Carolina Connections

Introduction

Carolina Connections is a fast-moving story of rough-and-tumble gay male relationships with a measure of bisexuality and a hint of lesbianism. It follows the development of drug smuggling, rent-boys, and missing persons themes moving from North Carolina's Duke University in North Carolina, to Thailand, and back to Asheville. Where all of the characters intersect, most more than once, is that they all have Carolina connections.

The main story, "Odd Man In," is one in which private investigator Ryan Bailey is contracted to find a missing person involved with furniture import business partners Patrick and Haley Thornton, Kevin and Megan Grimes, and Thai-black American mixed-race Ty Thanawat. In unraveling the mystery of Patrick Thornton's disappearance, Ryan finds that the relationships, activities, and motivations among the two all-American and hedonist couples and the mysterious Ty Thanawat are not what they seem on the surface.

The main story is followed by four stories of earlier times in this mystery that help unravel and illuminate the motivations, relationships, and outcomes among the interconnected Carolinians.

Odd Man In: Hotel Work

It was hot, hot, hot, here in the mountains this summer. It must have been hot as hell down in the Piedmont. I couldn't believe our luck in Kendrick's choice of Asheville hotels, and everything went as smooth as clockwork--for everyone but Kendrick, of course. I had waited in the lobby of the hotel, where I could see Tony at the hotel's bar through a wide door arch. I had thrown Tony into Kendrick's sights the previous Saturday. Kendrick had taken the bait and was meeting Tony here for seconds.

Tony and I exchanged glances frequently but we both looked away each time a man--and it always was a man--walked through the hotel's main door from Haywood Street, looking ready to melt from the summer heat and then shriveling as he was hit by the hotel's air conditioning. Eventually, it was Kendrick, sliding in like he hoped nobody could see him. He saw Tony in the bar. Tony nodded at him, but Kendrick didn't go to the bar. He went to the reception desk, checked in, and received a hotel room key card. He came over to near where I was sitting, reading a copy of the hometown Asheville Citizen-Times, which I rarely bothered to read but was devouring now. I burrowed into the paper as he took out his cellphone and placed a call.

Tony's phone rang in the bar, and I heard the words "room 508" spoken as clearly as I'm sure Tony did. That was convenient. I'd thought I would have to ask at the desk. I was well known here, fortunately, and the desk would have given me the room number. They knew I'd keep everything quiet. They wanted to be used for assignations like this as little as possible.

Kendrick went to the elevator and pushed the up button. I sauntered past the reception desk after the elevator doors shut and headed for the stairs. Passing reception, where the desk attendant was giving me a sloppy grin, I smiled back and shot him the bird. He knew that was my "thanks" for assigning a fifth-floor room. Frank was forever saying I should get more exercise. This obviously had been his contribution to that campaign. I took the stairs and positioned myself down the hall, in the alcove off the corridor, behind a conveniently placed potted cornflower plant, in time to see the door to room 508 close.

Ten minutes later Tony walked out of the elevator, spotted me and nodded, and then went to room 508 and knocked quietly. As arranged, he held Kendrick, who already had his shirt off, at the open door for a kiss and a grope long enough for me to get a couple of shots of them on my cellphone before they backed into the room and shut the door.

I took the elevator back down to the lobby and folded up the newspaper and dropped it into a trashcan. Fifteen minutes later, I called Mrs. Kendrick. This was the tricky part. She was a good-looking, leggy blonde as much on the make as her husband was, but she was also fickle. This was the second divorce case of hers I'd worked on--with the same husband. She had divorced him before and he'd settled a fortune on her to keep from having the gay angle brought into it. She married him again and we were right back to it. She must have run out the settlement money from the first case. But I wasn't that sure she'd go through with the discovery drama again.

"If you can get here in a half hour, with a witness or you lawyer, you'll have what you need. I'm sending you a cellphone photo for your evidence file."

I doubted she could make it any sooner. I'd held off as a promised favor to Tony. He wanted time to collect his fee and he didn't mind earning it. I just had to play it to keep the heat off him. I'd told Mrs. Kendrick and her lawyer I'd get something set up if they kept the rent-boy out of it. He'd positioned himself at the door to room 508 at an angle he couldn't be identified in the clutches with Kendrick. And he wasn't the one half naked in the photo.

