He remembered that pleasant burr against his lips—and other places--quite clearly.

Rick's lecture was that night. A matter of hours. Cole had put off thinking about it. He wanted to go, but he didn't. A nervous tension coiled in his belly at the very thought. Fear, he realized. Well, Cole Tanner was no coward. He'd killed a man in hand-to-hand. Certainly, he could face down some novelist.

Some brilliant, handsome, extremely charming novelist, he amended. He sighed, stabbing his smoke out in the tray. If he was going tonight, he'd need to get some work done.

 

 

Cole made it to the lecture, but only just. Sneaking in at ten minutes to nine, he arrived in time to see that it had not been an easy time for old Rick. He stood at the lectern with a kerchief bunched in one hand, listening with strained patience to a fellow seated front and center, a fellow whose nose was stuck so far up in the air it was liable to shoot right off his face.



Shaking out a smoke, Cole lit up and listened in. He knew he should take notes in hopes of at least salvaging a story out of the evening, but he also knew that wasn't why he'd come. Rick looked fashionable in a sharp gray suit, but his face was worn. Either the lecture had taken a real turn for the worse, or he'd had one hell of a day. The next inquiry from the high-nosed fellow in front didn't help and irritation flashed in his eyes. His following words were brusque and an older gentleman with stooped shoulders and nervous disposition stepped in.



"Thank you so much, Mister Redding," he said, squeezing right in and taking over the lectern. "That was absolutely fascinating."



A belated smattering of applause from the audience and Rick scowled. Cole grinned.



He remained in his seat, watching Rick gather his overcoat and shake a few hands, field a few questions. Eventually the audience began to file out and, aside from a few others, they were alone. He stood, hanging back, waiting to be noticed. He didn't have to wait long.



"I didn't think you'd come."



"I wasn't sure myself," Cole admitted, but he was smiling. He'd wanted to come, but caution kept him doubtful until the last minute. What was he agreeing to by coming? But looking at Rick now, gazing at him from a mere four feet away, he couldn't imagine not agreeing. Emphatically, in fact.



Rick cocked his head, regarded him a moment. Then he asked, "Can I buy you a drink?"



"You can buy me two."



Thick, dark brows rose in amusement. "You've got a deal."



Cole led them to a blind pig just a couple blocks from the university. It was lively enough with a largely younger crowd, college students and their dates. He and Rick found a corner table and settled in with their drinks, gin and tonic for Rick and whisky, straight, for Cole.



"So," Cole said, scrounging for something to say. "Nice lecture."



Rick smiled gamely from behind his drink. "Come off it. I saw you come in."



Cole gave it up with a wince. "Sorry. I would have come earlier."



"Please. I think I'm glad you didn't. Those boys were brutal."



"They're idiots."



"I don't know. I'm no dunce, but half the time I couldn't glean what they were saying."



"A lotta big words and hot air. Too much time in their ivory towers." Cole heard the hint of bitterness in his words, tried to lighten up. "Sorry," he said, shaking it off. "Cheers."



"Cheers." Rick sipped his drink and watched him. Cole felt the gaze keenly and it warmed him. He tugged at his collar.



"Hot in here," he explained.



"Oh, yes."



"Jesus."



Rick smiled, a slow smile, still staring intently.



Cole placed his hands on the table, felt the coolness of the wood on his palms, the damp spots from old drinks. "Look," he began. "I don't know what you want, exactly, or what you're looking for..."



"Just a drink with a friend."



The reply unsettled Cole further, and he wasn't sure why. Snatching up his whisky, he stared into the glass before taking a deep gulp. "Is that what we are? Friends?"



"We were once. For a night, at least."



Cole's face warmed. "Right."



Across from him, Rick gave a breath of laughter. "I'm sorry," he said. "I seem to do this around you."



"No, it's..." Cole lost his voice, cleared his throat.



Gaze sweeping the room, Rick scooted his chair closer and leaned in. It was nothing anyone would think twice about, but Cole felt a shot of alarm anyway. There were plenty of men here sharing drinks. Plenty of men sharing private conversation. It was nothing. It meant nothing...



"I don't intend to make you uncomfortable, but I see that I have. I'm sorry, Cole. I know it was just one night and you hardly remember."



"I was drunk."



"You weren't that drunk," Rick gently returned. "What I'm trying to say is, it was fun. What we did. I think we're...compatible. In that regard, at least. And the fact that you rang me up for an interview, even without realizing who I was, that has to mean something."



Stubborn, Cole interrupted. He didn't know why. "It doesn't mean anything. Nothing means anything. It's not fate or, or anything else. Just coincidence."



Rick was unfazed. "Fine. But you still came to the lecture. Are you telling me that meant nothing? You just showed up because... because?"



The whisky was nearly gone. Cole drained the last of it. "No," he said at last, voice ragged.



"All right, then." Rick sat back like he'd won something. Cole needed to catch his breath, and to do that he needed to get away, if only for a moment. He pushed out of his chair.



"I'll get this round."



Waiting for his order, Cole considered Rick's words. It was true he didn't believe in fate or purpose, divine or not. If he'd ever given that sort of thing much thought, he'd learned overseas it was baloney. Life on earth, humanity in particular, was a grossly unfortunate accident.



He glanced over his shoulder at Rick, who sat with his knees neatly crossed, hands folded primly over them, dark gaze surveying the bar, and amended that thought.



