Free Geography of Murder by P. A. Brown Page B

could have stayed and been there for him."
    "You don't know that."
    "No, I don't." Abruptly he jumped to his feet, brushing crumbs off his pant legs. "I gotta get back to work. I'll, uh, see you later."
    "I'll be here at six. You got things ready for the weekend?"
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    Geography of Murder
    by P. A. Brown

Jason
    "Sure," I said, not telling him I wouldn't miss this weekend for the world.
    A sunburst smile broke over his face. His beauty almost took my breath away. Funny, I never thought of men being beautiful. Sexy yes, Hollywood handsome sure, but beautiful?
    "What, did you think I was going to let you get out of this weekend?" Spider spoke softly.
    I forced myself to smile back. "Of course not."
    I had said way too much about Brad and told too many lies about my family. Did I really want him to know that my family was alive and well and living in Santa Barbara and Oxnard and none of them had given me the time of day in years? That we had moved to Santa Barbara when I was a teenager to escape the sordid rumors that destroyed what was left of my family. How I had fled to San Francisco and avoided the pit of turning into a street hustler by the skin of my teeth. Maybe it was wishful thinking that my father had died. Sometimes I wish he had. I'm sure they wished I would die and stop embarrassing them.
    I wasn't going to tell him any of that. Guys like Alex were chicken hawks, with a yen for younger meat. He didn't want to hear my sob story. To him, I was just a biddable twink who would let him play his control games until he moved on to younger and greener pastures. I didn't kid myself that it meant anything. I stared down at the ship-to-shore radio I was working on and felt despair grip me. I hated thinking 87

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    about my family. It was so lame. It gave me a burning need for some joy juice. Fortunately, I knew just where to get it.
    I scrambled back on board and got my cell out of my backpack. It only took two calls to locate Trip. He agreed to meet up on Leadbetter beach. This time of year the beach was empty, the waves that attracted surfers and families alike a sullen gray, the picnic tables and volleyball nets abandoned to the gulls and the wind. I snorted the first of the two Oxys I bought and headed back to finish the day's work, flying high.
    Family forgotten. Spider lurked in the forefront of my mind, like his namesake, entangling me in his web of desire. God, I wished it was six o'clock.
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    88

    Geography of Murder
    by P. A. Brown

Spider
    Phil was back from lunch. I stepped into the office building and showed my badge to the older man. He was stooped over a computer that looked like it was open to Mapquest. "Mr. Collins? I'd like to ask you some questions if I can."
    He looked up in surprise, flicking off the screen as he did. I could see his wheels spinning. Everyone did a quick mental check of recent activity when a cop showed up on their doorstep. I watched his face closely to see what he might give away.
    "Questions about what?" he finally managed after he'd studied my badge with interest.
    I'm the permanently suspicious type. I always want to know why people react the way they do. Usually it's nothing, just a lingering paranoia about youthful indiscretions. But sometimes there was fire with all that smoke.
    First I had to ask him something. "That your legal name?"
    "Yeah," he said, boredom kicking in. He got asked that question all the time. It set him at ease. "Just like the singer.
    You're not here to ask me about my name. What are you here for?"
    "To talk about your boats," I said. "And about who might have access to them."
    "S-sure. Right now?"
    "Unless you have something better to do."
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    He indicated an open door behind him. "We can talk in my private office."
    I followed him.
    He sat behind his desk, in a high-backed leather swivel chair that probably cost more than my last