She arrived with her lawyer in tow almost precisely on time. They paused where I was sitting only long enough to get the room number after they'd agreed once more to let Tony leave as if he'd never been there and without them making any reference to him being part of a setup--indeed that this had been set up at all in advance--and in dealing with Kendrick without the authorities or any mention of this hotel either. I'd worked with the lawyer before--he's the one who connected Mrs. Kendrick with me--and I knew he'd handle this right.

After they went up in the elevator, I sauntered into the bar, sat on the stool Tony had occupied, and waited and watched.

"You waiting for someone?"

He was sitting at the other end of the bar. Younger than my forty by about a dozen years, well put together, in an expensive suit, a glass of scotch and an ashtray on the bar top in front of him. He was blond, his hair wavy, in contrast to my black, with a bit of gray at the temples and hiding in my near buzz cut. He was trim and clean cut in contrast to my heavily muscular build and a riot of colorful tattooing that was only hinted at through the opaqueness of my white shirt. And he was decidedly model handsome in contrast to my rugged looks with a nose that had been moved around a bit by someone's fist.

"No one in particular," I said, as I saw Tony strutting by toward the hotel exit, a satisfied look on his face. I found that satisfying, as well, maybe marking an end to my current case responsibility. "Maybe I'm waiting for you," I added, turning a smile on the young, clean-cut suit.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked. Stan the barman edged down toward me, pulling a Bud Lite out of a countertop refrigerator as he moved. It wasn't lost on the young suit that Stan knew what I would want to drink.

"I'd be happy to take a beer," I said, seeing George Kendrick pass the door to the bar at a fast clip. He was sweating. Another good sign. I turned to the guy at the other end of the bar. "It would be all I'd take," I said. "I mostly give." It was best to make just stances clear from the beginning, although anyone who looked at me and this pretty guy would know who was likely to be on top.

The case was looking good. I saw no reason not to swing into another transaction. I was already at my favorite Asheville hotel for this, and case setups like this always made me horny. What surprised me, even though it had happened before, was good-looking young guys like this shopping for sex from mean-looking thugs like me. You'd think they could easily get a regular setup going, but I'd found that slumming like this was a big part of the thrill for some pretty boys. It was like the song said, I guess: "Some like to abuse and some like to be abused." I found that those who liked to be abused were as likely to seek and pay for it as the abusers did. Funny world, this.

"That sounds good to me," the young man said, as Stan put the beer in front of me and winked. I think the whole reason Stan worked here for what the hotel paid was that he was compiling a book of pickup dances.

"The light's sort of dim in here," I said. "Why don't you come down here to me?" This was a test. If he wanted me to come to him, we didn't fit. It was best to establish who dominated from the get go. There were guys who wanted to dominate from the bottom, especially if they initiated it and were paying for it. I didn't go with such guys, though. I could give them what they wanted, but only if they wanted a master and if they wanted it a little rough.

I smiled--not only because he moved down to the stool next to me but also because Mrs. Kendrick and her lawyer were passing by in the lobby and both looked very satisfied. So, I was off that clock and could kick back for the rest of the day.

"Kevin. My name's Kevin," he said, as he lit up another cigarette. His hand was shaking a bit. I reached over and steadied his hand with mine, and when he was more in control of himself, I moved my hand down and cupped his crotch. As anticipated, he was hard. He looked at me in surprise but then his face softened and he couldn't hide that he was in need. Just to be sure of what he wanted, I got a grip on his nuts through the material of his trousers and squeezed. He gave me a pained expression and his eyes watered.

"I think this is the way you want it," I said. The bartender turned from us and moved down to the other end of the counter.

He murmured a "Yes. Oh, yes." So, we were in business.

I released him. "I'm Ryan," I said, "I'm a power top, and I neither pay for it nor do it for pay. I do it purely for pleasure. And I will do it, if that's what you want."

"I have a room booked here," he squeaked.

