Midnight Whispers
QAF Brian and Justin Fanfiction

 


 


 


 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


 


BRIAN


 


 


The kid behind the bar does a double take when Boot looms over him, ordering a Beam for me and a Florida orange with ice for himself.  He serves them up with alacrity and then retreats to the other end of the bar, from where he keeps a wary eye on us.  I lead the way to a corner table and sit down, and Boot perches himself on a stool opposite.  His glass looks ridiculously tiny in his huge fist, and I can’t help but notice his misshapen knuckles.


 


“You used to box?”


 


He shrugs.  “Doesn’t take much working out, does it, not with a mug like mine.” He smiles suddenly.  “Not that I was exactly pretty before.  Well, it was a way of keeping out of trouble, and you could make money if you were any good.  Better than joining Her Majesty’s Forces anyway, which was about the only other option.”


 


“And were you any good?”


 


He takes a sip of his orange.  “I could hold me own.”


 


I’ll take that as a yes.


 


“Anyway, I’m not here to talk about me.  I’m here to talk about you and the kid.”


 


“If you mean Justin, I don’t think our relationship is any of your business.”


 


“If what you have is a bloody relationship. One minute you’re proposing to the kid, and the next you’ve chucked him over for a new bloke.  You didn’t even have the balls to tell him.  What kind of a man are you to treat him like that?  You ought to be ashamed.”


 


At which point I’ve had just about enough.  “I don’t need a lecture from you, thank you very fucking much,” I snap.  “You know fuck all about me, fuck all about what’s going on here, and you have no fucking right to interfere.  So shut the fuck up about what you don’t understand.”


 


He sits watching me calmly.  “So what happened to the new boyfriend?  Did you dump him too?”


 


Christ, the guy’s as persistent as Justin.  “He never was a boyfriend.   And like I said, it’s none of your fucking business.”


 


“Well, I suppose I’m making it my business, because I like Justin; and since he seems pretty happy, I assume you two are back together.  But I’d like to know that you haven’t taken him on as some charity case that you’re going to ditch again as soon as he’s better.  He deserves more than that.”


 


“And you’re basing that assumption on what?  The fact that you’ve known him all of five minutes?”


 


“I’ve seen a bloody sight more of him than you have over the past six months.  And since I know he’s an intelligent and discerning young man I’m willing to believe there must be more to you than the arrogant git you appear.  In which case, I’m curious.  Now, I don’t claim to know what a bloke sees in another bloke, but if I were that way inclined, then that lad of yours is just what I’d be looking for.  Not just because he’s young and nearly pretty enough to be a bird, but he’s smart, he’s funny, he’s talented and he’s kind.  And judging from what I’ve heard about you he must be pretty good in the sack for you to have kept him around this long.  Not to mention the fact that he worships the ground you walk on.  So what the fuck’s your problem?  Grab him and hang on before some other bastard steals him from under your nose.  That’s my advice, mate.”


 


 “I don’t need you to remind me of his qualities.  And despite your protestations to the contrary, you don’t seem exactly immune to his attractions yourself.  Wanna think about why that might be?”  I offer him one of my most insulting smiles.


 


I’m expecting the usual breeder reaction of outrage and denial, but instead he seems to seriously consider the question.  “You know what ninety-nine out of a hundred people think when they look at me?  Big, bald, ugly bastard.  Big, bald, ugly, stupid bastard.   And most people would laugh themselves sick if they knew that someone who looks like me likes art, and books, and music.  If I’d been born later, I might have even studied it; gone to college or something.  But where I was brought up, boys didn’t admit to liking stuff like that … not unless they wanted to be labelled as a pansy.”  He smiles faintly.  “I know what I look like.  It intimidates the fuck out of people.  But not your lad.  He showed up one night at the club where I’m the doorman, and he wasn’t scared, not in the slightest.  We got talking, and he mentioned he was an artist.  When he found out I was interested he never took the piss about it, never seemed to think there was something funny about a bloke like me wanting to talk about paintings.  He invited me up to that pokey little bedsit where he was staying to look at his work.  Bloody impressive, if you ask me.  Then he said he’d take me to a couple of galleries.  I thought he was just being polite; I never expected him to even show up.  But he did, and we went, and he didn’t seem at all embarrassed to have me along.  He talked as if I understood what he was saying, not like he had to try and spell things out.  He treated me just like he would any other mate of his.”


 


“And it never bothered you that he was gay?”


