L B Gregg Gobsmacked (Men of Smithsfield 01)

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Aspen Mountain Press

www.aspenmountainpress.com

First published in 2009, 2009

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Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

CONTENTS

Gobsmacked
Wednesday, February 11th
Wednesday, Feb 11: 12:30 PM
Wednesday, February 11: 1 PM
Wednesday, February 11: 4:45pm
Wednesday, February 11: 10-ish
Thursday, February 12: 9:30 am
Thursday, February 12
Thursday, February 12
Friday, February 13: 8 am
Friday, February 13: 2pm
Friday, February 13
Saturday February 14: 12:15AM

* * * *

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Warning

This e-book contains erotic scenes that some may find

objectionable. Store your e-books carefully where they cannot
be accessed by younger readers.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Gobsmacked

L.B. Gregg

Aspen Mountain Press

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Gobsmacked

This e-book is a work of fiction. While references may be

made to actual places or events, the Names, characters,
incidents, and locations within are from the author's
imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or
dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is
coincidental.

Aspen Mountain Press
PO Box 473543Aurora CO 80047-3543
www.AspenMountainPress.com
First published by Aspen Mountain Press, February,2009
www. AspenMountainPress.com
This book is licensed to the original purchase only.

Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a
violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal
prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment.
The e-book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this e-book can be shared or reproduced without the
express permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-60168-184-3
Released in the United States of America
Editor: Celina Summers
Cover artist: Celia Kyle

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Wednesday, February 11th

I stormed into St. Joe's at the height of the Noon Ash

Wednesday Mass. Still dressed in my scrubs, I pushed
through the massive arched chapel doors, bringing with me a
gust of cold February wind. Seeing Jamie's pretentious car
parked in front of the church, I lost my shit. I figured Jamie
was expecting some kind of absolution by appearing at this
penitential mass. He was seated in the third row, his head
bowed, that gloriously tousled mass of golden hair gleamed
like a beacon of innocence next to the shining helmeted up-do
of his repressed, miraculously blond mother.

I bypassed the ushers, ignoring the hello of welcome from

Mrs. Banks, my seventh grade math teacher and the folded
program she tried to place in my hand. Failing to genuflect or
splash myself with holy water, which would have sizzled on
contact, I marched straight down the center aisle. My red
rubber crocs squeaked my progress through the hushed,
echoing chamber of the sanctuary. Heads turned as I passed,
no doubt wondering why I was storming the tasteful Moravian
tile in the midst of this somber service. This was the kick off
to Lent and the house was packed with the well dressed, good
citizens of Smithfield.

Around me was a crowd of faces I'd known my entire life,

but I blocked them out. I'm sure that even Christ's eye was
on me. Our priest, Father David, droned out the glum litany
and looked up for half a second, before dismissing me, as if

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

he was the voice of reason and I, little Markie Meehan,
needed to sit down and get with the program.

I couldn't see that happening.
I slid into the pew behind Jamie, glaring at the back of his

head and struggled with an overwhelming violence. Never in
my life had I felt this kind of rage. I wanted to hurt him, not
engage in some hissed conversation or exchange of keys.
Fuck that. I was beyond civility. He wasn't stepping one toe in
to my apartment. Ever again.

The prick.
My hands clenched the book rack, and my fingers brushed

against the Bible proudly displayed there. Staring at Jamie's
once sweet curls hugging his rough jaw, I slid the good book
out of its safe haven. The cracked leather was worn, but its
bulk reassuring. Encouraging, even. So I hauled back, fueled
by boiling rage, and gobsmacked that bastard as hard as I
could in front of God and everyone. The Bible hit the back of
Jamie's head with a resounding Thwack!

Jamie pitched forward, his beautiful face colliding with the

pew in front of us with a sick smack. He hit it hard, the sound
like a puck being wailed on by that high priced stick he valued
far too much. Jamie's forehead hit the wooden rim of the pew
and he dissolved onto the tile floor.

My follow through pulled me over the back of the pew in

an awkward nose dive onto the maroon cushions. My head
flopped perilously close to Mrs. Dupree's lap. I pushed away
and clambered up spewing my outrage and fury and maybe a
little filth.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"In our bed, you bastard!" rang through the church. "You

dickhead!"

It grew quiet in the congregation as an entire community

sat frozen.

I think.
I wasn't really paying attention to anyone but Jamie and

his mother. I had nearly landed on top of her when that thick
cushion shifted under her skinny ass. She stood up clutching
her pearls. Her sour lemon lips pursed, staring me down
with—and perhaps I imagined this—the glowing eyes of
demonic satisfaction. Scrambling to pull myself back onto my
feet, I ignored her.

Any conversation with Jamie was not going to happen

here. Filled with uncontrolled fury and liberated of my usual
calm, I felt oddly free.

Or just out of my fucking mind, so I cuffed him again with

the Bible.

Then the folks around me came to their senses and latched

their rough hands onto my arms in some mockery of Christian
brotherhood. "Mark. Calm down."

"You need to leave."
"That's enough."
No it wasn't, but they dragged me from the pew, ripped

the Bible from my grip, and drove me back up the center aisle
like a heretic. I looked into all those faces I knew and I should
have been shamed. But I had nothing to be ashamed of.

Not yet, anyway.
Panting and blowing and disheveled, I glanced back over

my shoulder as Jamie, limp in his rumpled suit and tie, was

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

assisted back into his seat with caring hands. He looked
stunned, confused and gray.

Well, except for the blood, of course, which by this point

was streaming down that proud nose.

And then I found myself ostracized. They tossed me out

those carved arched doors right into the gasping chill of the
February midday. My sweat froze to my skin. Alone, exposed,
shunned on the front lawn, I was still pissed off. I clenched
my fists and walked back to the car, the bitter cold and wind
whipping my field coat open as grit from the sand and road
salt blasted my face. My eyes watered and my nose began to
run. I hit the door lock on the Jeep and climbed in.

Time to go home and pick up the pieces.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Wednesday, Feb 11: 12:30 PM

I made it as far as the stoplight at 202 and Milton before

my rage subsided and I realized that I wasn't seeing red from
anger. Flashing lights followed me from the resident trooper's
Ford Expedition. I slapped my hand on the steering wheel and
shook the fog out of my head.

"Crap."
I had no idea if I'd been speeding and that was a clear

indication that I shouldn't be driving. I pulled over at the
entrance to the Westleigh Condos and dug my paperwork out
of the glove box. I watched in the rearview mirror as my long
time friend and teen age heart break, Tony Gervase, climbed
out of the truck with a look of resignation on that handsome,
stern face. His uniform hugged his muscular form, his trooper
hat perched on his head. He was all business.

"Oh. Crap."
I must have run the red light. I swear it was pink when I

was under it. That was my story and I was sticking to it. Tony
lumbered up, trinkets swinging off his utility belt, those butch
boots making my thighs tense. He was an attractive gay man
in uniform and it was hard not to stare. Tony possessed the
authoritative vibe some men were into; tall and dark with
thick thighs and arms and a tight ass. A big Italian cop. I'd
carried a torch for him in high school, a million years ago, and
while he'd been kind, he'd never encouraged my interest.
Then he left for college, and I grew up.

Mostly.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I still thought he was probably the best guy I knew, and

maybe more than occasionally admired him from afar and
thought about him at inappropriate times. I used to wonder if
there was something inherently wrong with me because he
never once took what I had eagerly offered. So I stopped
offering. And then last summer, after Tony's father got sick,
Tony disappeared from my life and I walked into the open
arms of Jamie Dupree.

That bastard.
I waited until Tony tapped on the glass with his knuckle

before sliding the window down.

"What seems to be the problem, Offi—"
"Knock it off. What the hell are you doing driving fifteen in

a forty down 202? I've been behind you since the Green and
you didn't once look in your mirror."

Fifteen? Jesus, I had taken lame to an all time low.
"Sorry. Just spacing out."
I was praying that he hadn't heard a thing yet. It'd only

been eight minutes, not even. Well, maybe more considering
how slowly I'd been driving. "I'm on my way home."

Tony leaned into my window, his strong body filling the

narrow space, his hands resting on the car, thick fingers
gripping the edge. He was checking to see if I was impaired.
"Everything all right, Mark?"

I tried to grin—boyish, winsome even. I flipped my hair a

little. "Yeah, sure Tony. Hey, how's your mom?"

Anything to shift the law enforcement scrutiny I was

under.

"My mother's fine. She seems to like Florida."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Tony was immune to my attempt to distract him. Joe on

the job. Was he sniffing my breath? I exhaled sharply at him.
He pulled away and I pressed my lips tightly together.
Perhaps I'd had too much caffeine with my betrayal this
morning?

His eyes swept the interior of the car, "How's Sarah? She

have that baby yet?"

I shook my head, forcing myself to appear normal.

Evidently, gossip was travelling at a crawl today. Maybe it
was the upcoming snowstorm occupying the minds and
mouths of the locals as they rushed off to Stop and Shop to
purchase batteries and bottled water.

"Not yet. She's fat and cranky, but don't tell her I said

that." My sister Sarah had been friends with Tony since the
ninth grade, back when I was still a pesky sixth grader always
under foot and demanding their attention.

Tony was quiet. He watched me. Was he assessing my

mental state?

"How are you, Tony? I've been meaning to give you a call."

It was weak, but my heart was pounding and I was striving
for a nonchalance I couldn't possibly maintain for more than a
few minutes.

"Sure, Meehan." He failed to soften the skepticism in his

tone with a smile. I tried not to feel guilty, but he was right. I
had been either with Jamie or at the hospital for months. As a
surgical PA my shifts, while often mind numbing in their
regularity, occasionally went out of whack. Today I'd covered
a partial shift and was still dressed in my blue scrubs. I'd

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

been driving for hours trying to deal with my heartache
before I'd entered St. Joe's.

Tony's brown eyes, normally crinkled at the edges in

laughter, were guarded. "Haven't seen you around much
lately."

"I'm such an ass. We should hook up for a drink," Man, I

had to get out of there. Was that my knee jiggling? "So, look,
what's the deal here? Are you writing me a ticket or what?"

Tony's mouth flattened and he straightened away from the

car, offended. I'd been too abrupt, but I had things to do and
I was preoccupied. Remorse hit me just as his two-way radio
blasted and he nodded curtly, "I'll catch up with you later. Try
to drive like a normal person, Mark. Say hello to your sister."
He turned his collar up and hiked back to his SUV.

"Tony. Wait. I'm sorr—"
Too late. I watched him for a second feeling like a heel. I'd

fucked that up, again. I needed to mend our relationship.
First, however, I needed to deal with Jamie. I put the car in
gear and eased back out onto Milton, Tony's eyes on me from
the truck. I carefully drove the speed limit the quarter mile
back to the house.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Wednesday, February 11: 1 PM

It wasn't until I made it back to the apartment that I

calmed down and formulated a plan. My first action was to
find that wretched glamour shot of Jamie's mother and toss it
directly into the trash bin. I piled Jamie's belongings up in the
living room. A bonfire in the small yard behind our place, my
place, would have been a nice way to deal with Jamie's crap,
but the wind was gusting and I didn't want to risk setting
myself on fire. I wasn't feeling self destructive; just
destructive.

Besides, there was an eighty percent chance of snow.
I channeled all my anxiety and increased tension into

dumping his clothes into large leaf and lawn bags. I thought
to drop his stuff off at Goodwill, but I wasn't up for the drive
to Torrington. It'd all go to the dump; the precious hockey
equipment would have to go as well—but not the $500 skates
I got him for Christmas. Surely there was someone who
would enjoy those. I wasn't going to toss out my own hard
earned cash.

I went into the darkened bedroom to strip the bed and

throw the bedding into the washer. Frankly, I didn't want
their spunk on my sheets. I glared at my pillows. I needed to
sanitize the entire room before I ever got into that bed again.
Pushing up my sleeves, I got down to business. Physical work
was a familiar way to ease my mind, so I hauled Jamie's
garbage out of my life.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I worked room by room. In the office, I located all of

Jamie's trinkets and knick knacks and hurled them into a
trash bag. My eyes fell on the small metal box, neatly locked,
that housed his personal files. His laptop, which I marveled
was still here, sat next to mine on the long desk. I packed it
up and slid it into his wretchedly expensive man purse. I
retrieved the file box and shoved that into the storage closet,
throwing a coat over it. The rest of his crap was going to the
landfill with Jamie's personal products, his favorite videos, his
sex toys and anything else I could lay my hands on.

I'd give his iPod to my eight year old niece, Kayla. She'd

get a kick out of it and I'd enjoy reinforcing my favorite uncle
status.

I dragged everything into the living room and went to grab

a soda.

When I'd arrived at the apartment four hours earlier—I

glanced at the clock. Had four hours gone by? I could scarcely
remember it—I'd been surprised to see cars in our driveway—
Jamie's Audi and our landlord Kev's Prius. I'd prepared myself
for an encounter with Kevin, whom I always referred to as
"Stinky Kev", because he carried a sour odor.

Onions.
Or vinegar.
Or maybe pickled onions. He owned a whole foods market

and the smell of vegetation always followed him. His presence
in my apartment was usually followed by an application of
Febreze or the lighting of a Yankee Candle. He was a terrible
landlord, forgetting to have the walks shoveled, the drive
plowed, the furnace serviced and the lawn mowed. It wasn't

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

clear to me whether he was ineffective, lazy, stupid, cheap or
a combination of all the above.

Our place encompassed the entire second story of an old

Victorian home set off of Milton Road. There was a detached
garage for tenants, but only the downstairs neighbor, elderly
and well intentioned Mrs. Marsh, used it. Jamie and I parked
in the driveway. Today my spot was filled. I wasn't thrilled to
park on the street, but I did, and then leapt the dirty snow
bank to the partially cleared path.

