WICKED GAMES
by FLAMINGO

 


1: Rico - "I can dig tropical, but this is out of bounds!"

World was on fire,
and no one could save me but you.

 

"Situation reports on my desk," Lieutenant Martin Castillo told us in a low, dangerous voice. "One hour!"

I sank into my chair, beat as a dog, while the lieutenant marched into his office and immediately reached for the phone. I could watch him easy, since my desk faced his glassed-in sanctum.

My three teammates -- Vice detectives Gina Calabrese, Trudy Joplin, and Stan Switek -- took the lieutenant's snarl straight to heart. Both women were hunched over their files, while on my left, Stan had his nose to the grindstone, pumpin' out the words. He caught me watchin' him and waggled his eyebrows, makin' me smile against my will. I covered it up with a hand, not wantin' the lieutenant to catch me. Not in the mood he was in. I turned back to my own report just as a drop of sweat slid off my brow and splattered the form.

The few, pathetic air-conditioners we had in our strickly no-frills squad room churned sluggishly in the unholy heat, but they couldn't hope to compete with the tropical temperatures we'd suffered through recently. Desperate for relief, I grabbed my handheld fan and let its musty breeze blow right in my face while I fantasized about cold showers. Like I tol' Sonny yesterday, N'Yawkers weren't cut out for this kinda weather!

I could still hear his smart ass reply.

"In that case, Rico m'man, you'd better make some major changes in your lifestyle," he'd said, givin' me that cheshire cat smile, "cause at the rate we're goin', neither of us are destined to cool our heels in heaven."

That's me, Ricardo Tubbs, ex-patriated New Yorker, eckin' out a livin' as a Vice cop in this hell on earth they call Miami. Shit. If if hadn't been for my partner, that fine example of southern crackerhood, James "Sonny" Crockett, I'd never had made it this far. I glanced at his desk, the empty one facing mine and tried not to let his absence gnaw at me.

Sonny was on a case, a dangerous one, and for once, I wasn't his back up. That stuck in my throat, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. I had to work with Castillo on the Clemente case, so Stan's partner, Larry Zito, had gone with Sonny. Larry's a good cop, and a dead shot but...well, he wasn't me.

That's not just my ego talkin', though I'll be the first to admit it's got plenty to say on the subject. It's just...see, I lost my brother, Rafael, two years ago.... He was a New York cop workin' Vice in Brooklyn. He'd gone on a drug meet...it went sour, and...he was killed. That's how I got to Miami, followin' his killer, the drug kingpin, Calderone. That's when I got hooked up with Crockett.

I'm tellin' ya, my brother's death changed me, man, in more ways then I even know. I don't think I could survive another loss like that. After everything we went through over Calderone, Sonny grew to be real important to me. With Raphael gone, I'd have to say he's the closest person in the world to me, now. Yeah, that crazy honky's grown to be lots more than a partner. He helped pull me out of my grief, and gave me a reason to continue bein' a cop. I'm not explainin' this very well but... my feelin's for Sonny...they're special...real special. So, when he's got to go meet bad guys without me...well, I worry. It's like bein' superstitious, 'cept I don't b'lieve in that.

And this meet...it read wrong from the get go. Crockett was supposed to exchange cash for coke with the bad husband of some exotic French broad named Callie. He suspected they were setting him up for a fall, but he had to go through with it to be sure. He'd carried a briefcase lined with steel to the meet, like some crazy knight's shield. I didn't like it. Didn't like her. Didn't like anything about it. But in Sonny's place, I'd be doin' the same thing.

Funny...but neither Sonny nor I have had much luck with women these last few years.

I glanced at my watch. He should've called in by now. I pushed blurry images of my dyin' brother out of my mind and scrawled my report. Somewhere in back of my head ran the same question, over and over, like a mantra, 'cept it had music comin' behind it, like a song you can't shake -- Sonny, are you okay? Are you okay, Sonny?

Man, what I wouldn't give for a Pina Colado, or a strawberry Margarita -- somethin' fulla' crushed ice and fruit, in a big, sweaty glass. Somethin' cold, sweet and healthy.

I could barely remember the details I was supposed to record even though it'd only been an hour ago that we'd witnessed the disasterous Clemente meet.

Clemente, a powerful underworld figure, had demanded to see his sister, Maria Rojas, before he'd give himself up to the feds and tell all. His sister was in the Federal Witness Protection Program but Joe Dalva, a big shot fed with the Organized Crime Task Force, violated the Program to bring Clemente's sister out, against our advice. Hell, what did we know, we're just locals!

Maria Rojas was convinced that her brother intended to kill her for testifying against him years before. She was so frightened that when they finally did met face to face, she'd struck first, fatally stabbin' Clemente with a hidden stilleto in front of a hundred cops. In the end, she'd been right. Before any of us had a chance to react, a hired sniper took her out, killing her instantly. We had nothing left except two dead bodies stewin' in the heat and the dust of failure in our mouths.

