The Incident Read online

  "Michael, come on. Calm down, man. Come on now." Angel was there and Michael's body was against him. He could smell him and, even through the red rage, he could still feel his lust for Angel.

  "Are you even supposed to be in here, kiddo?" Angel asked the kid. "You know this is a private club, right? Twenty-one and over in the bar."

  "Fuck off, pig," he snarled.

  "Hey! Isn't this little shit Dawn's brother?" Angel yelled, his voice booming over the music.

  "Yeah, kick his ass outta here," someone called back in a drunken slur.

  Angel laughed. "Hey, Reg, you better calm your ass down and get your lady's little bro outta here. He's about to get his ass beat. You can kick it after you kiss the bride." Angel pulled Michael tight to his side and led him away from the out-of-control party.

  Michael was familiar with Angel's tactic, bear hug to stop any further action. Once outside, Angel let him go.

  The two men didn't speak and it wasn't until they were halfway to Michael's house that he realized Angel was driving.

  "Hey, man, you're wasted. You need to pull over and let me drive."

  "Whatever buzz I had was killed. I don't quite remember ever feeling more sober," Angel said as he floored it down the road that led to Michael's house.

  "Shit! My mother! I totally forgot. What fucking time is it?"

  "Just after six… You really gonna go over there now?"

  "Yeah, and so are you, so pull the fuck over so I can drive. I ain't having you careening down Midfield like a lunatic." He was surprised when Angel slowed the car down. He had expected to be ignored.

  "What's she making?" Angel put the car in Park and left it idling. "I couldn't get a bite at Reg's party, fucking idiots. How about that kid Todd, huh?" Angel undid his seatbelt then opened the car door.

  "I don't know, but I'm sure you'll be able to choke it down. I ain't ever seen you not be able to swallow food before, so I doubt you'll start a new trend tonight." Michael slid the gearshift into Drive then maneuvered the car back onto the road. Angel stayed quiet until Michael said, "What'd you expect, Angel? That club is a dump. You know all the shit that goes down there. Fuck, if we could, we'd be busting shit up there every night." Michael took his eyes off the road long enough to look at Angel, who was staring out the window, his hand tapping his thigh.

  "Guess you're right, Mikey. Guess you know best. You hear that kid say something about cops breaking the law? What do you think he meant?"

  "Who the fuck knows? I don't give a shit anymore. This town… This damn town is like a trap sometimes," Michael said. "Every now and then, I feel it closing in on me, ya know? Like tonight, after one of these things where everyone knows everyone, it gets hard to breathe."

  Angel had leaned back as Michael spoke and let the window down all the way. Angel closed his eyes and Michael saw that his hand was still tapping his thigh.

  "Yeah, I know," Angel said, "It'd be nice to be somewhere else where no one knows about the past."

  Michael looked over at Angel, who looked tired. It was rare for him to be morose. "Hey, you gonna be okay?" Michael asked, slowing down to let another car cross on the ancient, single-lane bridge.

  Angel opened his eyes and smiled, his hand still. "Yeah, ain't I always? Guess I'm just hungry."

  When they got to Michael's mother's house, she was waiting on her front porch looking aggravated. Although she tried to hide it, Michael could feel the tension when she pulled him close to kiss him roughly on the cheek.

  "You two look a little worse for wear"—she studied them for a few minutes, held her arms up to Angel and pulled him in for a hug—"as usual." She released him, turned away and said, "Supper's been ready an hour. I'll have to heat it up. Bertram, you've been drinking, so you'll be having soda with dinner, I assume."

  Angel made a face at Michael, who held the door open as he bowed dramatically. "After you."

  Mrs Carmac warmed up once they were all seated and both men were eating heartily. The kitchen doubled as a dining room, a step down from the house he had grown up in and even though she never would admit it, Michael knew his mother was embarrassed by her smaller, less spacious living quarters.

  She had made a pot roast with all the trimmings, which was a favorite of Michael's, and as long as there was meat on the table, Angel was happy.

  "Everything good?" she asked.

  Michael nodded over a huge forkful of mashed potatoes. "Yeah, Ma, thanks."