I'd grabbed a coffee at Dunkin Donuts earlier and, not

thinking twice about why either of them would be there mid
morning on a Wednesday, took the stairs two at a time,
juggling the hazelnut goodness and a bag of bagels. I was in
a great mood. I had an entire day free to get a run in before
the snow hit, catch up on errands, and just enjoy life. Maybe
I'd go see my sister and her kids.

The front door was unlocked and I walked into the bright,

cheerful apartment. It's a beautiful place and putting up with
Kev was a small price to pay for sunlight and hardwood floors
and high ceilings rimmed with crown molding. I'd painted
everything in happy bold colors, reds, blues and greens and
offset the vibrancy with white trim, spindly spider plants, and
shelves of hardcover books. True it was a bit bright, but it
was homey.

Music filled the apartment, a heavy pounding beat of frat

boy rap/rock. Jamie's favorite. I set my coffee down, tossed
my coat on a chair and thumbed through the mail lying on the
breakfast bar. I drank my coffee. I sat and—not really

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

enjoyed the music, per se—but enjoyed my solitude for a few
minutes. I'm not much of a sit and reflect type of guy.

I hopped up to get my gear and get my run in. This is

where things got hairy.

Really hairy.
Disgustingly pelt like.
My stuff was in the bedroom at the far end of the hall

where the pounding music emanated from. It was
obnoxiously loud. I palmed the door open, ready to tell Jamie
to turn it down and there, with his back to me, was Jamie
pounding into Kev.

A naked, hairy, disturbingly white, smelly Kevin.
Neither of them saw me and I didn't make a sound. I

couldn't. My breath had sort of dried up in my lungs. My
mouth turned to paste. Jamie's firm sculpted ass was
clenching and trusting, driving into Kev, who was face down
on my bed, gripping my comforter in two meaty fists, his lily
white ass in the air, two of my fucking goose down pillows
under his flubbery hips. They were both grunting. Jamie's
hands were latched deeply into the soft sponge of Kevin's
thighs. Bruising red hand prints stained his pale cheeks and
his back was a thick nest of unruly hair.

"That's it you fat fuck." Jamie said.
I was too shocked to speak. Too shocked too swallow. Too

shocked to do anything but spin around and exit that horror
show. It was too much.

Now, hours later, sipping diet coke and trying to erase

Jamie's existence from my home, that image was burned into
my consciousness. I pulled myself together and glanced

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

around the apartment, calculating how fast Jamie would get
in and out of the E.R. for the stitches he'd need. I couldn't
suppress pride over the thought. I figured I had about an
hour.

Outside the living room window, Kevin's dinky little Prius

slid into the space next to my Jeep Wrangler. The grey sky
began to deliver its earlier promise of snow and sleet as he
climbed out of his carefully purchased, environmentally-
friendly, ugly car. I hated him. He wrapped his coat closer
around his girth and ran a paw through his bushy hair. How
could Jamie have stuck his dick in that man? How could Kev
come back here?

That nasty prick.
I gave him a moment to make it up the single flight of

stairs before I yanked the door open. I was working on
keeping my enemies off balance today. It was effective, it
seemed to be working, and it suited my mood.

It was all I could do not to clock him. "What, Kevin?"
"Christ, Mark. Give me a heart attack, why don't you?"
I checked him out: pasty, worried, sweaty, rumpled in ill

fitting khakis and a loose brown sweater. I wondered if his
wife had knitted it out of the hair on his back. Obviously he
hadn't looked in a mirror since he'd fucked my boyfriend in
my bed because he looked bad. His boots were untied and he
carried with him that disgusting scent of root vegetables.
"What's wrong with you? You look like crap."

I led him to the breakfast bar careful not to knock him

senseless as I passed.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

He stepped around the baskets, the piles of athletic

equipment, the overflowing garbage bags littering the floor,
all the evidence of Jamie's existence in my world about to be
chucked out the window. Hey, I wasn't planning on carrying
them down a flight of stairs. I glanced at the clock.

Kevin stared at the mess, yet said nothing about it. Was

he being coy? No. He was an idiot. "I came to pick up the rent
check, Mark. Sorry for not calling but I saw the car in the
driveway." He wiped his clammy hand across his mouth. He
was sweating.

The pig. Or whatever animal sweats.
"Cheated on any one today?" I thought the direct approach

would work best. "Because I'm pretty sure that was Jamie's
dick in your ass earlier today."

Kevin froze. I'd shocked him into silence. His pale piggy

eyes widened in panic. He may have blanched. How could you
tell? He was already too white. I reminded myself that I could
be as contentious as I wanted. I had done nothing. Whatever
filter prevented me from being a jerk in everyday life had
failed at nine fifteen this morning.

"I was here, Kevin. I came back early. I saw you both." My

stomach turned at the memory and I took a swig of coke
from the can wishing I had thought to add alcohol to it. Did I
even have any? I didn't think beer and diet coke qualified as a
cocktail, but I was willing to give it a try.

With a dry swallow, Kevin straddled a stool. "Look, Mark, I

... I don't even know what to say ... I'm sorry ... it just
happened."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I choked back my disbelief. "No kidding? You guys didn't

plan that? Hasn't maybe been going on for a while?"

His eyes widened, "No. I swear to—"
I cut him off with a slash of my hand. I didn't want to hear

or to know. I needed to cling to the hope it was only the
once, not that it mattered. I was repulsed that Jamie may
have done us both on the same day.

In the same bed.
I'd have to set fire to those pillows.
Although Kevin was not my type, Jamie may have found

him intriguing. Kev was a big old daddy bear and I could see
Jamie looking past the strange odor of perspiration and sour
vegetables to the willing, well hung hairball underneath. "So,
I hope you had a condom at least. Wouldn't want to have to
explain something to Lynnie, right?"

"What? No. I don't know. I didn't think..."
"That what ... he cheated?"
I watched him process this as my concern over time grew.

Tick. Tock. I was drumming my fingers on the counter, trying
not to pace. He was one slow guy and I was running the risk
of Jamie showing up.

"But you guys are together. I assumed he was clean. I

came to pick up the rent and things got a little out of hand."

"He cheated, Kevin. He's not monogamous. Even I used

condoms with him. It's what folks do, Kev. He's a risk. Surely
you understand that..."

"Look, Mark, you can't tell Lynn, okay?" He was babbling,

ashen, ready to swoon.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"I'm not going to out you, for God's sake. But I am going

get you to help me pile all this stuff into the Jeep."

And then it hit me. My body froze. "What do you mean 'the

rent'? I paid the rent. What the hell are you talking about?"

Kevin eyed me carefully. He wasn't a pig. He was a worm.

Maybe he thought that I'd attack him. I was surprised that I
hadn't but he didn't seem worth the trouble. I didn't want to
touch him. "That's why I came by this morning. I called the
other day and Jamie said that he had the back rent. It's a lot
of money, Mark. Two months. You guys are way behind."

Two thousand bucks. I was shocked into silence. What the

hell? I had paid it. Christ, I thought this was going to be an
easy break. I'd throw his crap in the landfill and we'd be
through. But this new development floored me.

I cleared my throat. "I paid the rent. He was supposed to

drop it off."

He'd offered. Help you out on the way to my office, he'd

said. Shit. He was my banker and had access to my accounts.
We'd even begun to pay some of the bills jointly. I felt sick.
Sicker.

"No. I haven't received anything in months." He confidence

grew now that he'd put his landlord cap back on. "I came by
this morning, and, well, things got out of hand. I swear that
was the first time."

"So you've said." I raised my eyebrow at him and shook

my head, ready to bring him back down. "Like that matters?
So what was that? Sex in exchange for rent? What's your
point, Kevin—that it doesn't count because it was for money?
Or with a man? Or because it was in the ass?"

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"It wasn't for money!"
"Did he pay you the rent? I'm going to guess not, right?"
Kevin grappled with his intellect for a moment, his intellect

losing. "No. He didn't. He said he left the checkbook at work
and I chose to believe that."

"Mm hmm." What a moron. Although given the

circumstances we were on the same level.

"And then, he ... you know ... I don't usually do that."
Usually implied sometimes. Sometimes he had sex with

men. I didn't believe him. He was no novice. I'd seen with my
own eyes how much he'd enjoyed it. "Well, imagine my
surprise when I opened the door, can you? Imagine you came
home from work and Lynn was with some—"

"That's not funny, Mark. It's entirely different and you

know it. She'd never sleep with a woman."

I blinked, stunned speechless. Kevin wasn't ever going to

understand what I meant and I didn't have time to clarify or
to educate him on the gay mystique. I wanted him to move
the garbage downstairs for me.

"I need you to help me get these bags to my car." I looked

pointedly at the window. "I think it'd be easier to toss it out
the window down to the Jeep." I went over and pushed the
curtain back a little. My mom had made the curtains for the
entire apartment as a house warming present for my home.
Our home.

I ran my hand along my jaw, trying to ease the ache from

clenching my teeth. I wanted to take the curtain rod and
brain some sense into Kev but now was the time for
meaningful action. "There's no storm on this one," I didn't

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

have to add that my landlord sucked but it lay there between
us, "and I think the bags will fit."

It took ten minutes to hurl Jamie's debris out the window

and out of my life. Another ten and we had it all stuffed into
my car. I stared for half a second at the bulging contents of
my Jeep, now filled to capacity with the lumpy carcasses of
our murdered relationship. Everything was ready for covert
disposal. Kevin and I were soaked, cold, sweaty, and at least
one of us was guilty of something. I checked my cell for the
third time and then turned it off just in case someone was
looking for me.

Like Jamie. Or worse: my family.
"Listen. I need you to either change the lock or put a

padlock on the doors, you hear me Kevin? I don't care if you
don't have the time to do it or you don't know how to do it; it
has to be done this afternoon. I don't want him in my place.
You understand. I'm being very clear."

Simple instructions for a simpleton.
"What? I can't do that!"
My temper spiked. "Oh, for crying out loud, I'm the lease

holder. I demand that you change the fucking lock, right
fucking now. You fucking understand me, Kevin?"

"Yeah sure fine."
"Leave the new key under Mrs. Marsh's doormat and I'll

get it later. She won't even notice. It's snowing. She won't
leave because she'll fall and break her hip." Again. He really
was a terrible landlord. "And salt the goddamn walk."

I yanked the check book out of my glove box and wrote

him a check, feeling ugly. I didn't need to say anything else

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

to him, like "thanks for letting Jamie hump you, you really did
me a huge favor." I tossed Jamie's murse in the front seat,
started up my vehicle and blew out of there, dirt flying. I was
proud of myself for not creaming his car as I left. It was a
temptation, I won't lie, but I had gotten myself into enough
trouble at this point. I flipped on some Beck and headed
north.

* * * *

I drove the two miles to Little Pitch Road, home of our

town dump. I had my pass on the windshield and I went right
in. The place was deserted. I unloaded everything in the
stillness of the late afternoon, my breath white in the cold,
my hands chapped. I had planned to give the clothes to
Goodwill, but I was tired, angry, filthy, and I still needed to
stop at the bank. Snow fell steadily, blanketing the ground,
and Jamie's rubbish was soon buried in white. There was
satisfaction to be found here: his perfectly pressed clothing
would reek of the dump. I emptied the car, except for the
hockey skates. I would sell those on eBay. I left, cranking the
heat and the volume on Devil's Haircut, and crept carefully to
the bank.

It was twenty after four. I had ten minutes before they

closed, which was plenty of time to transfer some funds. I
was sure I had five hundred bucks in my checking account. I
needed to fill it before Kevin ran off to make his deposit. I
didn't want to bounce my rent check. Well, I wanted to, but
wasn't going to.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

The roads were slicking up dangerously. Snow and sleet

pelted the windshield as the afternoon light faded. I passed
the scene of my crime on South Street, so beautiful in the
snowfall. I ducked my head down into my collar. I had a
disturbing sense that Catholic eyes were following me in
grave disapproval. I thought briefly of my mother's reaction
to all this and I cringed.

As I parked at the bank I began to grasp the folly of

showing up at Jamie's place of work shortly after beating the
tar out of him at church. This is a small New England town.
People talk. Gossip would pass from St. Joe's parishioner to
bank teller to pedestrian and back again. The bank and the
church are on the Green and my mother worked in the hub:
the post office. I choked down my horror and forced myself
out of the car into the biting wetness. I had to go in there and
deal with my cash flow. It was critical.

The bell jangled as I walked in, tolling my doom. Well,

jingling my doom. It was such a jaunty prelude to disaster.
Fortunately the bank was devoid of customers and only a few
tellers remained as the weather forecast was bad. I knew
these people. We'd had drinks together, gone to parties and
dinners, shot pool. I calmed myself down and approached
David, the twenty year old disturbingly handsome teller who
was least likely to ask questions about my personal life.

Please don't ask questions.
We transacted. I handed him a very neatly written deposit

slip for $2000 from my savings to transfer into my checking.
Easy peasy. This was a simple transaction and a lot of money,

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

money I had been saving for a house. I wouldn't think about
where my rent checks had gone.

David looked embarrassed, the prick.
"Hey."
"Hey. I just want to do this quick. Snow's really coming

down." See me, Captain Small Talk.

I ditched the nonchalance. Leaning against the counter I

played my smug townie card by actively dismissing him. I
grew up on this very street. Who were these people anyway?
Carpetbaggers, the lot of them. I cloaked myself in
superiority while David tapped the keyboard with precise
efficiency. Vaguely, I wondered if he was gay. He hesitated,
concern etched his features, and his fingers stilled. A new
dread filled me and the space between us lessened, as did my
pretension. The clock ticked in the quiet, stuffy, oppressive
room.

"Are you sure this is the correct account? I'm showing

insufficient funds in both your accounts." He was professional.
Correct. I reminded myself that he wasn't judging me. He was
doing his job.

