The Magic in Your Touch Ch. 14

Brandon nodded. “If this is what you want, then I’m all for it.” He lifted Nate up and sat him on the edge of the desk.

“Bran, what are you doing?”

Brandon grinned. “We’ve just made some major decisions about the future here. I think that’s cause for

celebration.”

Nate looked at him through narrowed eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

Brandon made a grab for his zipper. “Ever gotten a blow job in the sheriff’s office before?”

Nate tried to swat his hand away. “No, and I’m not going to now. What if someone comes in? The door isn’t even locked.” And damned if he wasn’t getting hard.

Leaving Nate right where he was, Brandon said, “I can fix that.” He was halfway to the door when it opened to reveal Agent Howard standing on the other side.

Howard took one look at Nate perched on the desk with a hard-on and started to grin. “I feel like I’ve just walked onto the set of a porn movie calledDoc does the Sheriff. Hang on and let me grab some popcorn and a Coke.”

Nate knew his face was flaming red, but at least it couldn’t get any worse. That’s when Brandon said, “Damn, what’s a guy got to do to get a little dick around here?”

Howard laughed like a lunatic when Nate got down and popped Brandon on the arm. Howard took one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. Nate started to do the same, but Brandon grabbed him and pulled him back onto his lap. At first Nate was uncomfortable, but Howard didn’t seem to be bothered by it, and he soon felt himself relax.

Howard wasted no time getting to the point. “Autopsy’s back.” He slanted his head to the side and his eyes locked on Brandon’s. “Damned if you weren’t right, Nash. Massive heart attack. The medical examiner said it looked like the damn thing exploded.”

The doctor in Nate rose to the surface. “Did Wilson have a history of heart problems?”

Howard shook his head. “No, but according to the toxicology report, he was speed-balling. Not long before he died, he shot a massive dose of heroin and snorted a nose full of cocaine. There was also a health amount of diazepam in his bloodstream, probably from the same batch he used on your dog.” He snorted. “Being a hit-man probably wears on the nerves.”

Brandon gave Howard a puzzled stare. “The only thing found in that room besides a suitcase and Wilson’s clothes was a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels and an empty glass. I went over the report myself.”

“That’s true, but the clerk said Wilson went out earlier in the evening. He could have gotten doped up while he was out. Combined with all that whisky, the junk in his bloodstream was too much for Wilson’s ticker.”

Nate noticed that Brandon didn’t disagree, but he still seemed skeptical. Nate turned to Howard. “So what happens now?”

Howard’s expression softened a little. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you, Doc. Did Nash tell you that Wilson had a brother?”

“Yeah. He said the brother called the night Wilson’s body was found.”

“That’s true. They’re half-brothers, actually. Same mother, different fathers. We got the phone company’s records and tracked him down. His name’s Patrick Malone. He had a lot to say about his brother.” Howard’s face took on that sympathetic glaze that Nate was starting to dread. “He also had a few things to say about your father, Doc.”

Brandon’s hands tightened around Nate’s waist. Nate said, “Let’s hear it.”

“Malone works for Mor-co. He says he was the one who introduced Calder to Wilson. He claims Calder told him he needed some muscle, but didn’t tell him what for. He’s willing to make a deal in exchange for his testimony against your father.”

Nate looked back and forth between Brandon and Howard. “Can he do that? Even after what happened to Amy?”

Howard said, “That’ll be up to the local DA, but I’d say chances are good that Malone will get immunity in exchange for his testimony against Calder. To prosecute him as an accessory to murder, the DA would have to prove he knew ahead of time what the plan was. That’s gonna be damn hard to do since we aren’t even certain exactly what the plan was ourselves.” He turned his attention to Brandon. “Wilson’s death is officially listed as an overdose. I spoke with my boss not an hour ago. We’re off the case as of now.”

Brandon helped Nate to his feet and then stood up himself. He extended his hand to Howard. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but I will say I couldn’t have kept Nate safe without your help. I owe you, Howard.”

Howard shook his hand and said, “You’re wrong about that, Nash. I was glad to help you, but you had it covered long before I got here.” Howard shook Nathan’s hand next. “Sorry about your dad, Doc. I wish things had turned out differently.”

Nate reached for Brandon with his left hand. “I’m sorry my father is a worthless bigot. And,” his voice cracked, “I’m more sorry than I can ever say about Marjorie and Amy.” He moved his gaze from Howard to Brandon. “But there are some things I’ll never regret.”