Usually. Usually it was unfortunate.

 

 

It was just after two when Rick finally led them back to his room at the hotel. He fumbled with the key for a moment while Cole snickered behind him, and at last they stumbled inside.

“Sorry,” Rick said, dropping his hat and coat somewhere near the closet.

“Not a problem.” Cole smiled at him from the entrance-way, warm and elated. Four hours' worth of drink and good conversation did that to him. He couldn't believe how much time they'd spent together, how much they'd talked.

Nothing too serious, of course. Like everyone, Rick had put in a question about the war and like always, Cole deflected with a light and ultimately ambiguous reply. But they'd spoken of other things: boyhood adventures, funny stories, good friends. It seemed Rick had many of those.

“Pour you a drink?” Rick asked, looking at him sideways. His eyes were hot, no longer encumbered by the presence of others. His words seemed to be code for something else entirely.

Somewhere, Cole found his voice. “Yes,” he said. “Please.” He realized he hadn't removed his coat and hat. He reached up, touched the brim of his baker boy. Paused as Rick's fingers brushed his own.

“Let me,” Rick said, and kissed him.

“Mm.” Cole stood passively, a part of himself removed and analytical. Rick's lips were cool from the night air, insistent upon his own. Was this how they'd felt last time? He couldn't remember. Shrugging out of his coat, he wrapped his arms around Rick, felt warm, strong shoulders, felt the breadth of him. A sound of urgency left him and he wondered at it, forgot it as Rick's embrace closed more tightly around him.

Between kisses Rick murmured, “I know. I know.”

Cole's leg traveled up Rick's thigh. He wanted more, but suddenly Rick broke away.

“Here,” he breathed. “Over here.”

Quickly, they shucked out of their clothes. Cole spied Rick from a few feet away, admired in a few brief glances his fine build, his strong chest and legs. Then Rick glanced over and Cole looked away. Felt his body grow hotter under that gaze. A man was watching him, watching him undress. A man. Finally, bold, he looked up.

Rick stared at him hungrily, his sex standing hard and proud. Cole forgot his own insecurities. He met Rick beside the bed and felt hands over his back. Acquiescing to a few guiding nudges, he fell to the mattress. It welcomed him. Soft. Firm. Like Rick's mouth.

They kissed for a long while, groins rubbing deliciously. Cole could not remember the last time he'd done this. He met with men on occasion, but always for quick, furtive couplings. Means to an end. Rick, however. Rick touched him like he wanted Cole to come back.

Shaking that thought away—it didn't make sense to think that far ahead—Cole rolled Rick onto his back. Kissing playfully at his mouth, his chin, down his neck and chest, he found a hard, red cock waiting and took it between his lips. Heard Rick moan softly from above. Cole moved his head down slowly, felt Rick's length tease and stretch his throat, and held him there as long he was able. What a wonderful way to end the night.

 

 

 

Rick wanted a cigarette, badly, but he didn't wish to wake Cole. He was dreaming something, eyelids flickering in the moonlight, thin lips twitching on occasion. The sight reminded Rick of his father's hound, chasing rabbits in his sleep. What was Cole chasing? Or, who?

As if in answer, Cole sucked a sudden breath, coughed, opened his eyes and said, “Jim.”

Placing a calming hand over the bare chest beside him, Rick said, “Shh.” Cole blinked a few times and took in his surroundings. Finally, his gaze settled on Rick. His eyes were troubled. Rick gave what he hoped was a helpful looking smile and asked, “All right?”

After a moment, Cole answered. “Yes. Sorry.” He rolled away and out of the bed. Rick sighed and leaned back against the headboard.

“You're not leaving, are you?” But Cole was already gathering his things.

“Sorry,” Cole said.

“It's late. Or early. Whichever you prefer.”

“Sorry,” Cole said again. “I have work in the morning.”

With a heavy sigh, Rick said, “Yes, of course.”



Cole seemed to realize his odd behavior. He paused and, appropriately abashed, in Rick's opinion, said, “I really do, in just a few hours. I'm sorry Rick. That was... good. Thank you. I mean it.”



"Good? Thank you?" Finally, Rick reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand. Settling back again, he lit up and inhaled deeply, appreciating the dark, smoky flavor. "It was bloody wonderful, Tanner. Cole." Shaking the match out, he regarded Cole with a fond look. "I'd like to do it again. Immediately, in fact."



Gruff, Cole began, "Oh, right. Well--"



"I know, I know. You have work."



"Sorry."



"Don't mention it. Maybe I could see you again. What do you think?"



Sliding his hands into his pockets, Cole seemed to consider it. "I'd like that," he said slowly.



"But?"



"No buts." Cole chewed the corner of his lip and looked away. "There's a place not far from here. One of the Victorians on Third. A woman runs it out of her basement. Story is, she bought two whole liquor stores before Volstead and her son brews beer."



"Victorian on Third?" Rick jotted the information down on his notepad.



"And San Carlos," Cole added. "You can't miss it."



"I'll be there. Er, when will I be there?"



Again, Cole seemed to consider. “What do you think of next Tuesday?"



There was no mistaking the thread of hope in Cole's question. Rick smiled, set his notepad aside, and rose from the bed. Slipping into his robe, he said, "You got it, sweetheart," and met Cole halfway across the room.