Breathe. Breathe. I tried to. "What? There should be close

to twenty grand in that account. There must be..." I stopped
myself, remembering my bank card rejected earlier at Dunkin
Donuts. There was no mistake. Young David the under-aged
possibly gay bank teller was staring at me with pity. My face
heated. My mouth went dry. This I did not need.

"No. I'm showing two withdrawals last week. The account

is empty. I'm sorry, Mark." His kindness made the news all
the worse.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"What?" Of course it was becoming clearer by the second

that Jamie had taken everything. I had been robbed.

My heart, my cash, my good nature, my dignity, my goose

down pillows.

"How could anyone other than me take money from that

account? Don't you have to show I.D.?"

I knew. Jamie Voldemort Dupree. Branch Manager at 33.

Beautiful suit. Shiny shoes. Black heart. He had access to my
accounts both at home and at work. It seemed such a
ridiculous amount to pilfer. He had to know that I would find
out.

"I ... Is.... I..."
I couldn't think. I had to get out of there. For the second

time that day rage closed my throat. Second? No, third. I had
forgotten the moment love turned to hatred: nine fifteen am.

I careened out of the bank into the whipping pellets of ice

and snow, fumbling and slipping my way to the car. I had to
calm down. Think straight. Be straight. Well, focus at any
rate. Make a plan. I couldn't go home; Jamie would show up.
I had no money to get a room at the inn and I wasn't going to
crash in on my family. This was turning into a fiasco.
Freezing, I realized that I was still dressed in my scrubs and
clogs. I mentally slapped myself for not changing into jeans
and a sweater. At the very least, I should have grabbed my
boots.

I was on the verge of another anger management scene. I

sat for a minute collecting my thoughts.

Breathing. Counting to ten. Glaring at the windshield.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I could call the police, but I'd like to believe that there was

a reasonable explanation for Jamie's behavior—part of Jamie's
behavior. His lapse of judgment with Kevin was an entirely
different matter. I should march back into the bank and
demand to speak with the branch manager ... but that was
Jamie. He was unavailable, currently having his lying,
cheating, stealing face sewn back together.

It was four thirty. The snowstorm was gaining momentum.

Legal counsel was what I probably needed.

I cranked the car on and let the warmth blast me. Fear

and loathing in Smithfield. I was as afraid as I was angry. I
could kill him. I glanced at the laptop snug in its man purse. I
hadn't chucked it at the dump because that would have been
foolish. I may be stupid but I'm not foolish. That point had
been disproved so many times in the last six hours I didn't
even know myself anymore. Still staring at the prissy murse,
I began to make a plan. The snow was really coming down
and my first priority was to go somewhere warm, safe, and
loaded with alcohol. A beer would be perfect. Six would be
better. Twelve would definitely do the trick. It was time to get
hammered. A big screen TV would be a real bonus. I put the
Jeep in reverse and, remembering my drive earlier, I dialed
my cell. I'd go see Tony.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Wednesday, February 11: 4:45pm

I stopped at the package store and picked up two twelve

packs of Sam Adams. I hoped it wasn't overkill. Apparently, I
was feeling optimistic about my ability to consume alcohol. I
wasn't much of a drinker; today I was willing to improve. I
took a minute to fire up the laptop and change all the
passwords. At least I knew his password: Penguins 69. I
changed it to uradickhead. He'd never guess that one. I shut
it down and backed out of the Village Package Store. It was
four forty-five.

It felt like midnight.
Tony lived in a refurbished bungalow on South Lake Street.

I maneuvered out of the package store with care as every
other person coming home from work early was busy sliding
either up or down West Street. Again, I was glad for my four
wheel drive. How can you live in the Berkshires and not drive
a decent snow vehicle?

Thinking back to the months after Tony's dad died and his

mom packed up and moved away, I hadn't been much of a
friend. After years of hanging out and training for races
together, of watching him hop in and out of other men's beds,
of being his sort of sidekick, I disappeared into my new found
relationship with Jamie and walked away from Tony. Largely
because I couldn't—wouldn't—revisit feelings I'd worked hard
to let go of after high school and partially because Jamie
didn't care for Tony at all. Somewhere along the way, the two
had developed a deep animosity and it had, on top of

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

everything else, furthered my withdrawal from Tony. Still, he
always pulled me over then let me off of traffic violations. I
picked up the tab whenever our paths crossed at the Dunkin
Donuts. While Jamie would never be permanent; Tony and I
had a life time of friendship to fall back on.

I was relieved when he'd answered the phone and told me

to come by. Evidently he'd heard part of what had happened
today.

I slid into Tony's driveway and parked in front of the

garage, somewhat apprehensive of the reception I'd receive,
glad that I was armed with the best social olive branch: Sam
Adams.

Jamie was going to come looking for his computer; no way

he wouldn't, so I'd ditch it where he would never look. I
slipped the laptop into the bag of beer and coiled the power
cord into my coat pocket. Everything he needed for his job at
the bank was on that laptop. I'd try to transfer my funds back
myself. I was sure I could do that. I knew where Jamie kept
his passwords. I'd change all my security information and
tomorrow I'd change banks. I'd also call my attorney, Larry
Ouellette. I didn't want Jamie arrested. I wanted my money
back and I wanted him out of my life.

Call me crazy, but telling Tony I sort of had stolen property

with me didn't sound like a good idea. For one thing, it'd be
humiliating and for another, he'd go Law Enforcement on me.

Because Tony grew up in town, he had combined the

knowledge and friendliness of a townie with the loyalty and
rigorousness of a cop. He was a good trooper in every sense
and deeply committed to his work. Folks liked him. Hell, I

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

liked him. I'd have to put the damn thing somewhere without
him knowing.

The day was growing increasingly complicated and I

needed a drink.

I walked across the small porch and knocked on the door.

It opened almost immediately. Tony, backlit, was one
menacing dude. He smiled in that easy way of his, "Hey. Get
in here. It's wicked cold."

I had to smile back. I entered his cozy house feeling

marginally better simply because of his presence. This was
exactly what I needed: a brightly lit home and a friend. He
was a laid-back guy unless he was pissed. I hesitated, unease
alerting my conscience that maybe this was a bad idea. What
was I doing?

"Stick that in the fridge." He leaned against the wall,

smiling yet wary, his muscular arms folded across his chest,
sleeves rolled back. His forearms were dusted with dark hair
and his biceps stretched the worn flannel. He wore faded
denim, his hair was damp, as if he'd gotten out of the shower,
but his square jaw was peppered in scruff. He smelled fresh,
like Irish Spring and he looked good. Those dark eyes
followed me as I passed. "That's a lot of beer, Meehan."

My feet, in those stupid clogs, were cold and the warmth

hit me like a much needed embrace. I shrugged my
shoulders. "What we don't drink will keep, T."

I went into his tidy, homey kitchen, shaking off my doubt,

and stuck the entire bag in the fridge. Crinkle, tinkle. Peeping
over my shoulder I checked for Tony behind me.

Nope.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I did, however, see a trail of snow across the spotless

hardwood. Mrs. Gervase would have wrung my neck if I'd
done that in her house.

"Did you just get in?" I called, searching the kitchen for a

hidey hole.

"Yeah. I was going to hit the gym before the storm picked

up." The TV clicked on.

As silently as possible, I retrieved the laptop from the

fridge. Crinkle tinkle. The pantry door opened with a snick
and I took a peek. Man, he was organized and prepared for a
holocaust. It seemed Costco was doing some serious business
with Tony. There were shelves of jarred tomato sauce,
canned veggies and pancake mix; dish soap and microwave
popcorn. I stuck the evidence on a shelf behind some fifteen
rolls of paper towels. It sort of fit on top, and then I stuck the
cord beside it. I'd figure it out later. I made a mental note not
to spill anything. Starving in the face of some four hundred
cans of non perishables, I snagged a bag of pretzels.

He had thirty. Okay maybe ten.
"Hey I'm grabbing something to munch on."
Juggling three beers with the sack of pretzels under my

arm, I joined Tony in his small, comfortable living room with
the incredible big screen TV.

Hockey. I hate hockey. As far as I knew, he hated hockey.

I handed him the Winter Lager, which was fitting given the
weather.

He gave my two beers a look. "Expecting someone?"
"No. Bad day. These are for me." I twisted off the cap on

the first and shot it across the room with a snap of my thumb

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

into the waste basket. Small victory. I celebrated with long
sweet gulps of the Boston Lager.

"So I heard."
Relaxing back into the leather recliner, I rested my head

and put up my feet. The day was catching up with me. I
hadn't eaten since that whole wheat bagel after work this
morning, and, if I remembered correctly, I'd consumed six
diet cokes and a large hazelnut coffee. Kicking off my wet
shoes, I took another drink, debating which way to go with
this conversation.

I wanted to trust Tony but it wasn't easy. He could be a

right stick in the mud at times. It was the cop in him.
Thinking about how remote he'd been last summer and how
unavailable I'd been, I thought it was unfair to expect Tony's
support. I'd let him down and we both knew it. And yet, when
I called, he didn't hesitate.

I took a fortifying swallow of my Sam Adam's. "What did

you hear?"

"A lot. Half of Smithfield was there. Surprised you didn't

mention it earlier, Meehan. You know, like when I pulled you
over? I knew something was up. You were a jerk."

I kept drinking. What could I say? I stared at the bookshelf

taking up the opposite wall. All mysteries. Hundreds of them.

Tony eased back into the couch and crossed his feet, snug

in thick white socks, on the gleaming glass top coffee table.
He took a second to take a sip of his beer. "Most of the
women working at the town hall were either at St. Joe's or
someone they knew was there when it happen. They all
shuffled back after the noon service and filled us in. They had

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

plenty to say. The ladies were impressed that you assaulted
Jamie in front of the entire congregation."

Assault? Oh shit. I hadn't even considered—I had a sudden

image of myself being arrested, flung against the ground,
handcuffed, Tony reading me my rights as he forced me, coat
over my head trying to hide my identity from the media, into
his Expedition and the good church goers of Smithfield,
gawking, whispering, and using their cell phones to upload
videos on to YouTube. My sister would have shot me dead. "It
never occurred to me that I'd get arrested, Tony. I didn't plan
it. It just happened." I winced. I sounded like Kevin. "Just tell
me what you heard."

Tony went from amicable to exasperated, "That you snuck

up on Jamie who was attending mass, for chrissake, and
punched him in the back of the head with a Bible. You were
hysterical, swearing and wearing red shoes."

He nodded accusingly at my clogs where they lay tumbled

together on the carpet.

"They're my work shoes. I wear them in the O.R."
He wasn't impressed. If anything, his anger increased, "I

can't believe he hasn't pressed charges, Mark. You're lucky I
didn't have to go down to St. Joe's and arrest you. That would
have pissed me off. I understand a few people had to drag
you out. Tom Cahill. David Langley. And then Jamie went to
the hospital and got seven—yes, seven, because everyone in
town had to tell me—stitches in his forehead. There are
people saying that he has a concussion, but I doubt it." Tony
stopped, his face hard, his eyes back on what I knew was a

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

prerecorded game. His thumb nail picked at the edge of the
label on his beer in hard digs. He wasn't happy.

"I was angry, T. I don't remember much about being

tossed out."

His eyes shifted briefly and he snapped out, "Everyone in

town understands what he did, Mark. You couldn't have made
this more public if you'd placed an ad in the Smithfield
Gazette."

He sat stewing while I drank. The tension between us grew

as the sportscaster's voice droned on. At last Tony seemed to
come to a decision. "This wasn't his first time. He's been
fucking around, Mark."

I choked. It happened too fast for me to prevent. Beer flew

out of my nose and coughing, embarrassed, outraged, and
defiant I spat out, "Christ, Tony if he was cheating on me,
why would you keep that to yourself?"

Exposed, naked in front of him, my sense of betrayal was

complete. Jamie had cheated on me before? How? When?
Where?

Why?
And everyone knew.
Tony finally turned away from the TV when I felt most

exposed. I wiped my nose with my sleeve, hoping to keep
any emotion from showing, my chest tight and my face hot. I
clenched my jaw, ground my back teeth and popped open the
next beer with a whoosh. I shot the cap at Tony's head.

Regrettably, he knocked it away.
"Hey, I tried to tell you. You didn't want to hear it. I'm

telling you now: he's an asshole and he's been screwing

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

around. It's not like we've been hanging out together, Mark.
You were unavailable when I called. When was I supposed to
tell you? When I bumped into you at the gas station?"

"Nice. I feel better already."
"Listen Meehan, I'm not going to make you feel better

about this. I'm going to tell you the truth. That's what friends
do. The guy's a tool. It sucks you found out the hard way, but
you could have pulled your head out of your ass and looked
around. I tried to tell you."

Drinking was going to help me get through this

conversation, I convinced myself. I drank.

"How long?"
He set his beer down on the end table. I was distracted by

the play of light across his face. His fingertips stroked the
curls of wet paper on the bottle. His shoulders were taking up
half the frickin' couch. He was mulling something over, his
face remote. Eventually he looked up; those eyes clear, his
face serious and I tensed for the truth he was going to
unleash. "He made a pass at me last summer. He's been
fucking around. He slept with that little Mary bank teller. He
nailed anyone he could."

I let that news hit me square on. My head swam and

suddenly it was Tony I wanted to hurt. My volume got louder
and I almost came out of my chair, "And you didn't tell me?
Jees-us, T, I think that I would have told you—"

"No, you wouldn't have. You wouldn't have told me

anything, Mark, because you disappeared. I'll tell you this one
last time: you didn't want to hear it. I tried. I called. You

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

wrote me off." Tony went back to staring at the game and
clammed up.

Now I was ashamed on top of everything else. "Well that's

great." I chugged the last of my beer, the bitter taste burning
a trail to my empty stomach. I'd forgotten to eat the damn
pretzels and was relieved I hadn't choked to death on fury
and salted sourdough. I hauled myself out of the recliner,
tempted to hurl the empty bottle through the TV.