I shuddered, remembering the expression of disgust and rage on Castillo's face as he stared down Agent Dalva. Thinkin' of that made me glance at his office. Still on the phone. Didn't even look like he was moving his mouth, but I sure wouldn't want to be the person on the other end of that line. And I real sure wouldn't want to be Joe Dalva. Castillo worked strictly by the book, but I was willin' to bet that Martin was about to short circuit Dalva's career. Yeah, that was one angry hombre.

Castillo suddenly cradled his phone, so I turned back to my soggy, half written report as he walked to his doorway. Then those ominous dark eyes latched onto me.

"Anyone hear from Crockett or Zito?" the lieutenant asked softly. His expression was still foreboding, grim, but his voice had that quiet, polite tone he usually used with us.

I was about to reply negatively when Stan hung up his own phone.

"I have," Switek said, pulling everyone's attention to him. "Zito just called in."

My heart tightened up hard. Why hadn't Sonny called me directly? Sonny, are you okay? Are you okay, Sonny?

Castillo gave Stan one of his really pointed looks, as if to say, "So, what happened?"

"They're both fine," Switek assured us, and the knot in my chest eased up. "Crockett was right, it was a set up. Dealer's dead. Seems Callie and Charlie have been runnin' this scam for a while. They've been killin' marks and buryin' 'em in their cars. They've found six so far. Missing Persons'll have a field day. Zito wants me to run some info through FBI -- false ID's they found in Charlie's car. Sonny thinks they may have been pullin' the same stunt in a couple of other states."

Castillo nodded curtly, but his face softened. He caught my eye and nodded tersely then returned to his desk. That was his way of acknowledging -- and approving -- of my concern. Partners are s'pposed to worry 'bout each other.

The whole squad's mood lightened with Stan's announcement. We never talked about it, but truth is, Sonny's the heart of our department. Even Castillo knew that. And since our own meet ended so badly, we could at least console ourselves that Sonny's had worked out well. That is, if killin' a bad dude and bustin' a lady you had feelin's for meant things had worked out well.

I glanced at my watch again. Sonny must be meeting Callie right about now. That's why Zito called in, not him. Meeting Callie...and busting her. Oh, that's fun, busting a woman you care for, even it's nothin' but pure lust. Yeah, I've been down that road m'self a time or two. The lady's crime always feels like a personal betrayal, like whatever they've done has somehow been done against you. I'd rather catch 'em messin' around. I can understand that, it's human nature, and besides, I've never been the possessive type. But crime...'specially a crime like murder...there's no way to justify cold blooded killing.

I wondered what Crockett was going through and recalled his parting words.

"I'll see you tonight," he'd said in the strategy room while he was gettin' wired. His smokey voice had been thick with unsaid meaning. I'll live through this, Rico, it'd said. I promise. And I'll get over it, get over her. You'll help me.

Yeah, I'd heard all that in those four short words. I'd replied simply, "Count on it," and that'd really meant count on me. I'd be there for Sonny. Any how. Any way. Just like he'd always been be there for me. Partners.

It'd be a long night, filled with too much liquor and shared heartache. We'd had so many nights like that so many times before, this'd just be one more. We had the first one after Calderone skipped bail on us, then another after Sonny's divorce. Yeah, that was a bad one. Then there was Calderone's death, Vanessa's arrest, Evan's death, Margaret's betrayal -- so many, many more. Too many nights after too many bad women and the too few good ones that got away. It'd be just me and Sonny, him clutchin' his Black Jack like a life preserver and me nursin' some tropical fruit juice laced with four kinds of poison. Sometimes we'd talk. Sometimes we'd just go fishing.

Since this was Sonny's party that's probably how it'd end up. That was fine with me. There was little I enjoyed more than sitting side by side with my partner and investing a few hours in what he liked to call sanity maintenance.

I turned back to the report in earnest. The faster I got it done, the faster I'd be able to track down my hurtin' buddy.

Suddenly, something dark loomed on my left. I looked up as Castillo rested the fingertips of one hand on my desk. His eyes scanned the room then finally met mine. I waited. The lieutenant's a man of few words, so whenever he chooses to speak, you'd best pay attention.

"Clemente's death changes everything," he said so softly only I could hear.

I nodded, thinking about that. "Could be a big power play for his throne. Lotta things could shake loose."

"Any chance you and Crockett can get close to it?" The black eyes faced me squarely now. I didn't back down.

"Maybe. I think Burnett's had some dealings with Clemente's lieutenant, a slick dude named Ramon, who came up the ranks through the porn industry. I wasn't involved so Sonny can bring me in anyway he wants. Ramon would be the most likely candidate to take over."