 


He’s silent for a while, then he says quietly.  “Let me tell you a story.  My younger sister, Kitty, she was always my favourite.  Her oldest boy, Andy, he was artistic.  I used to flatter myself that he took after me that way, and I suppose I loved him the more for it.  He took a lot of shit at school because he wasn’t into football and stuff … he wanted to be a ballet dancer.  He was good, too – so good that the Royal Ballet School accepted him when he was sixteen.  I was so bloody proud … all the family was, and we were relieved that he’d be with other kids like himself, so he wouldn’t get bullied anymore.”  He twirls his glass in his hands.  “It was 1991, when all the shit about AIDS started to break, and people were saying it was God’s judgement on gay men.   Andy got jumped by a gang of skinheads one night, on his way to a mate’s birthday party.  They gave him a good kicking.  Ruptured his spleen.  They ran off and left him lying in a fucking alley on his own.  He died without ever waking up.”


 


“I’m sorry.”  What the fuck else can I say?


 


“Yeah, I would have made those little fuckers sorry too, if I’d ever got hold of them,” Boot says grimly.  “But the thing is, I never knew whether Andy was a poof or not … I don’t suppose he was old enough to know himself, one way or the other.  And it wouldn’t have mattered to me anyway; you love who you love, right?  It wouldn’t have changed who he was: the sweetest, kindest kid you could wish to meet.  A fuckin’ sight braver than me.  Those bastards killed him because he looked like a poof… that was the only excuse they needed.  So when I first met Justin, he reminded me a lot of Andy – not so much in looks, but in the way he was.  The way he liked and trusted people … the way he always looked on the bright side: special, I suppose you’d call it.  Made you feel happy just to see the kid.  And when he told me about how that lad from his school nearly killed him, just because he was a poof … well, I couldn’t help but take an interest.”


 


Boot sits quietly brooding for a minute.  When he looks up at me again, his eyes are hot and angry.   “And then one night he turned up at the club, and it was like something inside him had died.  All the light, all the happiness.   That was when he started hanging out with that twat Dylan, and getting wasted every night, and dying his fucking hair!  I didn’t know it was because of you, you prick, and he wouldn’t tell me … it took a trip to London and a chat with his little girl friend to find out what you’d done!”


 


The one thing I’ve always prided myself on is being a shit-hot judge of character.  This guy could probably snap my back over his knee like a twig without thinking about it, but I really don’t believe he’s actually that much of a thug.  Whatever else he might be, I don’t doubt that he’d be a very good ally … and an extremely bad enemy.  And since he seems to be one of those rare people who speaks his mind and doesn’t bother too much about the consequences … I guess I’d better prove to him that I have the same philosophy myself.


 


“Okay.  You want the truth?  I never wanted a relationship.  Why the fuck should I?  I did what I wanted, when I wanted, and who I wanted, and when I first met Justin he was a responsibility I didn’t need.  He was a seventeen-year-old boy who was in love with me, and I treated him like shit sometimes.  I’d be the last to deny it.  I had no idea how to handle him and no inclination to learn.  But when he got bashed, I came to realise that he was important… shit, he was the most important thing I had.  Your nephew … he wasn’t lucky enough to survive, and I’m not trying to belittle what his loss must have meant to you.  But I saw what happened to Justin; I held him while he nearly bled out before the ambulance reached him, and if something like that doesn’t change a man’s outlook on what’s important and what isn’t, well I’m fucked if I know what does.  I’m not saying everything was roses after that, because it wasn’t; it took me another three years and another near-fatality to finally figure out that I didn’t just need Justin, I wanted him; and I was prepared to do anything I had to do to make him happy.  And that even included letting him go, because I believed he finally had the opportunity he deserved; to go to New York and make it as an artist, without me and my shit dragging him down.  Or rather, let’s say that was how it was put to me; by someone I classed as a friend and in whom I had the greatest trust.  I know now I was misled, for reasons I’m not going to go into here.  But this is the third time I’ve nearly lost Justin … and believe me, it’s not going to happen again.”


 


Boot takes a thoughtful sip of his orange.   “My old man used to breed budgies,” he says; “you know: those little parrot things with the long tails.  Cheeky, clever, pretty little birds.  Not scared of anything.  Chirp all the fuckin’ time… used to drive me mum mad, but dad loved them.  He used to show them … won a lot of cups.”  I listen patiently, realising that, like Emmett, Boot likes to tell stories to illustrate his point.  “One day his champion blue escaped, and it hung around the garden for days while dad tried every trick he knew to tempt it back again.  It wasn’t just because it was the best bird he had … he knew if he couldn’t catch it then all the local birds – the sparrows, and the blackbirds, and the starlings – they’d all set on it, and peck and bully and chase it until it just gave up and died of exhaustion.  Didn’t matter how brave or clever or pretty it was; it was a foreigner and it didn’t belong, and the other birds knew it.”


 


“And did he get it back?”


 


Boot shakes his head.  “No.  It just disappeared.  Dad was heart broken.”


 


I sigh.  “And the moral of this little homily is…?”


 


Boot shrugs.  “Take it how you want.  But whatever you believed, and whatever your motives, you had no business sending someone like Justin go to New York all on his own and expect things to turn out well.  It was poor judgement, mate, and that’s a fact.”