I was catching a buzz. No, I was buzzed. I headed for the

kitchen.

"Where are you going? This is why I don't tell people

anything. They walk away."

"I'm getting another drink, moron. You need one?" I

slopped into the kitchen in my wet socks. It wasn't an
effective exit. At least I wasn't weaving.

Yet.
I looked forward to that, actually. I had guzzled two beers

in about ten minutes, if that.

I snagged two beers and slammed the fridge door.

Whirling around, I crashed into Tony's chest. "Get out of the
way, T."

His big hands came up and he gripped my shoulders; his

face honest in its intensity. "That guy's bad news, Mark. You
were an idiot to get involved with him in the first place."

I shoved him, knocking his hands from my shoulders, his

touch felt almost patronizing. "I heard you the first time. I
more than know that now. He drained my bank accounts.
Took everything." More horrified by the loss of my money

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

than the loss of my lover, my gut rolled. It was the beer on
an empty stomach.

"What? How?"
"I found out when I stopped by the bank. I have nothing.

It's all gone. So, yes, he's got no self control and he's a thief
and I can't for the life of me figure out why he thought I
wouldn't notice. He's crazy. I mean how fucking stupid and
needy does he think I am? Don't answer that."

"You need to report this, Mark." He was firm. "Obviously

you were needy for something. Maybe you were blinded by
his cock. It's been known to happen."

I blinked at him. "Fuck. You."
Tony slammed me into the refrigerator; his chest flattened

into mine, his hand grabbed my chin, forcing it up. I froze,
shocked.

"Don't tempt me." He drilled me with a vicious look, and

then his eyes shifted down to my mouth. I knew that look. I
went from shocked to breathless while my tongue, that
teasing bastard, slid out to dampen my dry lips. All the
thoughts I'd ever had of Tony's mouth on mine, however
suppressed or unrequited, came charging forward in that split
second and I almost leaned into him. Almost. It was the
booze. It had to be.

His heart pounded into mine, our chests rising and falling

together as our breathing sped up. His hand was just short of
painful, biting into my jaw, holding me firm. Oh Christ, here
was an unexpected development and I wanted it. Tony was
punishing me and, irrational as ever, I was desperate for him
to put his mouth on me.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I felt a disturbing tingle down low.
I jerked out of his hold, my fists clenching the long necks,

and shoved him again. He backed off immediately. "What is
your problem, Tony?"

"That was out of line. Look, I'm trying to be

accommodating, Mark, and honest with you. We go way back,
but right now, don't push me for any more."

Any more? Was there more? I was too afraid to ask.
"You want me to go?" My voice was tight as I glanced out

the kitchen window. All I could see was heavy snow,
beautifully illuminated by the single streetlight on South Lake.
It was really coming down and the mix of sleet pinged
rhythmically against the window panes. "Because, unless you
drive, I have to crash here. I don't want to deal with Jamie
when he attempts to get back into our place and I'm probably
too buzzed too drive in the sleet."

"Ya think? No. I don't want you to go. God knows what

kind of trouble you'll get into by tomorrow. You can sleep it
off on the couch. Do you have to work tomorrow?"

I twisted the cap off the third brew, trying hard to ignore

his little outburst and the emotional fallout from the bomb
he'd dropped. I forced my tone and temperament back to
normal, "No. I'm off until Friday. I wasn't even supposed to
go in this morning. I was covering for this chick at work until
eight thirty. I got some coffee and went home. And walked in
on Jamie screwing Kevin Clement. It was nasty and evidently
part of his exercise regimen." Resentment crept back into my
voice.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

He watched me guzzle another half bottle of Sam in a long

series of brain cell depleting swallows. I knew I was freaking
him out at my rate of intake. I wasn't much of a drinker.

"I need to make something to eat. Did you eat? Because if

you're going to keep drinking like this, Meehan, you need
something in your stomach."

I stopped to take a deep breath. "Trying to soak up my

buzz, T? What a killjoy. No I haven't eaten. But, sure, I could
eat. Should eat."

Tony rumbled around opening his spotless cabinet doors.

My anxiety grew.

Please don't go into the pantry. Please don't spill anything

requiring many paper towels. Please do not make soup.

"Sandwich?" He piled lunch meat and pickles on the

counter.

"Absolutely." I breathed. "Listen, I'm not worried about

seeing Jamie because I, uh, attacked him." Was that even
me? "I sort of, uh, threw all of his crap out."

"What, like on the lawn? Women do that. My sister did

that."

"No. I literally threw his stuff out. First out the window, but

only because I didn't want to carry it down the stairs..." I
trailed off at Tony's raised brow. "And then I took it up to
Little Pitch. He's going to be pissed. I tossed his hockey gear
into the dump."

Tony barely hesitated in spreading mayo on my ham

sandwich, although I could tell I had surprised him. "That was
not only dramatic; it was illegal. Are you trying to get
arrested? Is this some dark fantasy of yours, Meehan?"

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"Very funny. I was inspired, all right? I was crazy mad.

Kevin came by for the rent, which Jamie hadn't paid in two
months, and I found out Jamie had taken the rent money."
How could I have not known any of this? How? "I can't
believe Jamie slept with him. He's a moron and damn that
dude has hair all over his—and it proves he's desperate."

"He's not that bad, Mark, but he's an asshole for cheating

on Lynnie."

"He's that bad, Tony, trust me. Anyway, it's in my best

interests if I don't go back to the apartment. I told Kevin to
put a padlock on the doors. We'll see if he followed through."

He hadn't done anything else a landlord would do. Of

course, now he was afraid of me. I had power over him,
which was frightening, though useful. "I just don't want to be
there."

"You better hope he doesn't decide to press charges

tomorrow."

"I don't think he will—because of the money. I can't think

about this any more." I drank more beer.

"That's the problem, Meehan, you haven't thought about

any of this."

Ding. He pulled nachos out of the microwave and carried

them into the living room with a plate full of sandwiches. I
followed the scent, a beer in either hand.

He put the food on the coffee table, nodding his head at

my hands, "You may want to slow down there, champ."

"I will."
Not a chance.

* * * *

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

After seven beers I was hammered. We'd eaten, watched

some sitcoms and made some terse small talk. The booze had
lessened the pain of Jamie's treachery and Tony seemed to be
coming around. How could he not when I was such a
handsome and charming drunk? I was feeling relaxed, dopey
and sloppy.

And dirty.
"Hey, you mind if I take a shower?"
He sighed at my scrubs. "I'll find you something to wear."
I shook my head. "I'm going to look like mini me." It's not

that I'm small; it's that he's tall and broad where I'm wiry and
lean.

Tony assured me, "Karen keeps buying me stuff for

Christmas that's too small. She thinks little brother means
smaller not younger."

"I'm not small, I'm slim."
"Whatever."
I stumbled and he grabbed my elbow. "Come on, you

lush." He dragged me down the dimly lit hall into the
bathroom.

"I'm fine." I wrenched myself out of his grip and fell into

the wall. "Oops."

Tony yanked me back on course, "Cut it out, Meehan."
Once we got into the bathroom, I lurched into the sink.

One look at myself in the mirror and I promptly sobered. Not
really, but I gave myself a bit of a scare. I looked like a
cautionary tale for hard living: blue eyes rimmed by vibrant
red and stubbly chinned. My hair, thick, full, black as night,

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

was standing up on my foolish, drunken head like a circus
clown.

"I look great. Yeesh. Good thing this isn't a date or you'd

never call me again." I sounded sort of boozy.

"Hey, if this was a date we'd be in that shower together—

mostly because I'm not sure if you can stand up for much
longer." He patted my hair down, roughly, and caught my eye
in the mirror.

"I'm fine. I don't think you'd fit, Tony. You're too big."

Innuendo and flirtatious. What was I doing? My mind flashed
to that scene in the kitchen.

"You have no idea." His hand continued to maul my hair.
I swiped at his hand. "That's not helping. You're just

flattening my head. I thought you were mad at me anyway."

"I am."
His hand stopped and then it slowly glided to grip the back

of my neck, leaving a trail of tingling heat. Everything
changed. His expression turned utterly possessive—and
committed. His hold was firm, his thumb stroked me and,
maybe it was the beer—surely it was the beer—I wanted to
get on my knees and take him into my mouth, suck him off
while he guided me with that strong hand.

I lifted my gaze and Tony's caught me. I flushed and his

smile turned cocky. Holy shit, my cock perked up and took
notice because I'd seen that look before in other eyes, and it
was usually right before I dropped trow and got laid.
Suddenly things were getting interesting.

His thumb made a rough pass along the side of my neck,

his calluses catching on my whiskers. Tony leaned down,

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

grazing his teeth on my shoulder. He gave me a little nip, a
warning to see how far I'd let this go. Hips pushed into my
ass in a tease, or maybe a test, and I arched against him. My
teeth dug into my lip as his bite spread fire through my
shoulders and chest and into my groin. I'd let him go pretty
far, I was sure. All the way, buddy. I could use some release
after this crap day, and Tony was six feet of sure thing
making love to my neck.

"You want to do this, Mark?"
My head fell back to rest against him, which was all the

permission he needed. He sucked, drawing hard, and then
licked the spot he'd marked, his smile warm and wet and
scented of Sam Adams. The temperature skyrocketed in the
snug bathroom. He was hot, his shirt butter soft, and his body
hard. I wanted him to move faster. Firmer. Deeper. So I
tangled my fingers into his thick hair, letting him know that I
was ready to go anywhere he wanted to lead me. As long as
it led to an orgasm. Soon.

I dropped my gaze, trusting him to deliver.
Tony seemed to really like my skin. He tasted, sucked, bit

my neck, the whole time leaving his mark. I could feel it. I
could see it. His dark head against my paler skin, his rough,
wide mouth was leaving purple bruises. I sighed again as his
teeth scraped my jaw and he rubbed his hips against me, his
cock rigid and thick. "You like that?"

"Yeah," I liked it. My eyes drifted shut as he latched onto

the spot where my neck and shoulder met and I let out a
sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh and a yes. It
was an arousing, erotic sound. I did it again as my cock came

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

to full, pulsing attention, his mouth and teeth and tongue
working the sensitive skin of my throat and shoulder. I
hooked a finger in Tony's belt loop and circled my ass against
him and this time he was the one who groaned. His thick
thighs pressed me into the counter top. He was firm and
careful and so fucking perfect and exactly what I needed.
Right then, I wanted to know how he would feel inside me. I
wanted him inside.

His mouth trailed up. He kissed my chin, lingering there,

open mouthed, as his hand stroked my chest and pinched my
nipple. The hold on my neck disappeared and he caressed my
cheek, my chin, and tapped my mouth gently.

"Open your mouth."
Oh yeah. I opened and drew his rough, wide finger deep,

sucking, wishing it was his cock I was swallowing. Tony
growled, and swept his other hand down to stroke my hard
on. He gripped me powerfully, squeezing me through the thin
cotton of my scrubs. I worked harder on that finger, tonguing
it, moaning at that thought of pleasing him that way, fucking
him, sucking him, riding him. A shudder went through me as
he worked my dick, his big palm wrapped around tight.

I wanted to rip the drawstring keeping him from my skin.

Maybe I was just drunk and impatient but I needed to shove
my scrubs down my thighs and ride his fist. I wondered if I
could come from simply thinking about this, drawing on his
fucking finger, I was so ready. I wondered if he would mind if
I did.

His lips left my skin. He withdrew from my mouth and

then, to my disappointment, he let go of my erection.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"Hey." I thought maybe he was having second thoughts.

Make some poor excuse. Or worse, apologize. I readied
myself for some inane upcoming rejection. We've had too
much to drink. It's too soon. You're not my type. Blah. Blah.
Blah. Instead he spun me around, his fingers held my chin. I
scrambled for balance, my head light.

"I'm going to kiss you." It wasn't exactly a question. I

knew he'd do it anyway. I steadied myself. What the fuck? I
was crazy with impatience.

"Yeah, what the hell are you waiting for?"
His mouth twitched and then he was on me, the aggressor

again, cupping my face and holding me still. His tongue licked
at the crease to coax my mouth open for this first taste. I
opened and he forged in, his teeth scraping against mine. I
latched onto that tight ass of his with both hands, drunk
enough that it was necessary to need something to hold, as
Tony kissed the life out me.

I encouraging him with some moves of my own and was

rewarded when he groaned again and his tongue thrust
deeply into my mouth. His fingers dug into my hair and he
made love to my mouth with raw desperation. He boosted me
onto the sink, knocked my legs apart and ground his cock into
mine.

Frantic, I held tight and worked myself against him,

panting and eager and more lost. He was fully aroused,
wonderfully huge in his jeans. I wanted to see it, feel it, hold
it.

Taste it.
To put his cock inside me. I was wild to come.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I slid my hand inside his jeans, and he was thick and stiff

as a spike. Christ, I was ready for him to shoot his load all
over me. With a curse, Tony wriggled his jeans down, and let
me in to jerk him off. I gripped him firmly, just the way I
liked it, inside his pants, inside his boxers, giving it to him
nice and steady. His mouth fucked mine and I knew that I
was almost there. That sweet, familiar electricity worked its
way up from my balls, around my clenched ass, and across
my skin. I tore my mouth from his, panting, shit I was
begging, "Please..."

He kissed me again, this time stealing my breath. His hand

finally found the tie to my pants and, oh thank God, he was
on me! Not fucking around, but fast and furious as I rocked
into that big tight fist and he rocked back into mine.

He tore his mouth away, giving me some air, his voice low

and sexy. "C'mon baby. That's it."

His hand pumped me, and his hair tickled my forehead as

he bent to watch the thick head of my prick slip inside his fist.
I was lightheaded and he whispered, "God, your mouth,"
before he sealed his lips to mine like he couldn't ever get
enough.