Castillo ran a hand over his moustache, deciding. "Get on it."

"Tonight?" I kept my voice neutral, but man, I was shagged. I couldn't imagine dragging Sonny out to make a connection tonight, not in the mood he'd have to be in. But when Castillo says "jump"....

The lieutenant looked away. "Not tonight. Tomorrow night. We'll work out the scenario then. Get some rest tonight. Tell Crockett, too. You'll need to be fresh to face these people."

He returned to his office and I wondered, not for the first time, when he'd get some rest. As far as any of us knew, all Castillo had was his job. No outside interests, no family, no life, no love...not even a partner. I sure as hell hope I don't end up like that, but it can be so hard to find someone who understands this job, and the demands it makes on a cop.

Okay. We'd start workin' on Ramon tomorrow night. I could handle that. Besides, it wasn't good to give Sonny too much time to think, to wallow in his misery. M'man usually recovered faster when he was able to get right back in the saddle.

I looked down and realized that all my report needed was a John Hancock. I signed it with a flourish, and closed the file. Time to find my partner.


2:    Sonny - "What took ya so long?"

Strange what desire
will make foolish people do.

 

I must'a stood on that beach, starin' at the water for hours, man. Time was the last thing I was aware of, that's for sure. The ocean was beautiful, blue and calm and endless, like it always is. I watched the waves, hands in my pocket, face a mask, tryin' real hard not to think o' nothin', nothin' at all. Hard to think with the slap of chopper rotors in your ears, trailin' away, far way, takin' your latest hope, your latest dream with 'em. I had to laugh. That the best you can do for hopes and dreams, Crockett? You are hungry, man, ain't you?

After awhile, the sound of the chopper and rush of the surf all became one long background noise, like my own special tinnitus, something I'd be cursed with for a long time. Sendin' Callie away. Cause I had to. Cause she was wrong. Not wrong enough for Burnett maybe, but who'd be wrong enough for him? No, she was wrong for Crockett, cause Crockett's a cop. A good cop. So, why did that sit in my chest like a stone, makin' it hard for me to breathe? I clenched my jaw tighter and stared at the water till my eyes burned behind the RayBans.

I fantasized, seein' myself standing here forever, feet stuck in the sand as the tide crept in. After awhile it'd splash against my legs, but I'd still be here. Then it'd be against my thighs, then my chest, then finally my throat and my face, till I was buried under an ocean of water, still standin' on this spot, looking through the water instead of at it. Then the only sounds I'd have to hear would be underwater sounds, like the laughter of fish, the whisper of whales, the soft song of the dolphin. You couldn't hear choppers underwater...or the seductive murmur of lying women...or even the lonely thudding of your own heart....

I don't remember walking back to the safe house on the beach, but after a long time I found myself in it, in the white on white bedroom, near the white pine bedstead and carved wooden palm fronds that framed it, the heavy white sheets where Callie sprawled, enticing me, the thick pillows she rested against.... I remembered how she moved her body, telegraphing what she could do on that bed, in those sheets, with those pillows. I could feel the heat -- not the weather, her heat -- still here, in this house, in that bed, in my mind. I shuddered, hearing choppers.

So, if I wanted her so much, why didn't I...? My mind veered away from that thought, not wanting to go there, but not able to stay away either, like a sore place in your mouth your tongue won't leave alone. Why didn't I? Why didn't I make love to her? God knows, she wanted me to. She'd tried seducing me three, four times, the last time begging for it, climbing all over me, hot as July, pulling me down onto this bed, on top of her body.

But I wouldn't.

I mean...I couldn't.

I rubbed my sweaty face, wishing the memories away, but they wouldn't go.

Oh, the desire was there, all right -- the raw wanting, the pure carnal appreciation of all that incredible, long-limbed beauty. And when she touched me...when her lilting accent purred in my ear...my heart pounded...my blood raced, boiling, through my veins...but...nothing happened. Nothing below deck. Nothing.

I just couldn't get it up to fuck another liar. My body's had enough heartache, enough pain. It begged me for a break, and I had no choice but to comply. Sure wish I could get the damned thing to work on its timing, though.

I had to laugh. If honesty was gonna be my dick's latest criteria, chances were I'd never get it up again. Who did I ever meet in this job but liars and cheats? Who would I ever meet, as Burnett, that I could trust in my arms?

What was it I'd said to Rico? "The head and the heart -- sure'd like to get 'em together, just once."

Just then, the screen door swung open with a squeal. I spun on instinct, going into a crouch, hand reaching for my Bren, but it was only Tubbs. I blinked, dazed, like my thinkin' of him had somehow conjured him up.

My partner carried in two big, clumsy paper sacks. He grinned when he saw me and headed for the kitchen, trustin' me to follow. I left the bedroom, trailing after him.