 


“Yeah.  Well, hindsight always has twenty-twenty vision.”


 


He smiles.  “Always the clever answer with you, innit?  Well, I’ve said me piece.  I’ll leave you to think on it.”  He finishes his orange and sets the glass on the table.  “If it’s alright with you, I’ll go and say goodbye to the lad before I leave … make sure he knows how to reach me if he needs me.”


 


“You’re going back to New York?”


 


“It’s where I live, mate.  At least, it is until me feet start itching again.  Then I’ll move on.”


 


And right then I get one of my moments of inspiration.  “If you had a job here … would you consider moving now?”


 


He stares at me blankly.  “Sorry, I don’t get you.  Move here?”


 


“Why not?  You say you care about Justin, and I believe you because you wouldn’t have come running the way you did otherwise.  And I need someone to help me look after him right now … I have some family issues I need to take care of, and the little twat’s too stubborn for his own good.  I can’t trust him not to take risks… not to hurt himself trying to prove how much he doesn’t need help.  So I need someone to keep an eye on him for me … to help him get around and take him out and keep him company.  Maybe take him to the hospital for his check-ups.  To make sure … he doesn’t get back into bad habits.  And since he obviously likes you and trusts you, you’re the ideal candidate.”


 


Boot lifts an eyebrow.  “You mean a minder.”


 


“Huh?”


 


“Sort of like an informal bodyguard.”


 


“Yes.  Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”


 


“Is that why you locked him in?  Because you don’t trust him not to try to leave?”


 


“Yeah.  I don’t know how fucked up he is with the drugs.  I don’t want to take the chance … not yet.”


 


Boot shakes his head.  “Sorry.  I don’t take payment to look out for people I care about.  I do that for free.”


 


“Well, I can offer you a real job too.  You say you’re a doorman, and looking at you I’m sure you’re a good one.  I own a club here in Pittsburgh … Babylon.  Has Justin mentioned it?”


 


“Yeah.  He said it was where you two met.”


 


I nod.  “That’s right.  And I’d like you to join my security team there - you can work as many nights as you want.  I’ll pay you top rates.  All I ask is that you be available to take over looking after Justin when I have to be somewhere else … only it’d be best if you don’t tell him that.  He won’t take kindly to the idea of having a … minder.”


 


Boot narrows his eyes.  “Let’s suppose I was willing to do this.  Theoretically, I’ve got nothing keeping me in New York; I’ve been there a few years now, and I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.  And I’m sure that the lad’s a bit of handful, even in the state he is now.  But you’d have to understand my loyalties are to Justin, not you.  If you paid me, you’d be the boss; I’d work for you, and I wouldn’t cheat you.  But I wouldn’t spy on him for you, or lie to him for you, and I certainly wouldn’t keep him out of the way while you went round fucking everything you had a mind to.  If that’s the kind of minder you want, forget it.  I’m not your boy.”


 


I look him straight in the eyes.  “I appreciate your honesty.  But having someone who’s on Justin’s side … who’ll protect his interests before anyone else’s … well, that’s exactly what I’m looking for.  And if the time ever comes when you have to choose your loyalty to Justin over your loyalty to me … then I expect you to look out for him: in fact, I insist on it.   And then I give you permission to kick my ass.”


 


Boot returns my gaze unwaveringly.  Then suddenly he throws his head back and laughs.  “Alright, guv.  Give me a couple of days to pack my bags and find somewhere to live and you’ve got a deal.”  He holds out his right hand, and I shake with him, trying not to wince as my fingers are engulfed.


 


“Guv?” I query.


 


“Governor.  Boss.”  Boot explains.


 


I sigh.  “Is there any chance you could supply a dictionary?  I think I’m going to need one.”


 


“Oh, you’ll pick it up.  Justin did.”


 


I remember the little shit throwing the word ‘tosser’ at me, and I nod.  “Yeah, well, he always was a quick learner.”


 


Boot laughs again.


 


“Can I ask you a question?”


 


“Yeah.  I’m not guaranteeing an answer, though; that isn’t part of the job description, either.”


 


“Why did you never get your face fixed?”


 


He gives me a sharp look.  “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out, smart bloke like you.  After all, image is what you’re all about, innit?  You want to impress people, so you talk the talk and walk the walk, as they say.  They don’t say no to you, because they think you’re rich and classy and fuckin’ ruthless enough to take them down if they get in your way.  Well, we’re not so different … we just wear different masks.  People look at mine and they draw their own conclusions.  Makes the tossers of the world think twice about giving me any grief … they think I’ll beat their heads in as soon as look at them.”


 


“And because you look like you can, you don’t have to?”


 


“You got it, guv.  And it’s lucky for us that Justin can see through both of us.”  He stands up and smiles.  “And now I think you should get back home before the kid works out how to pick your fuckin’ lock.”


 


 


 


TBC

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