I must have hyperventilated because I came in a rush of

white light, release making me high. Not the booze alone. It
was the lack of air and the lack of space. I was loud, my cries
swallowed by Tony as my body erupted. Shuddering,
smacking into his fist, his mouth breaking me, I came first,
shattering wet, slick and hot into his fist. The sound of
slipping and slapping filled my ears as my cock gave it up.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I was weak and loose, his hand squeezing the last shot of

pleasure from my balls, and still he was practically raping my
mouth and using my come to slide through my hand. I jacked
him off in earnest, rubbing my thumb up around his glans
with each stroke. At last his cock gave. He pulled away with a
soft, "Oh shit yeah, Mark," and I watched as he came,
pumping in a long pounding pulse of hot seed dripping on my
knuckles.

And then it was over and he was back, kissing me gently,

carefully. He licked my bottom lip, bit my chin and pulled
back to look at me.

I shifted my weight, replete, and promptly fell into the sink

taking the toothbrush holder, the toothpaste and a soap
dispenser with me. My hand, wet with semen, shot out to
grab the wall and I smacked Tony instead, leaving a wet
smudge across his flannel shirt.

"Hey! You okay?" Tony grabbed me and hauled me back

out with a snort. I was sticky. He was sticky. Drunk and out
of breath, I peeled Tony's toothbrush off my hip. It was
purple. I started to laugh. Was I all right? Hell, yeah. More
than all right. My brain was dead and I was giggling.

"Yeah. I guess so. You?" I trailed off, grabbed a towel and

mopped us up. Awkwardly. Tony smacked my hand away
when I reached for his crotch. He tugged me off the sink by
the hand and surprised the hell out of me by pulling my pants
back up my hips, tying the drawstring, and giving me a kiss
on the forehead.

His hands left me.
I laughed, "What the hell was that?"

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"That was nice." He took the towel, tossed it into the

hamper, and then turned to head out. "Take your shower,
Meehan. Don't drown yourself in there. I don't want to have
to drag your naked ass out."

"Yes you do." I was confused by both his rejection and his

speedy recovery time, although too tired to think. I caught
my reflection in the mirror. Hickeys. My lips were red and
puffy. I had beard burn. Beard growth. There was come
smeared across my shirt. I looked like a pervert. Was there
more on my chin? I winced and tugged my shirt over my
head. "Hey, do you have a razor I can use?"

"You really want to do that now? I don't think that's a

good—"

"I'm not going to slit my wrist, T, I just want to shave."
He found me a disposable razor and, whistling, left me to

my shower.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Wednesday, February 11: 10-ish

Shaving drunk was not one of my better ideas. I nicked

myself a few times, not seriously, but enough to know that I
wouldn't be trying that again. I wasn't at the point where I
had to focus with one eye shut, but I was unsteady and loose.
I did feel better bathed and fresh and smooth. In the long
run, toilet paper stuck to my chin, I was glad I'd made the
effort. I dressed in the sweats and t-shirt Tony had gathered
together for me and went back into the living room. It was
close to ten. I was exhausted, still drunk, and needed to lie
down and sleep off this hellacious day.

Tony was on the phone when I came in, stretched out on

the leather sofa, his long legs crossed. He was speaking in a
tone that indicated family. He looked up as I came in, his face
clean of the welcome I'd expected given the heat twenty
minutes earlier. I told myself to relax and headed toward the
recliner. He spun himself into sitting position and waved me
over. I didn't know what to make of it. His signals were as
mixed as my mind was and I considered ignoring him. Then
he lifted a brow and cracked a ghost of a smirk.

"My mother," he mouthed.
I went. How could I not? He made room for me next to

him, though he didn't overwhelm or coddle me, or touch me,
really, which was a relief. He simply sat there on the phone,
listening to Mrs. G, who I knew from personal experience was
chatty. I liked her. Tony's large close-knit family had taken it
hard when Mr. Gervase had died. Worse. They'd fallen apart.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Mrs. G sold the house and by November she'd uprooted and
moved to Florida. His four sisters had already scattered to the
wind, and now Tony, the youngest in the family, was alone.
His father, wonderful man though he'd been, had never fully
come to terms with Tony's sexuality. I thought about what all
this must mean to the man next to me. I put my feet up on
the coffee table, closed my eyes, and slunk down low into the
worn leather, thinking about someone other than myself for
the first time today. Sooner than I would have thought, I
drifted.

The window flew up and Tony leaned out to cuff me on the

head. "Ssshhhh! What the hell Meeh—Oh my God! You reek
of Jack Daniels." He pulled back.

I had my hand up by my ear where he'd wacked me. "I

know. My parents think I'm staying at Larry's, but we had a
tent and fire and then Trooper Lincoln showed up with a
'lashflight—

"Flashlight?"
I nodded, "Right. 'Lashflight and everyone took off. I'm too

drunk to make it to Maple Street. I lost everyone else in the
woods."

"You idiot."
I grinned wobbly. "Hey, I never do this. Well, sometimes,

but usually we stay in the tents. Tony, can you drive me
home?"

He shook his head, but said, "Sure, Meehan. Go to the

back door. You need to be quiet. Debbie's home and she'll
skin you alive or tell everyone we know that you were
wandering around at three in the morning drunk on a

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Tuesday." Tony disappeared back inside and slid the window
closed.

"M'kay."I said to the shutters. I stumbled around to the

back door. The garden hose was lying in wait across the brick
patio and my right foot caught it. Thinking I'd kicked a snake,
I yelped, yanking my foot and tripping. I came down hard on
the rough corner of the brick step, slicing my knee, and
knocking over one of Mrs. G.'s geraniums, "Son of a bi—" I
fumbled to catch the pot, but it cracked, spilling dirt and
flowers .

"Shut up! Sssshhh! Jeeze, Mark!" Tony flew down the back

steps and tried to haul me up, but my knee hurt like fire.

"Ow!" His hand actually slapped over my mouth.
"What did you do?"
In the darkness I could make out Tony's silhouette

crouching around me. I was enveloped by his heat and the
scent of toothpaste and sleep and comfort and what little I
knew of sex. His hair was wild and I wanted to run my fingers
through it. I wanted to tame it. My heart kicked up its pace
and began the process of happily pumping blood from one
head to the other. I tried not to groan. Staring up at him,
broad and reassuring in the moonlight, I leaned into his hand
terrified that the urge to lick the salt from his skin would
overwhelm reason. But my mouth was open and my ability to
think diminished by Jack Daniels and the loss of vital blood
flow to my thinking head. My cock was huge, throbbing and
suddenly making my decisions.

I was seventeen, he was twenty, and I wasn't exactly

surprised by my lust.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

My naughty tongue crept out of my still opened mouth and

touched the salty barrier of that hand sealing my mouth. I
moaned.

Tony's eyes flew open and he whipped his hand off of my

mouth, straightening. "Knock it off, Mark." His eyes lingered
on my mouth. I licked my lips. He tried to look away but
those eyes came back to rest on my mouth and he leaned
into me.

My hands settled on his knees and I tipped between them,

pushing myself into his spread thighs. My eyes drifted shut. I
tilted my chin—

"Let me look at your knee, okay?"
I drew back, embarrassed. Shit!
"Sure, T." And then that sucker really started to burn.
I woke up sprawled out, drooling on the pillow tucked

under my head, curled into a nest of blanket, bits of toilet
paper still stuck to my face. I was alone in the dim morning
and Tony wasn't anywhere to be found. I must have passed
out.

How embarrassing.
There's something I hadn't done since college. I wasn't a

big drinker, but I drink when stressed. And fuck when drunk.
I tasted old beer as I made my way to the bathroom.

It was dawn and the snow had stopped. I needed to scrape

my car and get home. I couldn't deal with Tony or Jamie or
Kevin or life, the universe, and everything. I used the can,
swiped some Scope, peeled toilet paper off my face, checked
out my hickeys (holy shit) and quietly tiptoed down the hall. I
wanted to go home.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Grabbing my coat, I went out into the cold morning. I fell

on my ass twice. We'd gotten maybe six inches of snow and
the sleet had formed a hard shell on everything, including my
Jeep. I was sliding around in crocs. No socks. I chiseled open
the door with my car keys, my paint job taking a low place on
my list of priorities. I pried the door open and climbed in to
warm the car up. I had a broom scraper in the back so I
tackled removing the snow and ice. It took a few minutes; my
hands and feet were freezing, but I had to get out of there. I
was desperate to be in my own space. The memory of that
hand job combined with my own confusion and Jamie's
betrayal were too much to deal with.

I considered last night and I couldn't decide how to feel

about it. Did I need to feel anything at all? I didn't need a pity
fuck. I just needed to get my money back. That's it. And
maybe sell those hockey skates.

And put on some socks.
I took a gander in the rearview mirror. I added and put on

a turtleneck to the list. No way could I hide this. I'd been
hoovered up the entire left side of my neck. My hand came up
to cover the suck marks. They went all the way up to my ear.
Now that had been one hot hand job. I decided right there
that I was not going to regret it.

I backed out of Tony's driveway and the morning after

conversation, and drove home. It wasn't until I got to the
empty house that I remembered the blasted computer was
still in the pantry with Tony's cupcakes and macaroni. I
slammed my hands against the wheel in frustration. I'd have
to go back later.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I was surprised to find the new key under Mrs. Marsh's

mat. Kevin was officially under my power. There was a
thought to perk my morning up. The padlock was large and
mean and ridiculous on my door. My mother would have a fit
if she ever saw it. I'd have to call a locksmith sometime
today, another task to keep me busy.

Everything appeared normal when I stepped in to the

vacant apartment. The refrigerator hummed merrily along
and the radiators ticked and burped. I'd left a mess yesterday
moving Jamie's debris down the hall. The rugs kicked aside;
trash bags littered the floor; I'd knocked over a plant in my
rush to get things done.

Poor thing. I chucked my coat onto the couch and went to

get the broom.

I cleaned up and made it my home again.
If the weather had been nice, I'd have gone for a run. I

changed into shorts and my sneakers and hit the treadmill we
had—I had—tucked in the office. Running helped me to focus.
I needed to focus.

I loved running. The endorphin release chased away

depression and the exercise kept me lean and firm. I wasn't
much of a team sports guy, but I could sustain mile after mile
easily and could outrun any problem. Until now, that is.

I couldn't understand what had happened to Jamie. Had I

been blind?

Last summer I'd run the Smithfield Road Race. I'd run it

every year with Tony and had done so since we'd trained
together all those years ago. I ran alone last year, Tony's dad
was dying and Tony wasn't interested in participating. The

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

day had been hot. It was one hundred degrees of miserable
humidity and unflagging sunshine. Runners were dropping in
droves, and the usual favorites, the world class athletes who
joined each year, crossed the finish line far ahead of the rest
of us. I'd done as well as could be expected, given the heat,
and, pushing through the throngs of folks lining the slope of
West Street, I'd gone to the large tents constructed to offer
us shade, beverages, fresh fruit and yogurt. I was ready to
vomit—that trek up Gallows Lane was always the very worst
part of the course and far too close to the end of the race. I
staggered in and grabbed a cool drink from the nearest table.

Jamie Dupree stood smiling at me, cool and attractive

despite the heat in a pink polo and chinos. I couldn't help but
laugh at him and his neatness. I was exhausted, dripping with
sweat, smelly and tired. I slumped down into a chair,
concerned I'd get cramps, but too spent to do much about it.
Jamie sat down next to me, handed me a towel, and we hit it
off immediately. He was energetic and fun and kind of loud.
He was different, yet appealing, with those angelic blonde
curls and that thick buff body. We laughed a lot. Going out
with friends boating on Bantam Lake later that week, he
taught me to water ski. The day sparkled with friendly
ribbing, sunburn, and muscle ache. I'd taken him home and
we'd made love and I don't think he ever left again.

That bastard.
I started the treadmill and began my run. The faster I

went, the more my mind raced. Why would Jamie take my
money? I tried to recall if he'd said anything about his
finances, and, with the possible exception of complaining

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

about the rent being too high, which it was, I don't think he'd
said a word. He kept himself well groomed, well dressed. He
drove an Audi TT. He seemed to be successful. I hadn't asked
or cared what his circumstances were because, at this point in
our living together, our accounts were mostly separate. Some
lingering doubt or sense of self preservation had kept me
from opening that door. He had cleaned me out, clearly he'd
been in and out of my business. I'd been very careful with my
cash because I wanted to own my own home. I was saving
and had been for a few years. My job at the hospital paid
pretty well and I would eventually move further up the
ladder. Or learn to sky dive. It could go either way.

What the hell could he have needed my money for?

Twenty grand, not including what he'd taken in my share of
the rent. I hadn't checked to see who had cashed those
checks, simply that they'd been cashed. Was he into drugs?
No way. Well, maybe steroids ... no. No way. I would have
noticed the side effects. Blackmail? That seemed like a reach,
although surely his mother didn't approve of his sexuality.
Gambling? How could anyone gamble that much? I knew he
and his buddies engaged in sports betting and went to the
casino. Everyone in Connecticut went to the casinos. Well, I
don't. I don't approve of handing your money over to
someone on an empty promise of a long shot dream. I
snorted.

How could he have thought I wouldn't notice my money

was missing? Did he hope to replace it? Maybe he didn't care
if I knew. Maybe he was going to sweet talk me? That wasn't
likely. Kill me in my sleep? That wasn't likely either.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I kept running, sweat dripping down my body, my legs

burning, arms churning. My feet slapped on the treadmill in a
steady pound. The sound rattled around the empty
apartment. I'd never run hung over. This was probably not
the best idea, dehydration being a concern, but I had an
increased amount of energy and needed to think or I would
do something foolhardy. I certainly had done a few
regrettable things already. Like trust Jamie. I reached for my
bottle of Aquafina.

Predictably there was a knock at the door. I ignored it. I

wanted to run. Whoever it was could wait.