"Hey, man, I thought we had a date?" he said accusingly. "You weren't plannin' on standing me up, where you?"

I didn't know what the hell he was talkin' about, so I just stared, confused. He set the bags down on the white counter and started emptyin' 'em.

"Last thing you said was, 'I'll see you tonight,' remember? I went by the boat and called the Ferrari before I finally twigged on where you had to be. I hope your presence here doesn't mean you're dwellin' on auld lang syne."

I watched him plunk a big bag of cracked ice in the sink, unload a couple o' quarts of various fruit juices, and a green grocers' worth of fresh fruit. Then he layed out a row of liquor bottles -- tequila, triple sec, rum, cointreau, vodka...Jack Daniels. New bottles. Seals intact.

"For your sake, Crockett, there'd better be a blender in this place," he warned as he crouched and rummaged through the cupboards.

I had to smile, in spite of my heavy heart. This was all part of the ought-to-be-patented Ricardo Tubbs' depression cure all. Pina Coladas. Rum Punch. Flavored Marguiritas. Tequila Sunsets. Tart sweet drinks with lively colors, too much ice, and enough floating fruit to qualify as a marinated salad. That way, Rico could insist it was really healthy.

I indicated the array of goods. "I take it Dalva's plan didn't exactly follow the script."

Tubbs hooted as he pulled a blended onto the counter, checked its cleanliness, then loading it with ice, assorted liquor, and fruit juice. He told me the story as he worked and I ground my teeth. Were we ever gonna get a break in this biz?

"...So, it was over in a heartbeat," he concluded, setting the blender to whirr, while he sliced fruit and layered pieces in a glass. "All but the shouting."

I thought of Rico, Marty and all those other cops standin' there, watchin' that scene go down. Talk about impotence. I grabbed a wedge of orange and bit into it, suddenly hungry.

Tubbs stopped the blender, then poured the frothy, icy drink. It looked like an adults' version of a snow cone. He held it out to me like an offering, his eyebrows raised, a teasing smile lighting his handsome face.

"It's cold," he tempted.

No lie about that. Already, the glass was dripping with condensation. Unfortunately, the moisture covering me and my partner with a slick sheen was just sweat. Looking at Tubbs holding out that silly drink somehow lifted my spirits. I was suddenly, almost irrationally happy that he was here. Couldn't have a wake without my old buddy Rico, could I?

"C'mon, Crockett," he tried cajoling me into taking the drink. "It's good for you. Full of vitamin C, electrolytes...."

I rolled my eyes. "Alcohol kills vitamin C, pal, and you can get electrolytes in water. That thing's all yours. I don't have any time for those candy-ass drinks." I reached past him for the bottle of Jack Daniels. "But, you already knew that, didn't you, buddy?" Three wasn't a crowd when they were all old friends, and Black Jack here was one of my oldest!

"You know I always do my best to take care o' you, man," Tubbs said slyly, handing me an short, empty glass.

I usually prefer my liquor neat, but the heat was wearin' me down. "How 'bout tossin' a few cubes in here, will you, pal?"

He obliged me and splashed a generous shot of ol' Jack over some cracked ice. We touched glasses, finally, and only then did he take a sip of his own drink.

Pursing his lips in satisfaction, he set the glass down, then rummaged around in one of the bags. "Stopped at Lupe's bar and picked up some cold beer in case you wanted a chaser."

I grinned. Lupe's had the coldest brew in Miami. Rico really did take care of me...as much as I'd let him. He knew I had to be hurting over Callie, knew I needed him now. Even though he had to be hurtin' over that sour federal case, still, he was more worried about me. I was damned lucky to have him as my friend, my partner.

A flood of emotions nearly drowned me, and I had to turn away, embarrassed. I didn't want him to see it on my face. The ice in my glass clinked, catching my attention, so I sipped the liquor, relishing the contrasting chill in my mouth that turned to fire in my gut.

I focused on the glass, watching the bourbon paint amber patterns on the ice, but that only brought it all back, hard and hurtful. Would ice cubes always remind me of Callie and her cold betrayal?

I reran our first meeting. She'd taken an ice cube from my drink and rubbed it over her face, her incredibly long throat, her arms, and swell of her small breasts, before dropping it back in my glass. After she'd left, I'd put that cube in my mouth, tasting her flavor on it, the salt of her sweat. Rico watched my every move, concerned already.

"Don't worry," I'd said, reassuring him. "I'm immune." Yeah. I'd never said a more truthful thing. "I wish I wasn't," I'd added, and that was honest, too.

I'd failed, sexually, with the last two women I'd met, so I knew from her first come on that I wasn't going to have anymore success this time. Knew it the minute I'd introduced myself...as Sonny Burnett. I was getting mighty tired of Burnett running my life, chosing who I could love, who I couldn't.