Brandon kissed his palm and returned the look, his gaze full of heat. Howard said his goodbyes and slipped out of the room with a smile.

* * *

Being in love with someone didn’t necessarily mean loving everything about them. Brandon accepted that. He knew he and Nate were always going to have their differences. Brandon never said a word about Nate’s obsessive neatness, or the fact that he chewed exactly thirty-two times before he swallowed his food. He even glossed over the fact that Nate talked baby-talk to their dog. But no way in hell was he going to ignore Nate’s callous disregard for one of America’s greatest inventions.

“It’s just a car, Bran.”

Brandon clutched his hand over his heart. “Just a car? Just a car, he says. Was the General Lee just a car to the Duke Boys? Was Kit just a car to Michael Knight inKnight Rider? And what about James Bond and all his different spy cars? Or Batman? Where would Batman be without the Bat-mobile?”

Nate started buttoning his shirt. “Walking?”

Brandon shot him a dirty look from his seat on the bed and continued lacing up his boots. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, you can find someone else to take you car shopping.”

Nate tucked his shirt into his jeans. “Brandon, it’s not that big of a deal.” When Brandon gave him another withering stare, Nate said, “If I get the urge to fight crime or join an international spy ring, I promise you I’ll consult only the top experts before I buy a car. And since I’m already sleeping with the local sheriff, I don’t think I’ll need a car like the General Lee.” He grinned and slipped his belt through the loops. “If I do decide to start bootlegging whiskey, I won’t need a special getaway car. I’ll just slip you about six inches and ask you to look the other way.”

Brandon threw a pillow at his head. “Six inches, my ass. More like eight. And I still say you should put a little more effort into this. Hell, you don’t even know what kind of car you want.”

Nate sat down beside Brandon and pulled on his socks. “I told you, Bran. I don’t care what make or model as long as it gets good mileage and runs decent. I want something serviceable, like my old Honda.”

Brandon made a gagging sound. “If you look up ‘serviceable’ in the dictionary, it says, ‘See boring.’ You’re twenty-eight years old Nate. You have the rest of your life to drive something dependable. Don’t you want to live a little? Have some excitement?”

“I think I’ve had enough excitement in the last two months to last me a lifetime.”

Brandon said, “That’s not the kind of excitement I’m talking about, and you know it. Look, in a few years, after the kids come along, we’ll get you a nice, quiet mini-van. Right now, don’t you want something a little bolder?”

Nate narrowed his eyes. “How bold are we talking, here?”

Brandon was all but rubbing his hands together with glee. “As it happens, I know a guy who sells just the kind of cars I’m talking about.”

“I thought we’d just go to some of the dealerships in Chicago.”

Brandon shook his head. “We talked about that last night, Nate. Those places are all the same. Cookie-cutter operations selling the same old thing. The place I’m talking about has character. No one will ever accuse Cain Lucas of being a conformist.”

As soon as Nate sighed, Brandon knew he’d won. He leaned over and kissed Nate’s cheek. “I’ll pick you up after work this evening and we’ll head over there.”

Nate said, “I’m breathless with anticipation.” Brandon ignored him and finished getting ready for work, whistling as he went.

* * *

The minute Brandon pulled the Camaro from the paved street onto a gravel road leading into the woods, Nate knew he was in trouble. When Cain Lucas’s place came into view, he fought down the urge to beg Brandon to turn the car around.

“When you said you were taking me to buy a car, I thought you meant you were taking me to a dealership.”

Brandon never took his eyes off the road, a good thing because he was navigating his way through a maze of rusted truck beds and totaled car bodies. “I told you, babe, modern dealerships—”

“Are dollar-driven bastardizations of commercial greed. You told me that last night when I first mentioned car shopping to you.” When Brandon started to respond, Nate said, “Look, I understand how you feel, but when you said you had a little something different in mind, I never dreamed you were taking me to a junk yard.”

Brandon pulled up in front of a hulking cinder block garage and cut the motor. “I prefer to think of it as an ‘automotive rehabilitation center.’”

Nate snorted. “Rehabilitation, huh? I hate to have to tell you, Bran, but this is where cars come to die. We’re sitting in the only live one here.”