  "Bertram?"

  "Real good, Mrs Carmac," he said, reaching for another helping of meat from the platter just in front of him, which Mrs Carmac immediately jumped to get for him.

  Michael knew his mother cooked for him because she wanted him around more, and even when he came to visit, he always left feeling as if she wanted him to stay longer. Her loneliness wore on him and what was worse was that there seemed to be no end to her emptiness.

  "Let me get you more butter, Bertram," she offered, even before Angel's knife hit the bottom of the butter dish. "I took another one out so it would be soft for you boys. Of course, I had no idea you would be so late. It's practically melted."

  "Ma, Reggie's stag was today, down at The Club."

  "The Club? That hellhole? I can't believe you two went to that place!"

  Michael caught Angel's eye, but Angel looked down at his plate and attacked his food as if he hadn't heard a thing.

  "Ma, come on, huh? We were there maybe a couple hours, eh, Angel?"

  Michael realized he was alone in his plight when he saw the look of disgust rising on his mother's face and Angel pretended not to hear Michael call him to his defense.

  "You're cops. I'm sure you both are aware of that fact, are you not?" She pushed away from the table then began piling whatever dishes and cookware she had used to make dinner into the sink.

  "Those badges you wear, the guns you carry… Michael, you remember those?" She turned the water on and shook her head, even before Michael could speak.

  "Ma, it wasn't a big deal. Nothing happened, nothing!" Michael found Angel's foot under the table and kicked it.

  "Michael's right, Mrs Carmac. Really, nothing happened." He glared at Michael then said, "He didn't even want to go. I forced him."

  "That doesn't make it right, Bertram," she said. "Your mother was a good friend of mine, and before she died, she made me swear I'd look after you. God knows you need it, and look at you two down there, acting like fools and making asses of yourselves. Sometimes, Michael"—she paused to pull a huge pan from the soapy water and practically slammed it down against the sink—"I wonder how much you've really changed since you shot that boy."

  A silence fell. Michael felt the red rage begin to creep up through the floor like some viral weed. "You don't know how much I've changed," he spat, his fork falling with what sounded like a loud clang against his plate. "You don't know shit!" He stood and pushed back from the table with such force that it knocked over the salt and pepper shakers and almost sent them rolling off the table.

  Michael stared hard at Angel, who met his eyes but seemed unsure of what to do. His mother didn't turn away from her dishes.

  "I'll be outside," he said.

  Michael had to shake his rage because the old man who lived next to his mother was passing by on his nightly stroll with his border collie, waving happily at Michael.

  "Hey there, Officer Carmac. What's the word on the beat?"

  The old man was a coot, but harmless, and Michael had to swallow hard and take a few short, quick breaths before calling back to him. "All good, Mr Tully. All good in this neck of the woods!"

  Tully waved again as he passed by, calling his dog, who had begun to sniff around the tulips that were coming up in front of his mother's house.

  Michael watched Mr Tully and tried focusing on his voice as he talked nonsense to the dog, but he kept hearing Angel and his mother instead. He knew Angel was trying to comfort her and he knew his mother was apologizing. He wanted Angel outside with him, near him, and to his embarrassm
ent, he wanted Angel to comfort him.

  "Hey, Mikey."

  Michael had been trying to get his head around the admission of wanting Angel's comfort and at first hadn't heard his name being called.

  "Mike, you there?"

  "Yeah," he called back, swallowing hard.

  "Your mom made a killer chocolate cream pie and wants to know if you want a piece."

  Michael smiled in spite of his embarrassment and anger. "Yeah, sure."

  "I'll bring it out," Angel said, the ease of his voice indicating things were okay inside. Angel had always had a way with his mother.

  "Michael, honey, do you want whipped cream on top?" his mother called out, her voice still strained.

  "Yeah, Ma, sure. Thanks." He said the last word low, then, realizing it, called it out again. He heard them moving about inside, Angel's deep laugh, the clinking of plates and silverware.

  "Grab the door."

  Michael looked up at Angel, who was balancing two plates of pie while trying to undo the screen door that led to the porch.