It'd been Burnett who'd driven Caroline away. His lust for danger, and his bizarre sexual drive, had helped me lose my wife, my son, my home. And after they were gone, there'd been nothing left to rein him in. I was taking more and more wild chances, having more and more dangerous encounters with players. I had to stop him, before he stopped both of us forever, but I didn't know how. And to be honest...most of the time...I didn't want to. I liked Burnett's style too much. Most of the time, I even liked the way he ran our sex life. Most of the time.

Till lately. I thought of Callie again, the memories vivid, sharp, so recent. The way she tried to seduce me in this house. I felt her long arms wrap around my neck, her full mouth pressed against mine. She was every man's fantasy, small, lithe, with legs up to her neck, and oh, so willing. I could still hear her telling me that for the right man, she was the kind of woman who'd do anything...anything....

And, man, she knew Burnett. Moved right on him. I couldn't believe it when he wouldn't take her, but he...I...we... couldn't. We just couldn't trust her. There was nothin' I could do but beg her to come clean, be honest...but she wouldn't. Through the whole sorry thing, I might as well have had the dick of a dead man. Yeah, even Burnett could get tired of the games. Even Burnett yearned for someone to trust.

Considering the class of low life we usually met on this job, I had to wonder if we'd ever get laid again. Or maybe that wasn't the whole story. Maybe Burnett just needed a change of pace...something...more. Something different.

Like Rico had said, Been ridin' on the funway too long. E ticket's all used up. Rides are gettin' dull.

I swallowed, dry- mouthed, not wanting to think about some of Burnett's darker needs, some of the places he'd led us. I'd thought that was all over. It was. I reminded him again.

"Sonny?" Rico's voice pulled me back. "You still here?"

I made myself smile. He was already working on his second drink, so I tossed the rest of mine back and went for a refill and a cold beer. Couldn't fall behind in my social obligations.

Rico was taking a hard hit off this new concoction -- something yellow, with lots of lemon in it. He must've decided the night was a total wash, so why not get wasted. He didn't do that very often. In fact, he rarely ever finishes any of those fancy drinks when we're on the street. If we share a six pack, he only drinks two to my four. He never talks about it, but I know he prefers to stay clear-headed and sharp, even when he's partying. It's one of the things that makes him such a good cop. It also usually makes him the designated driver!

His willingness to relax his own standards was just another sign of his trust in me.

I noticed there was more fruit in this drink, but he went at it with a studied eagerness that wasn't like him. I put a hand lightly on his wrist as he moved to lift the already half empty glass to his mouth.

"Hey, slow down there, partner," I warned him gently. "Night's young, yet. You keep that up and you'll spend the best part of it worshiping the great god of porcelein."

He looked at the glass in surprise, as if he hadn't even realized what he'd been doin'. Then his eyes moved to my hand, still holding his wrist. He patted it, casually. "Thanks, pal. I'm not thinkin' real clear, with this heat.... Tryin' to force myself to cool off, relax." He laughed easily. "I'd been pretty worried 'bout you. Guess I'm still windin' down."

His light, copper eyes held mine for a long time as we stood there, hangin' on to each other. It was one of those heavy moments old friends share every now and then, where no one utters a word, but a whole lot gets said anyway. Rico's simple declaration touched me. I'd seen it in his face and heard it in his voice earlier today in the strategy room when they were fitting me for my wire. I'd noticed it with one part of my brain, while the rest of it stayed focused on the job, the upcoming meet, and, truth be told, my futile hope that Callie was tellin' me the truth. Boy, do we hang onto our fantasies. At least I'd had the sense to set something up with Rico for later. Most of the time, I wasn't that bright.

I had to wonder -- how many times over the years were Tubbs and I gonna find ourselves in this situation, nursing each other through round after round of self-enduced heartache and recrimination? How many women and how many bad busts?

That worry must've shown in my face, cause his eyes suddenly went all soft. "Man, you don't know how relieved I am that you got through that meet okay." Suddenly, he put down his glass, and slung his arms around me, pulling me into a fierce hug. I went with it, hugging him back.

Why not? Rico was the best friend a man could have; he was honest and up front about his feelings. That was something I'd always admired in him, his openness, his confidence in his own masculinity. He didn't have to hide behind macho posturing. When he was hurt, he hurt. If he thought you were full of shit, he'd say so. His openness made him tactile; I'm the same way. Right from the start it seems like we were always touchin' each other, hugging, bumping elbows, legs, thighs, slapping backs.

I pulled him against me and let myself enjoy the intimacy of the hug, feeling the strength of his sturdy body, the power in his arms and shoulders. How good it felt to hold someone I could trust. How good it felt to be held by someone who's feelings for me I never had to question.

