Page 88 of By Any Means

They both stood in silence a moment. A different motive. It was sobering, put like that: that four men might have died for trying to make a change against something unjust. Against a different kind of monopoly—that of race.

Laurie reached out. “Hand me that draft. It’s completely off-base if that madman isn’t behind all of it. God, or maybe any of it.”

“No.” Chary clutched the papers protectively. “I still wish to read this one. Off-base though it may be.”

Ankle or no ankle, Laurie lunged. Chary put the draft behind him and stepped back.

“C’mon,” Laurie said, laughing. “Mine ego is in shreds and scrambles, Chary, I beg of you. Hand it back.”

They scuffled for a minute, giggling, until Chary was merciful—more to the point, his robe was coming undone—and gave the papers back. They were both out of breath.

Laurie tore the papers with one dramatic rip. “Too many bloomin’ villains. Who next? Usually, it’s just capitalistic greed.”

“Oh, indeed. You return quickly to form. Greed in every body.”

“Not in every body,” Laurie said, waving. “It’s just that scum rises.”

Chary had no idea what to say to this. Was he scum, third-generation, forever slimed? Would he always be so to Laurie?

Laurie was too deep in his own threads to notice Chary’s missing ones. He sighed. “This story will take months. It’ll need a finer hand than this sensationalist junk.” He tossed down the papers. “If there turns out to be any union involvement at all…” He grimaced. “Criminy.”

“Still, do come and shadow me tonight,” Chary beseeched. He put his hand in Laurie’s. “For the sake of the boys. Or the sake of your editor. Lord knows, I may end up owing him myself. Can you not do two things at once? Do both?”

Laurie laughed. He tugged him closer. “Can’t I? God, this whole thing would’ve been so straightforward if you’d just been the man I expected you to be.”

“A villain who’d murdered his brother?”

Laurie shrugged.

“An inheriting rich man? Greedy scum?” The wealthy man that he truly was and always had been? In his absence, August was haunting him again. A hell of a deception, Chary. Would Laurie have given him the time of day if he hadn’t thought Chary disinherited, sympathetic and queer and wronged?

“A Tjofabier Raberding.”

Chary nodded. “S-sorry to disappoint.”

“Mm-hmm.” Laurie leaned in. “C’m’ere, Chary Wright, and disappoint me some more.”

“But how could I ever live up to such sterling expectation?” Chary teased; and oh, if only he weren’t half-serious.

“I know you can.”

Oh, Lord. He couldn’t, but he also couldn’t help it. Chary kissed him.

Laurie Tulley wouldn’t be the man he was if he couldn’t see nuance. Circumstance and cause and context. He had to hope it would be enough.

25

LAURIE

Laurie’s ego was doing just fine. Nobody was in danger, nobody was watching—no brothers to rescue or Hirams to interrupt!—and Chary Wright was kissing him in nothing but a hotel robe. Even better, he seemed frantically invested in uncovering Laurie—already down to shirtsleeves and trousers—to a similar state.

Laurie was fully on board. He had never gone into a fuck with so much forethought. Anticipation. With as much experience of the other. It was a thrill.

There was just one potential problem.

Trade sometimes did what he asked, like Irving had; sometimes not. He paid anyway. Men picked up off the street plain didn’t understand. He looked normal, but wanted to be held down and spread? They laughed and went off to find a slighter, more fairy prey, to bolster their normalcy. Queer who?

Laurie didn’t know what Chary saw in him or where his expectations lay. He knew only what he looked like and that Chary wanted him for it. He was pretty sure Chary’s expectations matched Laurie’s wants as well as any others’: that they probably didn’t. He was also pretty sure it wouldn’t matter so much as long as Laurie was honest with him. Chary Wright, as usual, would surprise him.