With daylight and determination to ignore Scott, Justin sat at his easel, added the finishing touches to his work.  The opening bedroom door panel drew his reflex look.  Except for his wrapped bicep, Scott stood naked in a Michelangelo stance that made Justin’s eyes widen, mouth drop before he could jolt back to his canvas.  A jezebel cock response made him shift on his stool.  No doubt Scott had a lot to offer.

“A painter,” Scott smiled wide, noted the interest.  “You could do ME…if you think you’re that good.”

“I only do Brian,” Justin said to the canvas.  Maybe a guy or so in the back room, but I’m not encouraging this wiseguy.  “You can ask HIM if I’m that good.”

Egged by the quick read on subtext, Scott stepped down to close in but was foiled by the opening Loft door and Justin’s scamper to answer.

Justin flung his arms around Brian’s neck and placed a big, demonstrative kiss that Brian returned with a one-armed hug.

“I was only gone a couple hours,” Brian kissed Justin’s cheek then saw Scott approaching with his sultry come-on pace and a semi. “Good to see you’re feeling up to par.”

“That’s not all he’s feeling up,” Justin whispered, eyes narrowed.

Amused Brian discreetly nuzzled his ear.  “Oh?  He’s usually not that subtle.  He must…” his darkening eyes looked up – really like you.  Then louder, eyes perusing Scott’s show, “I see you’re making yourself comfortable.”  He handed Justin one of two bags.  “Go set this up.  Just two.  I’m not that hungry.”

Scott met Brian as Justin took off for the kitchen.  “Had to soak some blood spots out of my clothes and I didn’t want to assume you’d loan me any of yours.”

“How considerate,” Brian grinned with a sarcastic eye-blink.  “Come on.  I have some sweats that’ll do.”  He led Scott to the bedroom and up the steps, glanced back to see Scott glancing at Justin who was leaning on the counter, eating and reading the paper.

Brian regained attention by rattling the bag.  “Gauze and tape for later.”

“He’s got good hands,” Scott resumed follow.  “I could use an extra arm for the lighting job…show him a few wiring tricks.”

I’ll bet you could.  Brian set the bag on the bed, headed for his closet.  “We’ll wait until you’re back to two arms.”

Scott watched Brian pick through hangered items. “Sweet ass, too.  He know how to use it?”

Casual face and tone, Brian abruptly turned and almost gut-punched Scott with a roll of sweats.  “Do you need help with these?”

Scott took the clothing, grinned, “Oh.  Not talking.  Thought you had an unconventional setup.”  Brian’s opaque calm and counter actions intrigued him.

Brian yanked open a sock drawer, “We don’t censor each other’s programs,” snatched a pair and held them out.

Scott stared straight into Brian’s eyes.  “You know I can sense interest as well as YOU can, and I caught a good whiff earlier.  Mind if I check it out?”

Troubling revelation.  Brian disguised with a smile, “It’s Justin’s call.” He looked at Justin through the doorway, challenged Scott’s motive, “He looks a lot like Chris, doesn’t he?”

Scott’s smile flattened.  “A little.”  He grabbed the socks.

Justin rinsed his plate and set it in the drain basket, turned when he heard Scott and Brian sit at the counter.  “You might want to nuke that,” Justin eyed Scott then the filled plate.

Scott focused on grabbing the paper and poring over the Adonis article.

“Don’t worry,” Justin dried his hands, “Your names aren’t in it.”

Scott shot a look at Justin, side-eyed Brian who gave Justin a was-that-necessary brow rise. 

“You boys share everything?” Scott pegged Brian.

“If it doesn’t involve lying or non-consensus,” Brian flipped, sneaked another evil eye at Justin, who mouthed a tiny sorry.

Justin tried redemption.  “I won’t say anything,” then, “At least a lot more people weren’t hurt.”

“A twenty-two magnum D only holds two shots,” Scott shoved the paper aside, picked up his plate and walked it around the counter.  He didn’t see Justin’s eyes dart to Brian’s or Brian’s repeat evil eye return.  “A standard round is decent at close range, but a magnum load…” Scott stalled in a deja-vu moment.

Justin thought his one-handed nuke prep was the problem.  “Let me help,” he took the plate from Scott’s hand.  That snapped Scott back.

“Yeah…it’s the extra gunpowder that drives the shot harder.”

“Scott knows a little about guns,” Brian casually added.

Justin cued the microwave, crabbed past Scott.  “Brian?  Can I borrow the car?  I have to deliver that painting, and I have a few things to pick up at the Mall.”

“The keys are on the desk.  Take your time.  If we need it, Scott’s truck is parked down the block.”

“Could you give me a hand?”

Unusual request.  “Sure,” Brian nodded, stood up and followed Justin to his painting.