We embraced for a few quiet moments while that thought rattled around my Black Jack laced brain. The same thing must've occured to Burnett because, without any warning, my formerly deceased penis decided to pick this moment to rise from the dead.

I tensed like a cat that'd just bumped into a hound. Rico did too, and we both pulled away at the same time, mortified. Then Tubbs saved the situation. He bust out laughing with that high pitched, infectious giggle he gets when something really tickles him. Then I caught it and started laughing too, and soon we were both convulsed.

"Hey," Rico gasped, wiping his eyes, "you know I love you, man, but...good lord...!"

I held up my hands and gulped down my laughter. "Give me a break, buddy. These days my body's livin' a life of its own."

"Yeah?" Tubbs said real casual, still smiling. He sipped at his drink. "Why's that?"

I stopped short. I knew that tone. It was his cop voice. He knew there was more to it. Wanted to know. I had to turn away from those searching, radiant eyes.

"Because of Callie?" he prodded gently.

I shook my head. It'd been goin' on for weeks. May as well let him know. What are partners for, after all? "Nah. It's just...Burnett and me...every now and then we get tired. Can't get it up for the games. You know." My groin was aching, selfishly demanding attention, totally unconcerned about how inappropriate the moment was. Man, did we ever have to work on timing! I laughed bitterly and ran a hand over my irrational hard on. "First time I've gotten it up in six weeks, pal."

Tubbs grew quiet again, but finally said, "That mean...you and Callie...never...?"

I looked towards the bedroom. I could see a corner of the rumpled bed. "Nope. Not once. Told myself it was because she was married, but let's be honest -- that never stopped me before." I glanced at Rico and was startled at his expression. He seemed thunderstruck by the notion of my celibacy.

"Next, you're gonna tell me this a problem you've never had," I said irritably.

"No...I've had it," he admitted quickly, placating me. "For the same reason, too -- trying to make it with someone I really didn't trust. I'm just surprised, that's all. I have trouble... imaginin' you with the same hang up...." He shrugged eloquently.

"You're payin' too much attention to Burnett's reputation," I told him. "Ol' Crockett...he's had to deal with this before." But the cures always seemed to be Burnett's...and some of the cures had been...extreme.

Rico tried to suppress a smile. Like most men, he found the subject both fascinating and repelling. "So, you grab hold of me and your Jones shouts, hallelujia! That mean you're cured?"

I laughed too, but there was an edge to it. "Maybe. If I'm lucky. Maybe not." It'd been a damned lonely six weeks. If it lasted much longer, I knew I'd be driven to consider Burnett's favorite, quick cure all -- something I hadn't done in over ten years. Something I'd planned on never doing again.

"So, what'cha wanna do?" Rico asked gently, and the question shook me, like he'd been reading my mind. "Wanna hit the strip? Celebrate? Find some long-legged company?"

No. No strangers. Not tonight. I couldn't handle the small talk. Couldn't tell the right lies. Tonight, I couldn't stand any lies at all, not for the best fuck on the planet.

I shook my head. "Let's just stay here. You're all the company I need right now." My voice was low. I suddenly realized what I'd said was the plain truth.

"Hey! Two compliments in one night!" Tubbs crowed, slipping off his double breasted Armani jacket, tossing it over a wicker chair. "I don't know if I can stand it, Crockett."

He drained his glass and set it on the counter. I removed my own white jacket and layed it down near Rico's dark one, but I still didn't feel any cooler. I noticed Tubbs eyeing the blender, but then he seemed to reconsider.

Something stirred inside me as I watched him, something I didn't want to face, but it wouldn't let it me go. It settled on me, on my soul, cold and calculating. Burnett. Smiling inside me. Stroking my cock. That bastard. I should've let Rico take me out, get me out of this cursed house, this white on white nautilus shell, with it's white on white bed sitting coiled in its core. I clenched my jaw. Damn it, Burnett wasn't in charge here, I was. I could handle this. I could.

I threw back my shot and drained the beer and went to the counter for a refill.

"You ready for another one?" I heard myself ask...or maybe Burnett did -- I wasn't sure. I was all warm inside and out, the alcohol giving me a false mellowness. This was when Burnett was the most dangerous -- when I'd been drinking. It helped on assignments, the first shot for my nerves, the second for his. But I wasn't working now, I was sharing a bluesy night with my best friend. I licked my lips and considered my actions as I splashed more Black Jack over fresh ice and uncapped another frigid beer.

"Think I'd better lay off for a while," Rico said, his voice quiet. "That last one was kinda strong. Went right to my... uh...head." He grinned, knowing I'd know which head. "Feels good now, but...."

Burnett's smile crept across my face. "Let me make you one, Rico. The Crockett Special. Old Family recipe."

He looked at me sideways, clearly suspicious of his old, dear friend. "One drink ago you were tellin' me to slow down."