Brandon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If Nate didn’t know any better, he’d say Brandon was going for the ‘heartfelt sigh’ approach. Then he said, “Alright. If you really want to go, we’ll go. I understand that it isn’t fair of me to inflict my interests on you. A good marriage is about compromise, after all.”

Nate knew it was a crock the minute he heard it, but when Brandon turned big blue puppy-dog eyes on him, Nate was a goner.

“Fine. We’ll go in, but if I don’t see something really impressive in the next five minutes, I’m leaving.” He reached over and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “With or without you.”

Brandon smiled. “Deal. Come on. I called Cain this morning to tell him we were coming. He’s expecting us.”

Brandon led him around to the side door of the garage and knocked twice. A raspy voice yelled out, “It’s open.” Brandon turned the knob and opened the door.

Nate expected the inside of the garage to be as cluttered as the grounds, but it was surprisingly neat. All four walls were covered with peg boards holding various wrenches, sockets, and tools. Instead of the harsh fluorescent lights most garages used, this one had four large skylights assisted by several rows of track lighting. A lift held a battered Silverado about eight feet off the ground, while two more cars waited their turns in the bays nearby. It wasn’t until they got closer that Nate noticed a pair of legs sticking out from under one of the cars.

Brandon said, “It’s us, Cain.”

Nate watched as the legs got leverage against the cement floor and wheeled the man attached to them out from under the car he was working on. He wiped his dirty fingers on his coveralls and shook hands, first with Brandon, then with Nate. “How’s it going, Sheriff?”

“Fine. Cain Lucas, this is my fiancé, Dr. Nathan Morris. He’s looking for a car.”

“Sure thing. I think I might have something he’ll be interested in. Just give me a sec to wash up, and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

When Lucas walked across the room to wash his hands, Nate took that moment to study him. He was about thirty and had waist-length black hair secured with a leather thong at the nap of his neck. Most women would kill to have a silky mane like his, but there wasn’t anything feminine about Cain Lucas. He was tall, at least six-four, and had broad shoulders which threatened to burst the seems of his coveralls. When he turned back around, Nate noticed his bronzed skin and dark eyes. Nate was willing to bet those eyes didn’t miss much. His chiseled features reminded Nate of pictures he’d seen of American Indians in books and museums.

Lucas dried his hands on a clean shop rag and walked back over to where Nate and Brandon were standing. “So, what exactly did you have in mind, Dr. Morris?”

“Something dependable that gets good mileage.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows at Brandon. “And you brought him here?”

Those were Nate’s thoughts exactly, but Brandon wasn’t going to go down without a fight. “Nate just thinks he wants some wimpy little foreign job because he hasn’t seen your selection yet.”

Lucas looked as skeptical as Nate felt, but all he said was, “You know where the other garage is. Go on ahead while I lock up here and I’ll meet you up there.”

The drive to the second garage was more pleasant than the drive to the first. Whereas the lower part of Cain’s property was littered with car and truck remnants, the upper half was beautifully landscaped. Nate could just make out a house in the distance, but Brandon pulled the Camero off the main path and headed down another road through a stand of trees. He parked the car in front of another massive garage, this one made of brick instead of cinder block.

Brandon and Nate got out of the Camaro just as Lucas pulled up in a beat-up Chevy truck. He went around to the side of the building, motioning for Brandon and Nate to follow.

Lucas unlocked the deadbolt and flipped a switch just inside the door. He said, “Come on in. Everything in here is for sale except the Harley. That one’s mine.”

Nate walked inside and then stopped at the threshold, amazed at the display he was seeing. Brandon whispered, “This place is something else, isn’t it.”

It certainly was. Twenty cars, all of them classics and all beautifully restored, were lined up on each side of the garage. A chopped-out Harley Davidson, the only motorcycle in the garage, stood in one corner. Three of the walls were decorated with antique gas and oil signs, and a display of framed car adds from the thirties and forties took up the other. A restored bubble-top gas pump took up the corner opposite the bike.

Lucas pointed to a red fifty-seven Ford Thunderbird heading up the first row. “If your looking for something dependable, I’d say this one is your best bet. She’s as close to all original as you’re going to get. I bought her from the original owner. All I did was drop in a new motor and give her a new paint job.”

Brandon nodded. “She’s a beauty, but we’re a Chevy family.”

Nate said, “We are?”

Brandon looked absolutely offended. “Yes, we are.”