"That and the beer, I'll let you cover. But beyond that, I do the covering and call the shots. I've got more than eight inches, in case you'd be worried about what you had to take. This room, though, if it's any higher than the second floor, I'm using the elevator. Don't worry about the guy at the desk. He doesn't give a shit who comes in here to fuck."

He gave me a bewildered, melting look, like I was two steps ahead of him and he was just now discovering how arousing being rushed and crowded like this could be. But when I rose from my stool, he got up from his. I took the cigarette out of his hand and killed it in the ashtray. "Smoking isn't good for your health and it will stunt your growth, even in a hotel like this. What room did you say?"

"522," he answered in a breathy voice.

"Fifth floor; of course." I was starting to think the hotel used its fifth floor for rent-by-the-hour bookings.

I pounded the shit out of him in a deep doggy fuck, bent over the bed in room 522, with his wrists bound together with his belt. This wasn't anything new to him. He was frenzied and gave as well as he took as we stripped and groped and fondled each other in a standing dance of the "get naked and party" tune. And he went down on his knees to me without prompting and gave me good head before I bent him over the bed. He gave no objection to the wrist binding, and only offered moans and encouragement as I ate his ass out. He was experienced, and his hole opened up quickly and in a way that taking eight and a quarter inches would be no problem. And it wasn't a problem. A good time was had by all.

There was no downside until I came out of the bathroom with just a towel around my waist, having taken a post-fuck shower. He'd wanted for us to shower together, but I knew he really wanted another fuck, in the shower, and at forty, I was always happy to go again but I needed a bit more time to restart my engine than I had at his age. So, I sent him to the shower first, with a "Let's order up a drink for halftime." He went to the shower and I ordered up a beer and a scotch. He was nursing the scotch when I went off to the shower.

He wasn't nursing the scotch when I came out of the bathroom, though. He was standing by the nightstand, his toes almost touching the spent condom I'd dropped on the floor there, and he had a business card from my wallet in his hand.

"You're a private investigator," he said, almost in disbelief.

"Yes, I am. And you're snooping into my life. Let's see who you are." I reached down for his trousers, picking it out of the heap of clothes we'd left just inside the door to the corridor, and fished around for his wallet. He just stood there and calmly watched me. "So, you're Kevin--really Kevin, who didn't lie to me about that. Most do--Kevin Grimes, from right here over on College Street. At least that's your business address. Eastern Furniture Company, whatever that means."

"I live there too," he said. "It's Eastern, as in East Asian. We import furniture from Thailand and China. But back to your being a private investigator. Do you investigate missing persons?"

"Not right at the moment," I said, dropping my towel.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed. "I don't think you were that big the first time."

"Sharing identities makes me extra randy. I find missing persons, yes, but that's not what I'm going to do now."

What I did "now" was that I fucked the shit out of him again, this time in a deep missionary. I could see the expression on his face this time. This time I knew for sure that he loved every stroke of it.

* * * *

OK, so I loved every stroke of it too--so much so that I took him home with me and enjoyed him all night. Any anger I might have had that he'd gone into my wallet to find out who I was was dissipated when he said the fuck had been so good that he didn't want to lose touch with me--that he wanted to be with me again. When we then went off into him having a possible job for me when he found out I was a private investigator, I just forgot how snoopy he'd been. While I was showering, I had been thinking how I wanted to see him again, as well. We fit together; he sheathed me just right. I wasn't a sadist in sex, but I appreciated a guy who wanted it "enthusiastically."

I guess I must have worn him out in the night, as when I got up in the morning, later than was usual for me, he was still zonked. I made noise taking a shower and more noise banging around in the kitchen in my small apartment in throwing breakfast together and was rewarded by the sound of the shower. I wasn't much of a cook, but not even I can screw up coffee, toast, and scrambled eggs. I moved slow to time the meal for when he should be out of the shower and dry and when I thought it was time, I called out, "Breakfast. Come and get it, such as it is."

He arrived sexy looking in just his briefs. I couldn't say much. That's all I was wearing as well. My mind did calculations on what I had to do that day, and I grinned when I came up with a blank. I could think lustful thoughts--depending on Kevin Grimes's daily schedule. My grin turned to a bit of a scowl, though, when I saw he brought something into the living area with him.