  Michael got up and helped him. "Thanks," he said, taking a plate.

  Angel nodded and sat on one of the wide porch steps. "Like a routine, ain't it, Mikey?"

  Michael watched as Angel took a big forkful of pie then swallowed it. Michael liked watching him eat. His lips were full and smeared with chocolate, his eyes shining with obvious kid-like pleasure. Even the way he licked a smear of cream off the back of his hand was mesmerizing to Michael, as if he were catching Angel at his most intimate of pleasures. He wondered if he would ever know more than these casual intimacies.

  "What do you mean?" Michael asked when he caught Angel staring at him expectantly.

  "Same argument, same resolution. You and Lynne, always the same damned thing."

  "Guess so," Michael said. He pushed a forkful of pie into his mouth, hoping its sweetness would mask the bitter taste rising in the back of his throat. Before either of them could say anything more, Michael's mother called out to them.

  "How's the pie?"

  "Great, Mrs Carmac!"

  "Thanks, Mom."

  "Good. Well, I'm beat. I'm going to lay down. If you need anything, you know where to get it."

  Both men nodded but didn't answer.

  "Well, well, two blues down here tonight!" Mr Tully called out as he passed by and waved again. His dog came up to Angel, who immediately began patting it with one hand while trying to keep the pie out of the dog's reach.

  "How goes it, Mr Tully?" Angel asked. The dog was practically climbing on top of him to get at the pie.

  "As ever, I guess," Tully said, then nodded to the house next door. "Damn college kids over there keep me up till all hours."

  "Should I book 'em?" Angel asked jokingly as he finally relented in giving the animal some of the whipped cream.

  "Naw, they're just kids and I'm getting old and cranky. You boys have a good night. Come on, Rud. Let's see what's on that TV set."

  "Is that Mr Tully?" Mrs Carmac called.

  "Yeah, Ma. I thought you were lying down?"

  "Does he want a piece of pie to take home?"

  Michael looked after Mr Tully, who had just made it past the porch, then called out after him, "Mr Tully, my mother wants to know if you want a piece of chocolate cream pie to take home? Let me get you a piece."

  "You sure you can spare it?" the old man said.

  "There's plenty. Believe me," Mrs Carmac called out from her bedroom window, which looked out on the street.

  They all looked over to where the voice was coming from. Michael caught Angel's amused look.

  "So, how about it, Mr Tully?"

  The old man scratched his chin as if the decision was crucial to his existence before nodding. "Sounds good. Thank you, Mrs Carmac."

  "I'll be right out," Michael said, getting up then heading inside to get the pie, but not before shooting an exasperated look at Angel.

  Michael had just cut into the pie when he heard his mother come into the kitchen.

  "You want me to do it?" she asked.

  "I got it."

  "Give it to him in one of those containers that I keep under the sink. I know I'll never see it again." Mrs Carmac rushed about trying to find a matching plastic lid to one of the many containers she was always buying. Once she found one, she handed it to Michael. He took it but not before she could reach out and touch his face.

  "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I truly am."

  "I know you are, Ma," Michael replied. "I know you are." He pulled away from her then caught the pained look on her face and pulled her close to him, feeling her begin to shake in his arms. He waited until she stopped before saying, "Tully's waiting. You go lie down now."

  Michael went outside and found Tully and Angel over by the edge of the property where the neighboring church had set up a six-foot fence.

  "Here's your pie, Mr Tully."

  "That's fine. Just showing Officer Angel this damn fence the church put up. They said it was because Rud here was chasing after anything that wasn't nailed to a cross." The old man took the pie. He had a gleam in his eye and licked his lips in anticipation. "You tell your mother I said thank you." He turned and walked away, holding onto the container as if it were filled with gold.

  Michael could tell that Angel was on the verge of a laughing jag.

  "Did he really just say that, about being nailed to a cross?"

  "I don't know, Angel. I've stopped listening."

  "You wanna take a walk?" Angel said, clearly still trying to pull himself together.

  Michael looked around. The night was closing in and it was still pleasant, and being outside and next to Angel felt right.

  "Yeah, why not."

