Page 6 of A Matter of Time

“Go to hell, Brian,” I snapped irritably.

“Jory!” he screamed at me before he was buried under five officers. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, you fuckin’ faggot! You hear me?! Jory! You goddamn cocksucker!”

“Really? That’s all you’ve got?” I groaned, turning to walk away from him. “And that whole faggot crap is so ninth grade. Who even uses that word anymore?”

“Jory!” he screamed after me.

“People with pickup trucks and gun racks, that’s who,” I answered my own question, my laughter sounding a little unhinged. I was ready to pass out.

“Jory!” His voice had lost some of its power, but he was still shrieking. I headed toward the stairs.

“Mr. Keyes!”

I pivoted, and Detective Kage was there with his nice captain, who I’d met earlier, and another of the square-cut-jaw, square-cut-hair guys who had been on the street with him. He did the two-fingered poke into my collarbone like he was trying to drill through my skin.

“Owww,” I whined, rubbing the spot.

“Where the hell do you think⁠—”

“Sam,” the captain cautioned him, putting up his hand. “Let’s not⁠—”

“He’s an idiot”—Detective Kage gestured at me—“and he’ll be dead by this time tomorrow.”

“And who’s going to kill me? Brian?” I asked snidely. “Gimme a break.”

He gestured at me again but said nothing.

“Mr. Keyes,” the other detective began, his voice gentle, soothing. “Even though you think of Mr. Minor as simply the abusive asshole husband of one of your girlfriends, you must believe us when we tell you the man is not benign. He’s a drug dealer, a murderer, and someone you should not ever cross. There are a lot of people who don’t want him in the position of choosing between jail time or talking about them. You alone have the power to put him behind bars. Without you, he walks. Do you understand that?”

“I get it,” I told him. “I do. I will testify. I will do whatever you need so he never sees Anna again as long as he lives. I promise, cross my heart, but seriously—I have a life. I mean, I get from being here for the last five hours that you guys don’t think being someone’s assistant is important, but I promise you that, to my boss, I actually matter. I’ve got so much shit to do, you have no idea.” I let out a quick breath, finally shaking my head.

“Mr. Keyes, you⁠—”

“Call me and tell me what day I need to appear in court,” I instructed him, heading down the stairs to the exit.

“Mr. Keyes.”

I sighed and turned around, looking up at the captain.

“They’ll come after people you love.”

I shrugged. “Good luck finding any,” I replied before I turned away from him again.

It was interesting that even after talking to me for hours, none of them understood anything about me.

Outside, the air was cold. I had forgotten I was still in my dancing clothes, which consisted that night of a black spandex T-shirt, tight, distressed, boot-cut brown jeans, and harness boots. So because it was fall, I was freezing. It smelled like it was going to rain, and the breeze was icy. My teeth started to chatter as I looked for a cab.

As I walked down the street, a minivan slowed beside me, and I heard the sound of the automatic window going down. When I turned, a guy was smiling at me from the driver’s side. I waited for the come-on line even as I kept walking.

“Hey, man, you need a lift?”

The whole ick factor of some middle-aged man in a van trying to pick me up in the same ride he probably took his kids to school in made my skin crawl.

“I’m talking to you, pretty boy.”

“No, thanks,” I said quickly, hoping he’d just drive away. “I don’t need a ride.”

“C’mon,” he persisted. “How much?”