Knocking became pounding. I sighed, hopped off the

treadmill, sopped my face with my wet t shirt, and stalked
down the hall. I knew better than to open that door so I
peeped out. In the soft glow of the hallway, a red-faced Jamie
glared back at me. What a surprise. He banged on the door
again. I could see that Kevin, in white, stood behind him.

The worm.
"I'm not opening the door."
"I have the goddamn key you little pissant. Open the

door."

"Why didn't you use it?" I peered out at him with one eye.

He seemed frustrated. Good.

"I was being polite, now open the door."
I carefully slid the bolt home and latched the chain. I

reached for my coat and found my cell hitting redial: Tony's
number. I put it on speaker.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"You stick that key in the lock and I'm calling the police.

Kevin, I signed this lease, not Jamie. Don't even think about
letting him in here."

"I want my stuff, Mark. Open the Door."
"Or what? You'll huff and puff and blow my house down?

No. Go away. Go see your mother."

"Mark? Hey? Mark?" Tony's questioning, sleepy voice

startled me. I glanced at the phone in my hand.

"Hey. Hold on a sec."
I peeked again at the white bandage on Jamie's forehead,

ugly bruising showed around the edges. I did not feel bad. He
stood with his arm poised to pound on the door. His eyes
narrowed and he opened his mouth to take in a lung full of
air.

"Open the fucking door!"
I jumped back.
"I'm calling the police right now, Jamie. Didn't Kev tell

you? I don't have your damned stuff. We tossed it. It's gone."

He swore furiously and he beat on the door, this time with

both hands. I heard scuffling and bangs. It must be Kevin
trying to rein Jamie in. I didn't look.

"Tony can you get over here? I think Jamie's going to

break down the door."

"What? Why aren't you—go out the back door right now.

Do you understand? Go down the back stairs, get in your car,
and get out of there." I heard rustling and slamming over the
phone line. "Jesus Christ, Mark! What were you thinking?"

I wondered that myself. "That I live here. I'm not running

away. Plus, I've only got on a pair of shorts and I don't think

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

it's wise to go out in the snow." Why did I persist in being a
smart ass?

More furious banging and swearing and pleading, that last

part from Kevin, came from the other side of the door.

"Can you try and get over here?"
"I'm in the garage. I want you to get out of there." That

was fast. Did he even have any clothes on?

I accidentally dropped the phone with a clatter and it

skittered across the floor. "Mark goddamnitpickupthephone!"
came Tony's tinny voice from under the couch.

Shit! I was reaching under, squashing dust bunnies and

god knows what else slapping my hand around trying to
locate my cell. I pulled a cup out from under the couch and
stared at it. I really needed to dust mop.

Did I own a dust mop?
Jamie yelled from the stairwell, "Where were you last

night? I came by and this goddamn lock was on the door!" He
emphasized that last bit with a crashing thud.

I abandoned my search and retreated. I didn't want the

door to come down on top of me. He was damned angry and
he was a huge, athletically built brick shithouse. For the first
time since we met, I was afraid of him. Alone and unarmed, I
got a glimmer of what I had looked like, sounded like, and
acted like yesterday. It wasn't a pleasant revelation. He
outweighed me by about forty pounds and had a couple
inches on me.

Well, in height. Certainly not in length.
The front door was straining under what I presumed was

Jamie's attempt to bust it open. Vaguely I wondered if Mrs.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Marsh would call the police or come up to investigate. Kevin
was no help and Jamie, if he got in here, was going to kick
the ever living shit out of me.

Tony's words were making more sense with each crash

against my flimsy front door. I took off toward the side
entrance to the apartment. I rarely used it. I threw the door
open and tripped over my ski boots, half falling, have
sprinting down the stairwell that was unfortunately littered
with ski equipment, recycling bottles, boxes, newspapers and
other combustibles I didn't want cluttering up the apartment.
It was probably a fire hazard, but I never had the urge to
clean it up. Out of sight; out of mind. I mentally slapped
myself for being so disorganized.

I reached the door, turned the locks and the knob and

gave it a yank. It opened about a quarter inch then stopped.
From up the stairs I could make out more pounding on the
front door and increased shouting. I couldn't hear the tiny
voice of Tony coming from under the couch, but he was
yelling too. I knew he was. Why wouldn't he? Everyone had
something to say. I wrestled the fucking door; it clacked and
groaned and rained flecks of what had to be white lead paint.
I rattled the bastard, inhaling lead dust, but it was stuck well
and good. Realization dawned at the same time the chilled air
registered.

My God. That Kev had put the goddamn padlock on the

back door.

Exactly as I'd asked. I hadn't meant to padlock the door

for both our apartments from the outside. That moron. What

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

would happen if there was a fire? Mrs. Marsh would have
been trapped.

Through the panes of ancient glass, I could see my car.

Safety was only a few dozen feet away. Maybe I was being
dramatic. Maybe Jamie wouldn't hurt me. Much. I could take
him, I tried to convince myself. I'd taken him down with only
a Bible yesterday.

I smacked my head against the door frame. I had tried to

leave.

On to Plan B. It was too cold to hide down here in Mrs.

Marsh's recycling bin. I wasn't bringing this drama into her
apartment, either.

My running shorts and t-shirt were stiffening up as my

sweat froze in the morning air. Holy shit, it was cold.

I climbed back over my mess, knocking a sack of soda

cans over. They bounced and tinged down the steps in my
wake as I threw the door open. The sound of Jamie
alternately threatening and cajoling, was punctuated by the
groaning of stressed pine. I didn't even attempt to make it
around the corner. That door was about to come off its
hinges. Instead, I scrambled over the breakfast bar, knocking
the stools over and scattering fruit. Ignoring that, I quickly
slammed the door to the narrow galley kitchen, latched it and
tucked a chair under the knob. I'd seen that done on TV and I
hoped it would work. It didn't look too promising. Jamie
would be able to see me when he walked in the front door,
but to get to me, he'd have to go down the hall to the door.
It'd take a second or two. Perhaps in those two seconds he'd
reconsider? Of course, he could vault the damned bar as I'd

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

done. I looked around for a weapon, throwing drawers open. I
wouldn't dream of holding a knife, he was far bigger than I
and had a long reach. Plus this wasn't West Side freaking
Story; I had no clue what to do with a knife except to cut
meat and tighten the screw on the toilet seat. The only knife I
owned was a pen knife on my key chain.

My eyes fell on the rolling pin my mother had bought me

at William Sonoma last Christmas—like I was ever in this
lifetime going to roll out pie dough. I picked it up. It was
heavy marble and scared me with its promise of domesticity.
I put it down. The door finally flew off its hinges with a
splintering smash. I picked up the rolling pin and held it down
against my side. I tried to look confident, but I was sure I
only managed sweaty and alarmed.

Jamie came barreling through the broken door in

yesterday's suit. He didn't look as injured as he should have.
He looked powerful. I didn't know whether to be outraged by
that fact or relieved. He was scruffy, ruddy and wild. I was
fifteen feet away and couldn't help but gape at what he'd
become.

Laboring for breath, standing beside the door now hanging

by that worthless chain, he got a hold of himself. In a calm
tone that was at complete odds with the madness lurking in
his eyes, he forced out, "Give me my stuff, Mark."

Kevin lumbered in behind him, bundled like an Eskimo in a

puffy white ski parka. I swear it had a Mongolian chow collar.
He appeared thirty pounds heavier than he had the day
before and was as pale as his coat. Surely he'd faint. He had

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

mirrored sunglasses perched on his head. Where was he
going? Everest?

I tore my eyes away from the vision of Kev. "I told you I

don't have it."

Jamie stormed down the hall toward the office, Kevin

trailing him, his parka making noise as he walked. "Come on,
man, you gotta leave. This isn't cool..."

So inane. I had no idea why Kevin was there, yet in a way,

I was grateful for it.

In a few short seconds they reached the office. The

apartment became utterly silent as I waited, straining to
hear. I imagined Jamie standing in the study, fists and jaw
and butt clenched in fury. I'd wisely packed my laptop away,
fearing he'd break it. He must be poking around, noticing that
yes indeed, I'd gotten rid of all his belongings. I forced myself
not to say the first smart thing that popped into my head—I
told you so being the very first.

The phone line remained open though buried; reminding

me that Tony was on his way. He was listening as well. I
calculated how much longer until he would arrive. Please get
here soon.

"Mark! Where the fuck is my stuff!?"
The door to my bedroom slammed into the wall.
"I told you, I threw everything out!"
"You little bastard." He came back down the hall, flinging

closet doors open. The bathroom door was next. Jamie was
getting a good idea that there was nothing here that belonged
to him. I got ready.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Feet pounded on the stairs. In the doorway, his uniform

jacket unzipped, dressed in sweats and moccasins, Tony slid
to a stop beside the broken disaster of my door. He took that
in without pausing, searching the room until his eyes found
mine. He acknowledged that I was fine and moved on to
Jamie.

"Hey, Jamie what's up?" Tony calmly walked into the room

with measured professionalism. He may dress like a vagrant,
but he was one hundred percent in control and not someone
to underestimate.

Kev took that moment to come back down the hall. He

stopped on the edge of my vision, sweating and trussed in his
parka, his relief evident. "Hey Tony!"

Tony didn't spare him a glance. How, I do not know.
"What do you need, man?" Jamie's voice was insolent and

over-bearing.

I stayed put. It was apparent that Jamie was barely

hanging on. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was on the
other side of the kitchen door.

"Oh, just checking up on things. I hear you weren't invited

and Mark asked me to stop by." Tony leaned against the far
wall, relaxed and friendly.

I kept my guard up, staring at Tony who was diffusing

what I was sure could turn into a lethal situation for me.

Rolling pin notwithstanding.
"Yeah? Since when do you check up on Markie Mark? Has

something happened I should know about? You hoping to
finally bang him?" My free hand shot up to cover my neck.
Ouch. This was the asshole incarnation of Jamie I'd never had

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

the pleasure to witness. "I live here, Tony. You should go
now. Everything's cool."

Tony didn't budge. "Nope. I'm thinking you don't live here

anymore. You should be the one who goes. You and Mark
could do this over the phone. Maybe tomorrow when you feel
more together."

"Fuck. Off." Tony's eyes widened a second before the door

smashed open. Tony and Kev both jumped forward. The two
of them collided as, with a snap, the chair flipped out from
under the door knob. It knocked me in the knee and I
crashed back into the dishwasher.

A snarling, red faced, feral Jamie followed the swing of the

door, and he was on me faster than I thought possible. He
grabbed me by my sweat soaked shirt and hauled me to my
feet. I tried to hit him with the rolling pin, but I couldn't get a
good swing. I dinged the dishwasher hard and only managed
to lamely knock his shoulder. That only pissed him off.
Holding me by the shirt, he struck me brutally in the face. I
saw it coming but couldn't block him. My head cracked
against the wall. There was a flash of light behind my eyes
and a taste of blood. I must have fallen. I thought I heard a
shout over the hollow ringing in my ears.

I clambered to my feet and he reached for me again. This

time, Tony was there, pulling him off and away. My shirt tore
with the force he used ripping Jamie's fist from me. Kevin
finally unraveled himself and helped wrestle Jamie into the
living room as I got myself back together; blood ran in a
steady stream from my nose and lip dripping onto my shirt
and splattering in tiny speckles on the parquet. I tasted the

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

after effects of violence and it made me ill. I hadn't been
punched in the face since twelfth grade. It hurt, sure.

Worse, it shamed me.
"Get out. Get him out of here." He was a stranger. A

violent, lying, dangerous stranger and I never wanted to see
him again.

Tony and Kevin dragged him, swearing, snarling, fighting

and mean out into the hallway and, from what I could hear,
down the stairs. I'd let them deal with it. In pain and furious,
I shoved my face into my tattered shirt. I wasn't hiding, I told
myself; I was stemming the blood flow.

* * * *

It took about an hour to deal with the police. Tony arrested

Jamie for unlawful entry, criminal trespass, assault and
battery and something else.

Having sex with Kev? That seemed criminal.
I couldn't remember and didn't care. The entire episode

was obvious to a two year old: the broken door; the
handcuffed bruiser; the bruised. Trooper Clark, a sturdy
woman with a platinum blonde ponytail, narrow hips and a
big gun, took my statement. She and Tony then spoke quietly
in the hall. I wasn't interested in what they had to say, only
that they were leaving. They spoke in hushed tones in the
hallway as I went into the kitchen. Domestic violence was
plainly the topic of conversation. I wished I could close the
door on them. The draft coming up the stairs was unpleasant,
but more than anything, I wanted them to go away.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

The chair was on its side on the floor, not broken. I picked

it up and put it back in its place. I stared at the dent in my
dishwasher, then turned and grabbed a bag of peas from out
of the freezer

I steri stripped my cut lip in the small mirror over the sink,

swallowed a few Advil, and gingerly placed the bag of frozen
peas against my nose. It wasn't broken, but bruised and
throbbing. I could see myself explaining this at work
tomorrow, along with the row of hickeys. What a wild life I
must lead, they'd think.

Fortunately, my patients were unconscious.
I went into the living room, sank onto the couch and

closed my eyes.

I had to call my brother-in-law about coming to fix the

door. After the padlock fiasco, Kev was not to be trusted with
this task. He would be billed, however. I must go to the bank
immediately and lodge some sort of complaint or inquiry. I
should go to Tony's and get that computer. I needed advice
from Larry. I stretched out on the couch instead. I had too
much to do and my will was lacking. I needed ten minutes of
alone time with a bag of frozen food on my face.

Maybe it was best to get the police involved. At the very

least, Jamie had embezzled. He'd gone directly into my
accounts and taken my money. I wasn't sure, but I didn't
think that fell under the jurisdiction of the State Police. If he'd
done it at work, that was a crime. Here in our home? I didn't
think so. Maybe it did. I needed legal counsel, damn it. Now
I'd hidden stolen property in Tony's goddamn house. I had to

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

get that thing out of there. I should tell him, but part of me
wanted to deal with it on my own and move on.

