If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be a Mystery, Would It?

Chapter 6

POV: JUSTIN

I glance at Brian from the kitchen as I prepare and pack sandwiches, pasta salad and Jalapeno chips for our picnic. He's bent over on the bedroom platform, toweling off his hair after our shower. We were both so sticky and smelled so much like sex that a good half hour shower was in order before we went out in public. And it was 'in order' for other reasons, too, I smile to myself, idly rubbing my ass. "Do you want beer or wine or mineral water?" I call to him.

He just grunts, throwing the towel on the floor and turning to his closet. "Fuck. I only have 'picnic wear' LEFT in this goddamned closet!" He exclaims. I watch him yank out a black wife-beater, a white sheer shirt and a pair of black jeans. As I finish packing everything, I glance up every so often to watch him dress. When he's finished, he steps out of the bedroom and walks towards the kitchen, barefoot. As I watch him, I think, hell, he'd probably get hired by any agency in the States wearing just what he has on.

"Fuck it, Brian. It's temporary. You'll find something." I finally say, deciding to pack a couple of bottles of wine and some mineral water. I toss a corkscrew into the box. He doesn't have anything remotely like a picnic basket-I even wonder if he's ever been on a picnic in his life. Too "romantic" for his taste, I suspect. These are probably the only circumstances in which I'd ever be able to get him to go on one- he's too destitute for a lunch at a Bistro, and he has no interest in subjecting himself to the hero worship he'll inevitably get at the diner- so, picnic it is.

He looks at me appreciatively, and walks around the counter behind me to peer over my shoulder into the box. "So, what has the widdle wife packed for our widdle picnic?" he mocks. I can hear from his voice that he's grinning.

I shoot him a look. "Fuck off, Brian. You want to have anything to eat when we get to the park, or should I just brown bag it for myself?"

He appraises the picnic 'basket'. "Ah, the versatile liquor box. Good for carrying vast amounts of liquor, for moving, and for going on 'ridiculously romantic' picnics," he pauses thoughtfully and adds, "Or, in this case, picnics borne out of adversity." Instead of replying, I just fire off another wilting look. "We're gonna freeze our fucking asses off, you know that?" He adds, absently.

"Okay, well, I'm done packing OUR lunch, smartass, so I'm going to go get dressed," I say, attempting to shrug off the arm he has draped over my shoulder from behind. But he restrains me from moving and puts his mouth to my ear, giving my earlobe a light kiss. "It looks delicious, Sunshine. Thanks for making it," he whispers. I get shivers, but pull away with a smile, "Thanks, Brian. But really, I have to get dressed so we can go-it's already 2…." I duck out from under his grasp and move around the counter.

I can feel his eyes on my back as I walk towards the bedroom, clothed only in my briefs. I hear him padding after me and I glance around as I feel him nearing.

"No, Brian! I really have to get dressed!" I exclaim, giving chase as he starts after me.

"There's nowhere to hide anymore, Sunshine," he leers, as we face off- instinctively, I had run over to where the sofa had been, to put something between us so he couldn't get me-but, he's right- nothing is left in the damned loft except the bed. I see his eyes sweep over me as he lunges. I dodge, laughing, and duck his attempted grab as I run behind the kitchen counter.

"Brian!!" I laugh, "Don't you want to go on this pi-?"

There's a sudden loud knock on the door. We freeze. "Shit." Brian says, "Why, why, WHY, whenever we want to fuck, are fucking, or have just fucked, does someone instantly show up at the goddamned DOOR?" I pass him on my way to the bedroom as he heads for the door. As I pass, I whisper, "Maybe because that's pretty much all the time?" He chuckles, stopping me mid-stride with his arm. He gives me a small kiss on the nose, and looks briefly into my eyes- it's that look that I know, that look that says more than he'll ever verbalize. I smile, give him a soft kiss on the lips, hoping I'm communicating the same to him, and I jog off into the bedroom. I quickly pick out a pair of jeans and a blue tee-shirt and go to the bathroom to change. I hear the loft door slide open as I close the bathroom door.

"Detective Horvath?" I hear Brian say, incredulously. He seems to stammer. "What… what can I do for you?"

"Carl. Just Carl, Kinney."

After that, all I hear are mumbles and a few clear words here and there. "come…" "thanks…." "what can I…" "the force…" "when…why…Deb…?" "suspicious…angle…" "no shit!…" that was Brian. Of course.

Once I've finished dressing, I come out into the living room to see the two of them facing each other on either side of the counter, Brian standing in the kitchen, forearms crossed on the counter, and Horvath seated opposite him on a stool. Brian looks a little strange somehow when I first notice him- like he's just heard some weird or disturbing news. Then he sees me and waves me over. Horvath looks around to see me.

"Hello, Detective Horvath," I say politely, extending my hand when I reach the counter area. Brian smirks. He seems to get a kick out of my polite manners, although he's as polite or moreso when with his clients- just for him, it was a matter of being self-taught to be polite. While his mother is publicly genteel, it's in an incredibly snobbish sort of way- I really wouldn't call her polite. And in private, most of Brian's modeling involved screaming, drunken rages, neglect, and beatings.

"Just Carl," he says, taking my hand. "Nice to see you again, Justin."

"What's going on?" I ask, glancing over at Brian.

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