  "You tired?" Angel asked as they started to walk down the dirt driveway in front of Michael's mother's house, which led to the main street. The landlord was always promising to pave the driveway but never did.

  "A little, I guess. Work tomorrow," Michael answered, grabbing at a bush of small yellow flowers they passed.

  "Yeah, there will always be a tomorrow filled with work." Michael saw Angel was staring off into the distance. When a car full of kids sped by, he could only smile. "But officer, we didn't know we were speeding!"

  "Kids," Michael said behind a chuckle. "Crazy in the summer. Got sex on their minds, I guess. You remember the raves?"

  "Hell yeah, I remember! That was crazy. Those people were on some serious shit," Angel said, laughing.

  "You weren't exactly sober all the time yourself."

  "Yeah, maybe," Angel replied as he bent down to pick up a rock then threw it. "Nice out tonight, though."

  "You ever think about that day, Angel?" Michael looked up at the stars, searching for the big dipper.

  "Only when I see you feeling down about it." Angel picked a bud off a bush, smelled it then threw it at Michael jokingly. "Which is all the fucking time."

  "Wonder if I'll ever not think about it," Michael said softly. "Feels like I got it on a loop in my head and it just runs over and over, like one of those old movies my mother watches. It would be nice to feel normal again."

  "Why'd you stop going to see the shrink at work?" Angel asked as he grabbed at some other greenery they passed.

  Michael looked ahead, hoping Angel wasn't looking at him. "It doesn't matter, Angel. Look. I don't want to talk about it."

  "Yeah, well you should have kept going, Mikey. You know that."

  Michael shrugged. He couldn't think what to say. They walked on in companionable silence until they came to the first major intersection half a mile from the house.

  "You wanna head back?" Michael asked. He felt their hands brush accidentally and his heart jumped at the spark.

  "Yeah, I could go for another piece of pie."

  *****

  The house was quiet. Mrs Carmac had finally retired and Michael could see she had left the pie out, knowing they would finish it off before heading out. The gesture made him smile but also irritated him for some re
ason. He quickly grabbed the pie and two forks then returned to find Angel not on the porch but leaning on the fence that looked over at the churchyard. He turned the porch light on before closing the door.

  "What are you looking at?" he asked, stepping off the porch and heading over to Angel.

  "Just looking. I was thinking about how pissed the priest must have been to put up this fence—Tully's dog always running over there when church was getting out, scaring the old ladies, shitting on the lawn." Angel turned, a big lopsided smile on his face. "Wish I could've seen them two throw down." He took a fork, pushed the plastic wrap off the top, then dug in.

  "Father Flatley running down those steps… I can just see him getting all red-faced," Michael said, a smile slowly spreading over his lips. "Tully chasing after the dog, Flatley after Tully."

  Angel's deep laugh made Michael smile, then laugh.

  "I like hearing you laugh, Mikey. You don't do it enough," Angel said, making Michael suddenly self-conscious.

  "Come closer. Don't make me reach for it," Angel said as he dug his fork in for a second bite.

  Michael did as he was told. He was close enough that he could smell Angel, and where there had been the smell of cologne there was now the smell of Angel's sweat and the sweet scent of chocolate. It was a heady mix that made his cock begin to swell.

  "Angel," he said hoarsely.

  "Yeah?" Angel said over a mouthful of pie.

  He swallowed and looked away to get a hold of himself. "We should get going," he said, handing the pie to Angel. "You take it home. You know she'd want you to have it."

  "You sure? I know how your mom is about her dishes and shit."

  "Unless you're planning on skipping town, I think she'll live. You wanna drive or should I?" Michael asked, trying not to look at Angel, but when they came closer to the porch and the light, he could see Angel had a smear of chocolate across his right cheek. He couldn't help but laugh again.

  "What's funny?" Angel asked.

  "Sorry. You've got chocolate all over your face," Michael said with a smile.

  "Where?" Angel asked as he wiped the back of his hand across his face. "Did I get it?"

  Michael leaned toward Angel, the cold pie plate the only thing between them. Michael's heart was pounding and he could feel Angel's breath soft on his face.