I wondered if Kevin was lurking somewhere on the

premises trudging around in his abominable snowman suit. I
hadn't set eyes on him since they had dragged Jamie kicking
and screaming from my apartment, but his scent lingered. I
expected something from him about this unpleasant business.
Like: why did you write me a bad check? Maybe he was
salting the steps. I almost smiled at the absurdity.

Tony came in. "You're a mess, Meehan." He squatted down

next to the couch. I shut my eyes, preferring the darkness to
what I would see in his face. "What's your plan? Do you want
me to get the door fixed for you?"

"No" I mumbled around the peas. "I've got it. I'll have

Mike swing by. I'll call him in a minute."

"A rolling pin? What the hell kind of defense was that? Why

didn't you leave when I told you to?" His voice was gruff and
edged with impatience.

"Just persnickety, I guess." That was met with silence. "I

tried. Kevin padlocked the back door from the outside. He
was being helpful. I grabbed the first thing that I could lay my
hands on."

Tony grunted. Was he disgusted or amused? Or both?
"That was damned stupid. You could have killed him with

that thing. You were better off with the Bible." I flinched as he
touched my chin, his finger brushing my lower lip.
Investigating the damage, I gathered, though most
unprofessionally. I held still and tried not to wince. "Mark,

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Jamie's going to want his belongings. You can't expect him to
drop this. He's going to keep coming back. What's your plan?"

"I don't know. I'm playing this by ear, okay? He cheated

on me, he robbed me and he attacked me. I don't have a
plan. This is all unexpected and unrehearsed."

And humiliating.
"He's going to say you attacked him first, you realize that,

right?"

I nodded. My head hurt. Between the attack—attacks—the

missing money, the theft, both his and mine, Jamie and I had
too many legal problems to keep up with. I was currently up
by one arrest.

He lifted the bag off my face and I clenched my teeth.

"Wow. He really popped you good."

"You think?" I opened my eyes to the bright of day. "Don't

you have someplace you need to be?" I alternately hoped not
and hoped so. I was glad he was here, relieved that he was
still someone I could count on.

He squished the peas in his fist, shaking the bag to loosen

up the ice. "Yup. I called in to say I was running a little late.
Technically I was on the clock as soon as I cuffed ole Jamie."

"Don't remind me, please? I want to lay here and not

think."

"You're going to have to think about this. You're a victim of

a crime and you've got to handle it. You've also committed a
crime, Mark, a couple of them. Your best recourse is to fix
this immediately. You've got to deal with it. Acting like it's
nothing is reckless and idiotic. I'll go to Little Pitch with you
and get his stuff."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"In case you haven't noticed, it snowed half a foot last

night."

"Stop making excuses." I recognized an order when I

heard one. He continued to mush the peas. I could tell he had
more to say. "You need to deal with this."

No kidding.
I sighed. I had a plan, of course, and it involved seeing my

attorney and then sneaking into Tony's house and sneaking
back out again. I wasn't going to share this. I could handle
things myself. Deal with my hurt and my anger, and then
move on. I had the niggling feeling that this incident would
ramp up the gossip mill and I would be hard pressed to put
this behind me until next year.

"I'll be fine. Can I have the peas back? My nose hurts."
"It looks like it hurts." I carefully placed the bag back on

my nose, trying not to suffocate in the cold plastic. "You
okay?"

He wanted to know. Was I? He asked me that question a

lot.

"I'm fine." I wasn't, but it wouldn't solve anything to admit

that.

"I'm going to leave in a minute. I want you to call me if

you need anything. I'll stop by later."

"Tony, you don't have to. I appreciate your help. You don't

need to feel responsible for me, all right? I can handle this."

"I don't feel responsible for you. We're friends. But if you

haven't gotten that crap out of the land fill by five, we're
going out there with flashlights and ice picks to dig it out. Got
it?"

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"Got it. You're so butch."
"You need it."
I stilled as he softly brushed my hair away from my

forehead. His touch made me tense and I was close to
knocking his hand away. I didn't want him to see me
vulnerable or weak.

Too late.
"I thought you were pissed."
"I am beyond pissed, Meehan. You're out of control. You're

reckless and you're desperate but I'll help you clean up this
mess. You need to stop being an idiot and start acting like an
adult." Guilt and anger washed through me. Why was he
being so attentive all of a sudden? And what the hell was
going on with Jamie? Never, never had I witnessed him like
that.

"Which mess? The door or my life?"
"Neither. I just don't want to have to arrest you."
"I know."
He gave a low laugh, "My God. How 'bout Kev in that get

up, huh? He looked like an arctic explorer." His blunt
fingertips messaged my scalp. I leaned back into the cushion,
sighing. It felt good. "You look terrible."

"I'm fine. I keep telling you." The peas were cold and

eased the throbbing of my nose, and the swelling as well.
"I've been on the receiving end of a punch a time or two, T."

"By him?"
"What? No. No never. That man was a complete stranger. I

told you. Jamie has never hurt me physically." Emotionally
was a different matter entirely. "He was gruff, and sometimes

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

condescending, but not abusive. Actually, he'd been a lot of
fun most of the time, Tony. I wouldn't have been with him
otherwise."

Though not recently. Recently he'd been preoccupied.
"What about you? You ever do that before with him?" Cop

cop cop my brain shouted.

"No. I don't know what happened. I had some kind of

testosterone surge. I don't know. I saw him and I wanted to
hurt him."

His breath puffed out, the laugh lines around his eyes

crinkled and he leaned closer to me, his lips a hairsbreadth
away. "I wanted to hurt him long before today."

"Tony—"
Feet plodding up the stairs cut off my objection. A wet,

disheveled Kevin appeared in his marshmallow coat. I
wondered which of us was less attractive at that moment. I
hoped it was still him. Kev knocked tentatively on the inside
wall. He was already in why was he knocking? He could see
us. Maybe Tony and I looked too cozy together?

"Mark, excuse me, but, uh, do you have a minute?" He

came in, awkward and obsequious. I knew then that he was
about to kick me while I was down. He didn't have it in him to
address a problem head on. Again, the comparison wasn't lost
on me.

I sat up. "Sure, Kev. What's up?"
"I'm really sorry about this Mark, but, uh, given the

incident here today and, um, the rent issues, I think it's best
if we terminate the lease. I can give you a few days, but, uh,
I want you to go."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"You're evicting me? With no warning?" My voice went up

an octave as my heart plummeted.

"Hey, I came by and dropped off a letter a couple of weeks

ago. My attorney advised me to do it. I haven't gotten any
rent! I have bills to pay! I can't help it if you weren't paying
attention, Mark."

Oh snap! What could I say to that? The rent hadn't been

paid and I didn't have the cash to pay it. "I never received a
letter. You're supposed to send legal documents certified mail
for a reason, Kev."

Jamie, that douche bag.
Tony watched this as he sat down next to me on the

couch. "When did his thirty days start?" Cop! cop! cop! My
mind screamed.

"The twenty second of January."
It was the twelfth of February. I had eight days to vacate.
I had to find my money. I'd need it to get another place. I

was tempted to blackmail Kev into letting me stay, but not
with Tony sitting right there taking it all in. Not a good idea. I
felt better for not acting on my impulse, hard as that was.

"Fine. I'll move. You can leave now. For the record, you

are the worst landlord in history, Kevin. You've been dealing
with someone other than the lease holder. Did that not occur
to you? How long was that going on with Jamie?"

Kevin was grim and uncomfortable. It wasn't entirely the

coat. He couldn't hold my gaze or Tony's. He stared at his
boots and hissed, "I told you that just happened."

"So you've said. My brother in law will fix the door, Kev. I'll

send you the bill."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"I can handle the door repair, Mark. It may take a coup—"
"Mike will fix it. I'll send you the bill. Are we clear?"
Finally he looked me in the eye. And then those eyes

dropped and he stared at my neck. Damn. My credibility was
completely undermined by teeth marks. I forced myself not to
cover Tony's love bites with my hand. Kev found his balls and
said, "I want to be sure that, uh, anything private between all
of us, stays that way."

"I've already told you I won't say anything to Lynnie but

don't push me, Kev. You understand me?"

So much for my impulse control. Considering I'd seen the

man naked, I had to give him his due.

Tony smiled cleverly at Kevin. "I'll put it in the vault."
That Tony. What an ass.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Thursday, February 12: 9:30 am

I was on the phone, my boss Michelle cautiously advising

me to take a few days off, when my sister knocked on the
door frame. I'd made a half-hearted attempt to re-hang the
door, with Tony's assistance, but the frame needed to be
replaced.

Sarah came in, her big taut belly leading the way, a tray of

Dunkin Donuts coffee in one mittened hand, a box of what I
knew were Boston Crème's in the other. She looked at the
door and rolled her eyes, smirking. I rolled my eyes back, her
welcome, familiar face making me smile, pulling at my split
lip. The world didn't seem so bleak. I had paid leave.

And sugar.
I made my pleasant farewell to my boss, wondering who

they would get to cover my shifts over the next few days and
how I was going to pay my bills. I set those worries aside and
concentrated on the goodies my favorite, only, sister had
brought.

"Wow, he really popped you."
"Thanks for pointing that out."
She put the coffee down. Stuffing her mittens in her coat

pocket, she waddled over to the recliner and eased herself
down. "I have got to sit down. My back is killing me."

"Just don't break my chair."
"Ha ha."
I grabbed the milk from the fridge and set to fixing our

coffees up. The smell of hazelnut reached my caffeine

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

deprived brain and I considered drinking two of the four
coffees in the tray. "Dad and Mike on their way?"

"You know it. They're going to fix that door or die trying." I

laughed and dumped three sugars into her coffee. I keep
telling her how bad this is for her. She keeps ignoring me. I
grabbed a stack of napkins and a donut and brought them to
her.

"Only one? Bring the box over."
I stuffed half a donut in my mouth and the flavor of vanilla

pudding and chocolate caused an endorphin overload in my
brain. I groaned in bliss. Things were so much brighter with a
box full of donuts.

"MMMmmm." I was starving. I should eat eggs or oatmeal,

something sturdy and nutritious, but a dozen Boston Crèmes
were calling me.

"That's disgusting! You're supposed to bite it, not inhale

it." She made a face. "No plate? You can't eat a donut at
home without a plate."

"'es 'ou 'an," I mumbled around half of a donut.
"Oh. Gross. I'm starving. I don't remember being this big

with Kayla and Jake. Was I this big?"

I nodded and swallowed. "You were that big."
I handed her the coffee. She took a sip. "No cup? I'd like a

cup."

"I'm not washing dishes. You want a cup, you wash the

dish. Should you be having caffeine?" I knew she really
shouldn't be.

"I'm fine." She sipped her too sweet hazelnut and smiled

that too sweet smile.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"Your nose is frickin' huge, Markie. I hope you popped him

good."

"I did that yesterday. Today didn't go as well. He had me

sort of pinned and I couldn't throw a good punch."

"You're lucky he didn't break it. Mike and I heard all about

yesterday. Mom and Dad called ten times wanting to know if
I'd heard from you and did I know what had happened and
were you on drugs. I made that part up but mom must have
been hearing it all day."

She must have. In this tiny New England town, word

spreads. It spreads first in the post office where my mother
has been working the counter since I was in the seventh
grade. Set off the green on South Street, the town post office
is the premier information center of our community. Relevant
and connected? You obtain a PO Box. Need anonymity? Rural
delivery.

"I turned my phone off."
"Yeah. No kidding. Smart move." She took a sip. "So,

how'd you get Jamie to back down?"

"You mean other than slowing him down with my face?

Tony was here. He pulled him off me with Kev."

"What? Why were they here? Dad heard the entire thing

on the police scanner. He called me right away. By the time
you spoke with Mike, we were mobilized and ready."

"Dad needs to go back to work." Which was the

unvarnished truth. He had too much time on his hands since
retiring. He tended to listen to the police scanner and gossip
more than was necessary.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"You're telling me. You have no idea how helpful he's

being."

We sipped our coffee. We both sucked down another

donut. The radio played softly—Justin Timberlake singing
about sexy. The plow came rumbling and scraping up the
street, clearing the roads and packing the snow into my
driveway.

"So what was Tony doing here?" Sarah asked casually. I

knew that tone.

"I called him when Jamie showed up."
"Oh? Really? Why is that?"
What could I say? Why did I call? In that split second when

I knew Jamie could hurt me, I reacted without conscious
thought. "It seemed like the appropriate move. He is the
resident trooper." I recalled Tony's skin against mine, his
hand on my dick, his tongue in my mouth. His stubbly beard
abrading mine. His mouth on my—I clapped a hand against
my neck and looked at Sarah.

Busted.
"Bingo. I was waiting for you to remember that. Are you

going to tell me what happened, Mark?"

"What? Nothing!" I tried again for my game face. It hurt

like hell.

"No way. Something happened. Don't try to lie to me ...

You have love bites all over your neck, genius. You should put
on a turtleneck before dad gets here."

"Look, Tony pulled Jamie off of me. He made Kev shovel

the walkway for Mrs. Marsh and he left." After he kissed me
and jerked me off last night—I kept that information to

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

myself. I jumped up and went into the bedroom to find a
turtleneck. I hate those things. I found a blue one in my
drawer and pulled it on. I looked like a fag. I sighed and went
back into the living room.

"Mark. Tony has been hot for you since high school. How

can you be this stupid? He's the most perfectly perfect guy for
you. You're so stupid."

"What? He wasn't even out in high school. That's

perverted. I was like fourteen and I'm not stupid. I happen to
be involved. Well. I was involved." Jamie. That bastard.
"Don't turn my life into some kind of matchmaking event,
Sar, because you're bored."