Lucas grinned. “In that case, I’ve got a great little fifty-five Chevy four door I just finished with. I changed the transmission from manual to automatic and painted it back to it’s original finish.”

Lucas led them down the row to the car he was talking about. Nate had to admit, the car was nice. He might have even considered it, if he hadn’t glanced over and seen the car at the end of the row.

Nate pointed to the striking black beauty with something akin to awe. “What’s that?”

Lucas followed his finger and said, “Oh, that’s a thirty-four Ford, five window coupe that I bought from a guy in Minnesota. But you don’t want that car, Doc.”

Nate didn’t hear him. He walked over to the coupe and caressed one round headlight. “What year did you say she was?”

“She’s a thirty-four, but—”

“Did you do all the restorations yourself?”

A trace of pride tinged Lucas’s voice. “Yeah. She was just a rusted out shell when I got her. Took me eleven months, but I finally got her done.” He saw the way Nate was tracing the car’s curves with one fingertip and said, “Look, Doc, I think you’d probably be happier with something else. I’ve got a couple of Sedans that are worth looking at.”

For the first time, Nate heard what Lucas was saying. “Why wouldn’t I want this car?”

Brandon spoke up. “Because she’s a Ford, and because she’s too much car for you, that’s why.”

Nate whirled on him so fast, Brandon took a step back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brandon put his hand on Nate’s arm in an effort to calm him down. “Nothing bad. Look, Nate. This morning you were talking about buying a Honda or a Nissan. Something quiet that gets good mileage.”

“Right. And you said I have the rest of my life to get a boring family car. You told me to live a little, to buy something bolder, something exciting.”

Brandon swore under his breath. “I never expected you to go from a four-door hatchback to a custom street rod.” He spoke to Lucas next. “What’s she got under the hood, Cain?”

“I took the motor out of a late model Corvette some kid smashed up. The body was a loss, but the engine was barely scratched. She’s got fuel injection and Flow Master pipes. The original transmission was a three-speed, but I converted her to four in the floor.”

Nate didn’t understand a single word Lucas had just said, but that didn’t dim his enthusiasm. “So that means it’s got a powerful engine, right?”

Lucas and Brandon both looked at him like he had an extra eyeball in the middle of his forehead. Brandon said, “Look inside her, Nate. She’s got a roll cage. This car was made for racing, not driving back and forth to work.” He turned to Lucas again. “Is that thing even street legal?”

Lucas nodded. “Barely, but yeah, she is. Technically, she would be okay for everyday use, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Nate went on the offensive. “Why not?”

“Well, she only gets about nine miles to the gallon. And then there’s this.” He walked over to the passenger side and opened the door. Nate was surprised to see that it opened towards the front of the car instead of the back. Lucas saw his confusion and said, “They’re called suicide doors. They stopped making them in the late thirties, early forties. If you see them on later model cars, they were done custom, not factory.”

Nate watched as Lucas closed the door again. “Why are they called suicide doors?”

Lucas leaned back against the body of the coupe and put one foot on the running board. “Because if the car gets up enough speed, they have a tendency to come open. The natural inclination when your car door comes open is to reach out and grab it to close it up again. In the case of suicide doors, that’s a big mistake.”

Nate had never heard any of this before, and he was absolutely enthralled. “Why would shutting the door be a mistake?”

“With a regular door, it wouldn’t, but suicide doors are different. See, with a regular door, the wind is pushing against the door and whoever’s holding it. With suicide doors, the air pressure is misdirected. The minute you grab a hold of the door, all that force is on you. If you don’t let go, it will drag you right out of the car. I’ve heard of folks being thrown out and crushed beneath the tires. That’s why they stopped making them.”

Brandon was nodding right along with Lucas, but Nate wasn’t satisfied. “There’s got to be some way to keep the doors from popping open.”

“There is. I put power locks on both doors. As long as the switch is flipped, the doors stay closed. But you have to remember to lock it each and every time or the danger’s still there.”

Nate turned to Brandon and said, “See there, Bran. Nothing to worry about.”

Brandon said, “Look, Nate, that car—” His pager went off right in the middle of what looked to be a long-winded lecture. He glanced down at the number. “It’s Sam. I left my cell in the car. Let me run out there and call in.”

Lucas pointed to a door at the other end of garage. “No need, Sheriff. I’ve got a phone in the office. Just use it.”