Outside as they maneuvered the painting into the cramped back seat, Justin leaned close.

“Brian.  There’s nothing about the gun in the paper.”

“What happened to ‘I won’t say anything’.”

“But unless the shooter had his hand behind his back, Scott had to have seen -”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Brian said low, eyes checking for passing bodies, “He pushed me before I heard the shots.”

“There’s a man in a coma, and a criminal loose because -”

“Justin,” Brian pinched the bridge of his nose.  Taylor-on-a-soapbox is all I need.  “It’s up to Scott, and I don’t want to hear anymore.”

“Brian, that makes us accessories.”

“It makes us two men who are GUESSING what somebody else MIGHT have seen.  If we come forward and Scott refuses - ”

“He has a bullet wound.”

“Because…of me,” Brian leaned heavily on an arm on the front seat.  “Now are there any last words you want to add?”

Justin looked at Brian’s downcast face, “You might want to soak the bandages with some watered-down peroxide.  And use lube to get them off.  He should have a new dressing put on.”

Brian looked over his shoulder with a faint smile that turned serious.  “I’ve known Scott for awhile, now.  One percent of the time, he slips up and does a good deed.  But the other ninety-nine, Scott is for Scott.  Remember that.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Brian exhaled, swiveled and sat on the passenger seat, arms crossed and legs stretched. “He’s seriously cruising you,” he watched Justin’s wide eyes blink like ticking seconds.  “Don’t play any games with him.”

“I’m NOT,” Justin flared, “What?  Do you want me to go back to Daphne’s till he leaves?”

“That’s up to YOU.”

“Everything’s always fucking up to me,” Justin shook his head.

“When it involves you, yes.” Brian tensed his lips, stood up and grabbed Justin’s shoulders, “I’m not accusing you of anything.  I just thought you should know that there’s a difference between a little backroom fun and what Scott wants, so if you plan on persuading him to come forward…keep in mind how it looks to HIM…” Brian’s jaw flinched, “…unless that’s what YOU want, too.”

Justin watched Brian’s eyes scan his own with rapid moves.  “I understand,” he braced his hands on Brian’s waist and stood on his toes to plant a soft kiss.  “Do YOU?”

Daphne cracked her door open, saw Justin balancing a wrapped painting on the tops of his shoes.  Hand on a hip, brows up and eyes stabbing a Well?  Remember me? she stayed silent.

“I know,” Justin dropped his chin, eyes up, “I’m a lousy friend.”

“I won’t argue that.”

“Can I come in anyway?”

She softened and opened the door.  “You still have a key, you know.”

“I didn’t want to just walk in on you in case…”

“I’d be in my room. That’s no excuse,” she turned back inside, flopped into a chair, leg crossed and bunny slipper swishing air as she watched him lean his work against the wall.  “You could’ve called, you know.  The last thing I heard was this frantic ‘Brian’s home. Bye’ and the click about broke my eardrum.”

Justin sat on the futon, fidgeted, “Sorry.  There was a good reason…” he thought a moment, decided to leave the toilet part out.  “A rat got into the Loft -”

“No SHIT!” she leaned forward wide-eyed, cringed, “Eewww.  Did you get it?”

“We think it got out when Brian and…Brian came in,” his eyes did a nervous flick.  “I just wanted to leave this painting.  Liz’s boyfriend…you know Hick?…he’s coming to pick it up about seven tonight.”

Daphne leaned forward, eyes briefly on his clenching hands.  “Brian hasn’t…like…found a job yet, hunh?”

Trading one stress for the lesser, Justin cleared his throat, shook his head.  “It’s not that he’s not trying.  It’s just…Ryder doesn’t exist anymore, and Vangard isn’t helping him.”

Daphne shook her head.  “He’s too good.  Someone will get lucky and hire him,” she nodded, sure of it.  “So when are you going back to school?”

Justin’s smile faded.  “PIFA kicked me out.”

“Fuck!” Daphne’s mouth dropped open.  “Why?”

“Fucking up at Vangard,” he quick-glanced.  “But they refunded a year’s tuition.  Brian won’t take it back.”  He watched Daphne’s smile rise, ever Brian’s fan.  “We talked about it…and…he was right.  Doing all this freelance work isn’t furthering my career.  Being creative is okay…but now I have a real purpose for it.  Brian’s got his eye on this small agency,” Justin’s voice strengthened, “And I have an idea for a presentation to give him an edge, so he won’t need fucking Vangard.”

“That is so COOL!” Daphne lit.

Justin checked his watch.  “I have to get over to the Mall to pick up some equipment.  Wanna come?  I’ve got the Vette.”