"Where'd you get that?" I asked.

"This?" he said, holding up the framed photo. "I found it under the bed when I was fishing for my briefs. Is this your boyfriend with you in this photo?"

"It was my boyfriend," I answered, a bit piqued. "He's gone."

"Oh, did he die?"

"No, he's just gone." I don't know why I didn't reveal that DaJon was in the slammer--for two more years--for dealing drugs and male prostitution. I didn't know if anything would happen between us when he got out, but I'd advised him to find a protector in prison to be his boyfriend, and DaJon had done just that. I visited him now and again, but there wasn't much of a spark between us anymore. He'd found a black bull; maybe he preferred his own now and wouldn't go white again. As far as not saying more to Kevin, I thought he was being too nosy. "What's it with the personal questions?" I said. "You with the CIA or something and checking me out?"

For a second a panicked look went across his face, and I didn't forget that it had, but he recovered quickly and then made me feel bad. "No. I just didn't want to get any more interested in you than I have become if there's someone else in your life," he said. "I felt like we had something--a feeling I haven't had with a guy for some time. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I just needed to know the lay of the land here."

"The lay of the land," I said more gruffly than I intended, "is that I'm free as a bird to lay whoever I want. That guy is out of the picture and no one else is in the picture at the moment. So," I took a breath and softened my delivery, "yeah, I thought we fit together well. I'd like to explore further with you. So, options are open... unless these eggs I added a few things to don't kill you."

We both laughed, both a bit self-consciously and with a nervous twinge, but the tension in the air had been cut. "You just surprised me with the photo. I had thought I'd found them all and put them away."

We chatted then while we ate, him sitting on a stool on the living room side of the counter and me standing on the kitchen side. He admitted to being married, but the marriage was pretty open. They both were bi, he claimed. They lived in the floors above his business on College Street in sort of a communal situation, two couples of them, the four of them having been friends since they were at university at Duke, in Durham, out toward the North Carolina coast from Asheville, which was in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

"It's not just my business--selling Chinese-style teak furniture we import from Thailand," he said. "We wound up in Thailand together. Two men, Patrick and me, married to two women, Megan and Haley. I was there with the embassy, in Bangkok and, my wife, Megan, worked for a furniture manufacturer, a place called Peter's, near the Royal Sports Club. Patrick's wife, Haley, worked for an export house. Patrick was attached to the military as a civilian, working down country at the U-Tapao Airbase. So, we got a house together. Patrick only came into Bangkok occasionally and he didn't want Haley living alone. We already knew each other, so it was natural to just get a house together. And it was also natural for us to combine the businesses the women were learning when we got back here in the States."

"And you wound up in Asheville with this business? Why Asheville? If you all went to Duke, why not Durham?"

"It could have been Durham, of course. We needed someplace with a wealthy base. Chinese-style teak furniture is expensive and appeals to certain well-heeled tastes. Ours is special, appealing to the wealthy, because we have secret drawers and safes built into our furniture to give customers someplace to stash valuables. But Asheville is a rich town too, and Patrick comes from this area. His family had mountain property south of here, near Hendersonville, with an old farmhouse on it where we went for a vacation together the summer we all finished in college. The women liked the area. We all liked Asheville, so this is where we live and sell our furniture. We make a good living of it here."

"And you all live and work in the same building--in sort of a communal building?" I said, not really understanding that arrangement all that much.

"Yes, we converted an old warehouse on College Street--five stories. The business is on the first two floors, with two levels of parking for us at the back, then there are two apartments on the floor above that for us all, and a smaller apartment at the top with balcony terraces."

"And that's for...?"

"Our fifth partner, who we picked up in Thailand. Working at the airbase with Patrick. Ty Thanawat. American father and Thai mother. He's usually gone, handling the Thailand end of the operation."

"Sounds cozy."

"Maybe a bit complicated is more like it. As I said, the four of us are really close. And Ty... there's Ty."

"No problems with arrangements?" I asked. Like that Kevin was visiting gay bars and going home with men, I thought, but I didn't say it. "You mentioned the need for a private investigator--something about a missing person. This fifth guy, Ty?"