I shrugged. "I was havin' trouble keepin' up, that's all. We're even again. Come on. We ain't drivin' anywhere tonight. We'll crash here. If you can't tie one on in a safe house, where can you?"

Flawlessly logical. Tubbs smiled, warm and open, and squeezed my shoulder, giving in. "Sure. Go 'head. We gonna need mint leaves for this thing?"

My throat tightened. He left his hand on me, casually, lightly, while I worked the blender. I'd always taken our friendly touching for granted before. No big thing. Just something there, between us. The confidence of our caring. Our own confidence in our maleness. But now the pressure of his hand on my shoulder burned straight down to my throbbing cock.

No! I told Burnett firmly. Absolutely not. Not Tubbs. Not to a friend. But I could feel that bastard cranking up my blood pressure and grinning ferally with my teeth.

I poured ice and fruit juice into the blender, needing to distract myself. "Hey, this is a secret recipe," I chided Tubbs as he leaned against my back, watching my every move. The heat of his body electrified me and I gulped my beer, trying to cool my blood. "Don't you trust me, Rico?"

He chortled evilly, then laughed out loud.

I glanced at him sideways, scowling, then threw in a little of this and little of that and set the machine whirrin'. Suddenly, something else occured to me. "When we reportin' in tomorrow, partner? Castillo got plans for us?"

Must be a sign of maturity, I told myself proudly, findin' out what time I gotta be conscious before I got totally wasted, 'stead of after, like I usually do.

"Yeah, he does," Tubbs said, all business now. The normalicy of it was comforting. If work was all I had, then I'd damned well better make the best of it. "Wants us to try and move in on Clemente's lieutenant, your old friend, Ramon. Wants to work something up tomorrow night. Till then we're on R & R." The mischievious grin was back.

Ramon. My old...friend? A shiver ran up my back. Hell, I knew sooner or later I'd have to tango with that old skeleton.

"You okay, Sonny?" Rico asked solicitously.

The blender screamed from overwork. Shutting it off, I poured out the frothy, pink brew and handed it to my partner.

"Ramon's slick," I said, trying to sound as cool as I could. I wasn't up for talking about that tonight. I had enough on my mind already. "We'll have to be careful. He's a sick bastard. And smarter than the average whacko."

"Tomorrow," Tubbs said firmly. "We'll deal with it tomorrow." He sampled the drink and his eyes widened. "Whoa, Crockett! What's in this thing? Rocket fuel?"

I smiled, genuinely pleased with his reaction, then wet my lips. "Vitamin C. Electrolytes. It's healthy!"

He rolled his eyes dubiously and took another sip.

I handed him a wedge of orange and found myself mesmerized as he bit into it, the fragrant juice squirting over his full mouth. He licked his lips clean. I had to swallow hard.

He carried the glass out of the kitchen, strolling towards the large bedroom and the open windows there. A hot breeze blew in, but it was all we had. I followed him, turning on the ceiling fan that hung over the bed, hoping it would help. What a joke. I'd need to be dropped naked in the arctic to cool off now. The fan turned slowly, and I glanced away. I wouldn't look at the ceiling fan, wouldn't listen to its blades.

The sun was setting, its burnished light pouring in through the white slatted shutters, turning everything gold. Rico's shirt was half opened, the expensive silk patterned with dark sweat. He propped his glass on the sill and unbuttoned the shirt completely, pulling the tails free of his pants. Rivulets of perspiration ran down his broad, well formed chest, just like the sweat dripping off his glass. The sunset streaked across his brown skin, turning him bronze -- beautiful. My mouth went completely dry, so I downed the rest of my beer. I'd left the Black Jack in the kitchen. I was afraid to drink anymore of it.

"So," he asked quietly, in his best let's-get-in-touch-with- our-feelings voice, "in the past, when you had this...uh...minor problem in your sex life...how'd you solve it?"

I couldn't speak. The question caught me flatfooted. I couldn't swallow either, so I just stood there, clutching the empty bottle, pushing back memories.

Rico was patiently waiting for my answer, but I couldn't give him one. The alcohol had really caught up with me, stoking the fire. I was sweating profusely, but not from the heat. I couldn't pull my eyes away from Tubbs' solid but elegant body, from the beautiful play of light on his skin. Like I'd never seen him before. And I hadn't. Not like this. Not with these eyes. Restless. Hungry. Lonely. Full of dreams.

God, no, I begged Burnett, don't do this. Not with Tubbs. Not with my partner! We'll never be the same.

I'd made that mistake with Gina and it nearly ruined our friendship and our working relationship. And Rico meant so much more to me....

But if you can't fuck your partner, Burnett purred, who can you fuck?

I shivered, and moved closer to him, as though someone else was in charge of my body, working it with a remote control. Soon, I stood behind him, near enough to touch. I put the bottle down, to free my hands. At least I wouldn't have to look at his face when it happened. When I betrayed our friendship. When I ruined everything between us.

