Free L. A. Mischief by P. A. Brown Page A

bones, but that would have to wait.
    Instead he leaned toward David and kissed him on the mouth. “I’m sure I will.” And hurried out the door, leaving David standing in the foyer, watching him.
    He flipped his hand and smiled when David waved back. He could tell by David’s tension that he wanted Chris to stay almost as much as Chris wanted to.
    Maybe this would work out after all.

Chapter 9
Saturday, 2:30 pm, All Star Lanes, Eagle Rock Boulevard, Los Angeles
    THE CACOPHONOUS ECHO of sounds assaulted Chris as soon as he followed David into the bowling alley. The alley was high ceiling and cavernous, with long rows of lanes, most of them occupied. The nearly continual sound of brightly colored balls rolling on the wooden floor and the clack of the red and white pins crashing under the rolling balls never let up. The backdrop of Stars and Stripes on the backboard was garish but somehow fitting.
    None of it was what he had expected. The first surprise was when David showed up at his place with a large bag that held his own bowling ball and shoes.
    “So not fair,” Chris muttered. “I want my own shoes.”
    “Then go buy some. I’ll make sure you get to wear them often enough.”
    “Right.”
    David touched his elbow and pointed toward a long desk. Chris eyed the rows of shoes stacked along the opposite wall. God, they were ugly. When David asked his size he told him and gingerly took the blue and brown things he was handed by the attendant. He met David’s amused stare and smiled ruefully.
    “I know. Trust you. It’ll be fun.”
    “Honest.”
    The funny thing was he did trust David. He took the shoes and followed David to a seat at an empty lane. They both shed their street shoes and put on the bowling shoes. Chris tried not to think of all the other feet that had already been in them.
    David had his shoes on first and he went up to select a ball for Chris.
    “This the place you come to all the time?”
    “We have a league here and play once a week.”
    “Who’s we?” Although Chris already knew.
    “Martinez. A few of the other detectives. Bryan comes, too.”
    Bryan Williams was another out gay detective who had helped David with his problem when he’d been precipitously outed. Chris hadn’t known the two saw each other outside of work. A niggling worm of something unpleasant worked through him. My God, was he jealous of Bryan? Did he think David and this guy were lovers too?
    David came over with a chartreuse ball in one hand and his own ball, which was a sedate dark blue. So David.
    He showed Chris how to hold the ball and demonstrated how to line it up and guide his throw down the lane. David’s ball arrowed straight through the array of pins, knocking them all over. Chris looked from the downed pins to David.
    “That’s good, right?”
    “That’s very good,” David said smugly. “A strike. Ten points.” In his next turn his ball knocked down seven of the ten pins in his two tries. “Seventeen,” David said.
    “What’s your highest score?”
    “I did two-fifty once. Three hundred is a perfect game.”
    It didn’t look hard. Chris inserted his fingers in the holes like David showed him, refusing to think about how many other fingers had done the same and stepped up to the throw line.
    “Not too close, or you’ll be stepping over. That’s a foul. You lose the pins for that ball.”
    Chris took a step back. Wound up again. He let the ball go, aimed right into the center of the distant pins. It bounced then started rolling toward the distant pins.
    The ball made it half way down the lane before sliding off into the gutter, gliding past the untouched pins. “Not good.”
    “No, it’s not very good. But look at it this way, you can only get better.” He gestured toward the ball return. “You get another shot.”
    Chris squared his shoulders and took another ball. This one did no better, going into the gutter again.
    He grabbed another ball. David stopped him with a hand on his