“Someone had to help him plant the bomb, and there is no clear motive for why he would want to harm you.”
“You think he did the booze too? Poisoned it with that stuff?”
“Possible, but again… I cannot fathom any conceivable reason why.”
Noah closed his eyes. He didn’t have any ideas either, and this wasn’t like the black and white mystery movie he and Alistair had watched. He couldn’t rewind and look for more clues, and was left grasping at straws and drowning in questions that had no clear answer.
If Medina wanted to kill him, he could have easily done it when they were hooking up. There would have been ample opportunity while Noah was sleeping. The thought made him queasy, but he tried to stay focused and keep thinking it through.
What had changed? Why try to kill him now and not before?
Well, the poison hadn’t worked thanks to Junior’s asthma, so maybe that was why. But again, Medina could have killed him when they were alone together that first time after the club.
Why even bother spiking the rum anyway?
Why…him?
Noah lifted his head when Erasmus parked the car, finding they were in a quiet, older section of Moultrie. He hadn’t been paying attention to where they were driving, but he guessed they were probably near the club, judging by how far away the skyscrapers of downtown were.
The whole block was crammed with old brownstone homes, and Crybaby hobbled up on the sidewalk to the one on the far end to let herself in. Elaborate cast-iron grating encased all the windows on the first floor, with tiny windows above each one filled with decorative stained glass, lighting up like kaleidoscopes as Crybaby turned on the lights inside.
Erasmus opened the car door to let Alistair out, and he in turn gave his hand to Noah to assist him. Leaning heavily into Alistair’s side, Noah remained glued to him as they walked into the brownstone.
Cool cement beneath his bare feet was replaced by lush rugs, and Noah breathed in the warm scent. It was aged wood and musty fabric with an undercurrent of spice like an antique store with fancy potpourri. The furniture was definitely old, overstuffed velvet pieces that reminded Noah of his uncle’s tacky stuff, except these were all in festive shades of purple and green. Everything was colorful, a strong contrast to the dark wood floors and mantel. The walls were covered in fine paintings, framed photographs, and assorted souvenirs from a long and very full life.
Crybaby was moving around as best as she could with her limp, turning on lights and setting up some medical supplies on a purple sofa near the fireplace. She laid down towels and waved Alistair over.
Alistair dropped Noah off on a nearby lush chaise with fringed pillows and one shaped like a big pair of juicy lips. He headed to the sofa where Crybaby was waiting, wincing briefly as he unbuttoned his pajama top.
Erasmus took the soiled shirt away as Crybaby got settled next to Alistair. She cleaned the blood away with a practiced hand, applying gauze to the wound and instructing him, “Hold it there.” She turned to grab some sort of suture and a needle.
Noah looked away after that. He’d seen enough for one night.
Erasmus went somewhere and returned sans shirt, bringing Alistair a glass of something, maybe scotch or whiskey.
“Please get one for Noah as well,” Alistair said.
Erasmus wordlessly nodded and stepped away again.
“Just like old times, hmm?” Alistair mused to Crybaby.
“Yes, sir.” Crybaby seemed to be smiling. “Me, you, a dead body, and somebody gettin’ stitches.”
“I can’t say that I’m a fan of being on this end of things.”
“Try gettin’ shot.”
“I’ll politely decline, thank you.”
Erasmus returned with a glass for Noah, pressing it into his hand before checking the locks on the front door.
Noah drank the booze, but he didn’t really taste much except the burn. He kept drinking until the glass was empty, and Erasmus whisked it away for what was hopefully a refill. Noah looked back at Alistair when Crybaby was finishing the last stitch, asking quietly, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Alistair promised. “It’s not a deep wound, and I’m in very good hands.”
“I’ve got him,” Crybaby assured Noah. “Don’t worry.”
Erasmus returned with a full glass for Noah.