Daphne wrinkled her nose, shook a no.  “I got my PHONE bill yesterday,” then a questioning gaze, “Are you gonna be a jerk and tell me you don’t know if you’re coming back tonight?”

Justin’s smile drooped.  “I’ve got a lot of work lined up.  Maybe you should just plan on me NOT being here for a while.  Okay with you?”

Daphne stood up and accepted his dark change with “Okay.  But I’m not taking any more of your money for rent.  And CALL, you freak,” she lightly slapped his arm.  “That’s what best friends are for.  Being there even when you’re a jerk.  Okay?”

Justin nodded, moved close and hugged her a little too long. 

She held her head against his, sensing something else wrong.  “You know…if you want to hang around for awhile…”

Justin backed away with a timid smile.  “I’m okay.  Really.”

Daphne nodded and saw him to the door.  He’d just told her that he didn’t want to talk about it.

Brian and Scott stood on the sunny roof of the Loft building and gazed down at a back street lined with smaller complexes.

“The ever-discreet Valley Pest Control,” Scott pointed at a white van with a small red stamp-out insignia, parked across the street.  “There’s your problem.”

“Yeah.  He’s over THERE, not here.”

“But he’s herding varmints your way,” Scott walked to a curved white plastic pipe growing from the roof, “Septic vent,” he clarified, bent down and reached up into the opening.  “Probably got in through here.  Piece of quarter inch mesh’d solve that,” Scott straightened.

“I’ll share your insight with maintenance,” Brian turned and headed back to the door.  “With the fees they charge, let THEM buy...whatever.”

“So did you find a job yet?”

Brian froze mid-reach for the doorknob, faced Scott, “Slow news day in the suburbs?”

“While you were gone, I had to entertain myself -”

“You’ve still got one good hand.”

“Can it, Kinney.  I saw a stack of bills and applications on your desk.  What gives?”

Okay.  Seriously.  “Political differences, lousy economy and the word satisfactory,” Brian yanked the door open. “If nothing else, there’s always my stock portfolio.”

“It’s a bear market,” Scott followed Brian inside, down the stairs.

“Your deathbed manner is for shit, Scott.  Either stab me again or hire me.”

Waiting for Brian to unlock his door, Scott gripped his aching arm, looked at it and thought a moment.  “I might be able to help you out.”

Brian paused in thought, shook a no.  “I’ve got something in the works.  The timing isn’t right yet, but I should know in a couple of months.”  He stopped at his desk, lifted the day’s mail.  His brows knit over a letter he quickly opened and read.

“You got any aspirin?” Scott rubbed his arm.

“Bathroom drawer.  And bring me the bottle,” Brian tossed the letter on the desk, faced Scott’s questioning look.  “It’s a hearing notice.  Fucking Vangard is contesting my unemployment.” Brian ran his hands over his face in disbelief.

Scott moved to the computer and one-hand-pecked a few keys.  “Read this over and if you’re interested, we’ll talk,” he pointed and left for the bathroom.

Brian rounded the desk, sat down, scrolled through pages of print.  His eyes widened over one page.  He scrolled back and read it again just to be sure. 

Justin drove along Liberty as if on autopilot, mind busy.  The brief blast of a siren made him glance at his rear view mirror.  Ambulance?  Shit.  Patrol car.  Probably signaling to pass. 

Justin swung the Vette to the curb, checked his mirror and slapped the steering wheel.  Goddamn cops pulled up behind him.  He saw one approaching uniformed officer in his side view mirror, rolled down his window and gazed up with a hard, “What?” – and a sizzle charge when he recognized the Officer who had flung his license on the ground not long ago.

“See your license,” Officer was cold business, eyes noting the computer equipment in the back seat.

Justin narrow-eyed him, cleared his throat and dug for his wallet, pulled his license and held it out.  “You’ve seen it before,” he griped, had the license pulled from his hand.

“Routine check.”

“Based on Stockwell’s hit-list?”

The Officer glared, “Owner’s registration.”

Justin speared a look, leaned over.

The cop’s stern, “Hold it there,” froze him.

“I’m just checking the glove compartment.”

“Take it slow.”

Justin rummaged through condoms, tissue – nothing even close to a piece of paper.  Anxious, he tried the visors.  Slowly.  Only a pen and blank paper.  “I don’t have it,” he shook his head.  “It’s my partner’s car, and if you’ll let me call him, he can clear this all up,” he reached for his pocket.

“Keep your hands in sight and step out of the car,” the Officer backed off.

“For WHAT?  I didn’t do anything,” Justin threw the door open, slid out.  Miffed by gawkers dawdling past, he side-mouthed “Asshole,” louder than planned.

The Officer smiles at Justin; Brian rereads the hearing notice.

Song: “Mediocre Bad Guys” by Jack Johnson

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