He must've figured the subject was too hard for me to talk about cause he just stood with his back to me, waiting.

Finally, he picked up his glass again and sipped the drink I'd made him. He said gently, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just thought it might help."

My arms slid around his waist, and I told myself that's as far as it would go. That's all. I could handle this. Control it. I could.

He accepted the embrace -- no big deal -- and ran his cold, wet glass slowly over my forearms, tryin' to cool me off, but somehow, it had the opposite effect. Finally, he took a big swallow from it and set it back on the sill so he could lay his own arms over mine, holding onto me, reassuring me everything was okay. He was so strong; had so much power in his arms and chest. The whole thing was makin' me dizzy with need.

I finally found my voice, but even I could hear how shakey it sounded. "I've always solved that problem the way anyone does...with the right strangers...with the right friends...."

Why did he ask me about that?

He heard the funny tone in my voice and reacted subtly. He didn't tense up or pull away, he just squeezed my arms and leaned back against me, as if to reassure me of his trust, that my demonstration of affection, of need, was okay, something anyone might do. Burnett uncoiled in my gut like a snake.

"Sonny," he finally said in a low, throaty voice, "you... need me...to be the right friend...tonight?"

My heart lurched wildly and I clung to him, not letting myself believe what I'd just heard.

"You're my partner, Crockett, my best friend. You've always been there for me, for whatever I needed, no matter how dangerous, how crazy things got. It's okay if you need me to be there for you now."

I squeezed my eyes shut. This was too much. Did Tubbs have some weird supplement to the police officer's manual none of the rest of us had? I imagined a section, under PARTNERS, care of: "When your partner is suffering from post stress syndrome and sexual dysfunction, a timely hand job can alleviate immediate symptoms until professional help can be obtained." Yeah.

"Rico," I whispered inanely. It was all I could say. Mister Eloquent, that's me.

He sighed and layed back in my arms, like he was waiting for me to make up my mind, like he'd already decided he could handle whatever came down. What the hell had I put in that drink?

Burnett got tired of my indecision and took the situation in hand. So to speak. He leaned forward and pressed my dry mouth to the back of my best friend's elegant, salty neck. Both of us stopped breathing, butt Tubbs never moved. Never flinched.

It felt so good to finally kiss him, I had to do it again, the again, touching my lips lightly to his neck, his shoulders, the soft skin behind his ear. That was when he surprised me. He sighed and started breathing hard.

My hands went to work, touching his muscled chest, my fingers running through the tight, peppercorn curls covering his well-defined pecs. When I got to his nipples I realized they were already diamond hard. Just like my cock.

I shuddered and pressed tighter against him, as my tongue lapped at his sweat, drawing patterns on his skin with the tip. I nibbled the gold chain around his neck, his earring, bit his shoulder gently, and nearly lost it when he gasped.

My mouth wasn't dry any longer, it was full of saliva, watering for Rico. I couldn't keep my mouth off him and had to fight to stop from really biting him, marking him. I wanted him that much. Me and Burnett. We both did.

His hands covered mine as they travelled over the plains of his chest, his throat, his furred abdomen. I started rubbing my screaming cock against the crack of his fine, high ass, wanting to get in it so bad, I could barely think.

His head tipped back against my shoulder, his beautiful eyes dreamily half shut, but as soon as I did that, they snapped open. Still he didn't pull away, so I kept it up. I had to. Had to feel him like that, even through fabric. It was makin' me crazy.

"Sonny?" he asked, sounding suddenly worried.

How much was too much? I wondered. How much not enough? How experienced was he? Very? Not at all? My brain was no help, all flooded with heat and need, my pleasure center sending up fireworks, not wanting to hear about the cost. This was Tubbs, something hissed at me finally, Tubbs!

"Want me to stop?" I rasped, my voice ragged with desire.

There was a long pause as his eyes moved back and forth in indecision.

Say yes, the small, sane part of me begged. We gotta stop. This'll ruin us, Rico.

Then Burnett reached out with my tongue and idly licked a small, well formed ear. Tubbs' eyes rolled up and he sighed, leaning into it. I knew then we were lost.

"No," he whispered softly, "no, man. Don't stop."

You damned slut, I thought irritably, even as I bathed his ear as seductively as I could, making silent promises with my hot, wet mouth, promises I knew no man in his right mind could resist. Still, I was irrationally angry with him for not stopping what I'd begun.

It was too late now. It wouldn't end till we'd wrecked the bed, and the whole house reeked of sex. Already, I was fantasizing about what it would be like when Rico came. Was he silent? I wondered, deliriously. Could I make him scream?

My hands slid over his body, while my brain shed its last inhibition. Grinning, I slipped one hand into his right front pocket.