"I'm telling you what I know. He was always letting you

hang out with us; he started running that god awful road race
because he thought it might make you less of a loser—"

"What? I wasn't a los—"
"—every single year he trains with you; he always asks

about you; wake up Mark. He's wants you. We all knew Jamie
was temporary. I told you that."

"Sarah. It's been twenty-four hours. Do you think you

could ease up a little?"

"No. Why would I do that?"
"Great. Thanks. I wasn't a loser."
"Mark. You were 5'9 and 110 pounds. You were a loser."
"I was slim," I bristled.
She gave me a look, mouthing loser at me. "Listen up,

Tony is all alone. He's got that beautiful house. He refinished
everything. His mom moved away, his sisters moved away,
his dad lingered and died, remember? He's alone and lonely.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

He's waiting for you. He could have had anyone and he's
totally in love with you. You think I'm making it up, but that
guy is hot for you."

I blew out an exasperated breath, uncomfortable with the

conversation. "You're wrong. For your information, he's pissed
at me. Anyway, he would have made his move, Sar."

Before last night.
"I'm not wrong, Markie. His mother told me. We women

talk about these things. How can you be this obtuse? What is
wrong with you?"

I remembered Tony's expression last night. Was he having

some kind of big reveal with his mother?

Oh God.
An Italian mother. Just what I needed to deal with.

Another day. Not today.

"You're out of your frickin' mind, Sar."
"Hmm. You'll see. Hand me a donut."
I was saved further declarations from Sarah by the

welcome scrape of boots on the stairs. My brother-in-law,
Mike, and my Dad had arrived. The Cavalry. They'd come to
argue and measure and deal with my security. This was a job
I could do on my own, sure, but my dad would need some
constructive way of seeing to my safety. The door was a
useful activity and he could go walk the aisle at the Home
Depot with Mike, dreaming of projects to come and work that
he had no business attempting. Then he could make a full
report to mom and bill Kev.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

My dad came in, bustling with energy and purpose, a

slender man in tortoise shell glasses and a knitted toboggan.
He was too sharp for his own good.

Dad stopped two feet from where I was perched on the

couch. He pushed up his glasses and took a good look at my
battered face. "Wow. He really popped you one. Your nose is
frickin' huge, Markie."

"I know. I couldn't get a decent shot. He did have stitches

from yesterday." Was that pride in my voice?

Dad grabbed a cup of coffee from the tray, and sipped it,

black. "You should have called your mother." And me. He left
that last unsaid.

"I know. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."
Dad nodded. "Okay. If you need anything, Markie, you

come to the house. Understood?"

"Yes sir. But I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. You look like you need ice on your

schnoz." He reached out as if to touch my face. Before I could
pull away, he stopped and dropped his hand. "He coming
back here?"

"No. I've got it Dad. Don't worry. And I had ice. The

donuts are working better. Sarah had four."

"I did not." Sarah screeched, smiling. She recognized

redirection. We'd covered for each other our entire lives.

Mike was busy, quietly measuring the door, seeing to the

hinges and looking at the frame. Taking in my appearance, I
was grateful for the depth of his understanding. Smiling
fondly at Sarah, he spoke for the first time since entering the
apartment. "I'm sure she did."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"Michael!"
"You've got two weeks, hun, best enjoy it. Mark, we need

to get a new door. Frame's shot." My solid, competent,
careful brother-in-law was here to keep us on track.

"Yeah. I know." It was shot.
"We'll take care of it. You go do whatever it is that you

need to do." Mike offered, clipping his tape measure back
onto his belt. "Dad and I'll handle this."

How great is my family?

* * * *

I hustled everyone out, a plan in hand for Mike and Dad

and a donut for Sarah. I grabbed my boots and my gear,
propped the door closed with an umbrella stand and took the
stairs two at a time. I knew Jamie would be back but I
needed to get a cash advance from my MasterCard (15%
APR! Jamie. That bastard!), contact Larry, and add a little
B&E to my larceny. It was going to be a busy day.

There was no way I could tell Tony I'd left stolen property

in his cop's house. I couldn't conceive of how angry he'd be.
He wasn't a guy who lost his temper easily, but when he did,
he didn't do it by half measure. I shoved aside all thoughts of
Tony.

I fired up the beast, blasted the heat and the tunes and

headed into town, my energy level driven by purpose and
anger and sugar and caffeine. I fished around for my cell and
dialed Larry's number.

His secretary put me through.
"This is Larry Ouellette."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"Really? This is Mark Meehan. You answer the phone that

way?"

"It seems the least friendly way. Keeps out the riff raff.

How're you doing Mark?"

I came to a stop at the intersection by the bank on the

green. Jamie's work place. I decided another branch would be
more appropriate. "I'm doing okay. Illegally speaking with my
attorney while I'm driving, but otherwise, out of control and
headed for trouble."

"So what's new?"
"I have a couple of questions for you. As my attorney."
"This is about that thing yesterday? Heard you wailed on

Jamie with a Bible."

I was shocked. "I can't believe you know about this

already. You're not even in town!"

"The kids were all talking about it at practice this morning.

Six am buddy." Larry coached the town swim team.

"It's all true. I'm sure. The story came back to me via a

few sources and it was accurate."

"He's a douche bag. Good riddance."
This was pissing me off. Everyone hated Jamie? How did I

not know this? What had I seen in him? I realized then that
they were all trying to be supportive, trying to make me feel
better. "Really? Because I seem to recall you guys having a
great time on the boat last summer, Lar. We water skied,
what, half a dozen times? And he let you take his cash in
those poker games."

"He wasn't a douche bag then, Mark."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Well that was true enough. He'd been a great guy to hang

out with. "Anyway. Here's what I need to ask. And this is
attorney/client stuff, all right?"

"Yeah. Hold on while I start the clock. It's two hundred

dollars for an initial consult and—"

"He took all my money. All of it. Barter? I've got some

hockey skates I'm willing to part with."

"What? What do you mean all of it? Checking account?

How'd he gain access to that?"

"He's my personal bank manager from Hades. He took

everything. He cleared out my savings and my checking and
he took the rent money for the last couple of months." My
heart palpitated through this humiliating conversation. I took
202 down to Torrington, a road with spotty cell service and
speed traps. "Look, I'm going to lose you in a sec. Can we get
together for lunch? Its eleven thirty, I'm going to stop at the
bank and see what I can do."

I waited for Larry to check his schedule. "Why aren't you

at work, Mark?"

I swallowed my embarrassment. Larry and I went way

back. I knew he wouldn't judge me out loud or pity me. Much.
He'd give me advice and lunch and some comic relief.

"I was asked to take a few days off. Do I need my attorney

for that as well?"

"This gets better and better. You want to do something

about that?"

Did I? I hadn't considered it. "We need to talk. Can you

meet me at the Sunnyside at noon? You're buying unless my
credit cards still work."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"Yeah. I'll clear some stuff. Don't freak out, though, you

hear me? We'll handle this and nail his ass to the wall. Did he
press charges for yesterday?"

"No. I pressed charges for today."
That was met with silence. "Larry, it's bad. I'll meet you

for lunch."

"I'll be there."
I cut my phone off. I didn't want to speak with anyone.
I knew that Tony was correct about having to dig Jamie's

crap out of the snow. I'd have to swing by the house and
pilfer Kevin's shovel. Secretly, I was hopeful that Jamie was
up on Little Pitch Road with his own ill gotten shovel, ink
stained finger prints and throbbing stitches. I imagined him
tearing through the frozen plastic bags, searching for the
laptop and on his knees in the snow drifts clutching his dank
smelling poplin shirts to his face and weeping. That brought a
smile to my face which was followed by a wince. I checked
myself out in the rearview mirror. Not too attractive. My nose
was red and swollen and bruising extended to the bridge. It
wasn't broken, I kept reminding myself. He looked worse. I
tugged my turtleneck up higher and drove to Torrington.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Thursday, February 12

At two thirty I found myself slightly buzzed from two

glasses of Cabernet I'd had with the seafood fra diavlo. I'd
dealt effectively with the bank. I went straight to the manager
and he froze my accounts and forked over some cash from
my credit card. To sum it up, he was horrified, suspicious but
not apologetic. He'd be damned if he'd admit fault. The word
investigation played predominantly in my side of our
conversation.

Larry counseled me to sue. Sue. Sue. He'd had three

glasses of merlot. It was a good plan. However, I still was
mystified over what Jamie needed that money for and wanted
to know where it had gone. He also told me to give all of
Jamie's crap back. There seemed to be a consensus that I
needed to go dig in the snow. I was task avoiding.

I checked my cell. I had fifteen messages from Jamie. All

were a variation on the theme of "Where the fuck's my
laptop? Where's my fucking shit? What the hell's the matter
with you?" I cleared them and put the phone on vibrate. He
hadn't been in jail very long, that's for sure. He must have
played that get out of jail free card: his tight-fisted, well-
connected mother.

I stood in the sparsely wooded lot between Tony's house

and the gas station where I had left the Jeep. The wine lent
me some warmth, some comfort and no small amount of
courage. I was casing the joint. I tried not to giggle.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

No one was at home. No kidding. Snow covered the lawn

and Tony's picturesque house was calm and quiet and ready
to be infiltrated. I was about to become a criminal.

It was slippery, crunchy snow. My sizes tens would leave a

beautiful trail right up to the back door. I needed to rethink
this but there wasn't time. Shift change was at four and Tony
would be back. I checked again: two thirty five. I looked at
the back door, the lack of a vehicle in the driveway, the silent
street and my boots. I had to get in there.

When we were kids, it was always a challenge for Sarah

and me to cross the yard without breaking through the
protective skin of crunching ice that made for such great
sledding. I tried to limit my crunch, but at one hundred sixty
pounds, I stomped through like a bear on a Triscuit. Maybe
Tony wouldn't notice? I stared at the snow laden sky and
hoped for the best.

Then I fell on my ass and slid down the embankment to

the garage.

At least the back walkway was clear, shielded as is it was

by the eaves—clear if you didn't count the ice. I brushed the
chunks of snow off my pants and headed toward the back
door. I skated to the steps, my gloved hand trailing against
the back of Tony's tidy clapboard house. Tucked behind the
lattice work under the mud room, the key hung on its nail. It
seemed unusual to me that a cop wouldn't have an alarm
system, but what idiot breaks into a cop's house?

The steps were icy and snow had drifted against the back

entry. I kicked most of it off (maybe he'd think a delivery
came?) and unlocked the door.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I slipped into the chilly, obscenely organized mudroom.

The shelves were lined with neatly labeled bins. The skis,
poles, boots, everything was lined up with military precision. I
worried for Tony's sanity. A place for everything and
everything in its place, I could almost hear Mrs. G. She would
have been so proud. In respect for a certain Italian mother, I
took extra time making sure every droplet of snow was off my
boots by wiping my feet on the spotless throw rug. I rejected
the idea of going into the house in my socks. I wanted to be
done with it. I was violating Tony's trust and I wasn't proud of
myself. I needed to move forward. I flipped the rug over.

Voila! Clean again!
The door to the kitchen was unlocked, inside everything

was bright and cheery and welcome. The yellow walls, white
cabinets and the carefully refinished floor added weight to my
guilt. I had things to do and that kind of thinking wasn't
productive.

The heat was blasting, so I shrugged out of my field

jacket, hanging it on the ladder back of the kitchen chair. I
checked my supplies: thumb drive, cell phone and a cereal
bar.

Evil intent and crunchy, nutty flavor. I had all the makings

of a terrible criminal thus far.

The pantry, stocked like a backyard fallout shelter, waited.

I stepped in to the darkness, blocking thoughts of Tony's
previously undetected OCD from my mind.

At that moment, I heard a clack on the back step.
What. The. Hell?
Cat?

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Bird?
UPS man?
The back door was wrenched open with a jerk and I

burrowed further into the pantry and closed the door. It
wasn't Tony; that much I knew. He'd flip out to find the door
unlocked. This meant someone else wanted into the house.

Crap. It had to be Jamie. He must have followed me. I was

miffed that he wasn't still in jail protecting his virtue with a
shank. Didn't he have a job? Shouldn't he be digging his
hockey toys out of the landfill with a spoon? Shouldn't he be
anywhere other than Tony's house?

It was pitch black and cramped in the pantry. I had

enough room to turn around, but I was certain I'd knock a
broom off its hook or scatter eighty pounds of lentils across
the floor. My nostrils burned with dust and plastic and
household cleaners and desperately I held back a sneeze. The
slamming in my chest almost muted the sound of the outside
door whacking shut. This was insane. There were two
sneaking unwelcome intruders alone together in Tony's
house.

Tony was going to kill me.
Footsteps.
What would Jamie do if I leaped out at him? I stifled a

laugh. It would give me the element of surprise, that was for
sure, but to what end? I stood, shaking with inappropriate
silent amusement, terrified my laughter would come snorting
out of me. I clapped my hand over my mouth and tried to
calm down.

I was out of my mind.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

I waited for the door to be yanked open. I'd had bad luck

trying to defend myself with a rolling pin this morning; I
wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. I looked for a
weapon. I couldn't even see to grip anything useable. A roll of
paper towels would be about all I could find while staying
quiet. I'd use my brain. It hadn't supported me too well in the
last twenty-four hours, true, but hope sprang eternal.

My entire body strained to catch the progress of shoes on

the hardwood as they passed my hiding place.

I grabbed my backside when my cell phone buzzed,

scaring the amusement right out of me. I dug it out and
flipped it open, the green light casting its alien glow in the
cramped space.

In the tiniest voice I'd ever used in my entire adult life I

breathed, "Hey." It was Tony.

He boomed, "Did you go over to Little Pitch yet? I can

meet you over there in about twenty minutes. I'm stopping
by the house first."

Man, he was loud on the phone. Was I being too sensitive?
Crap. I had to respond.
I hushed, "Okay..."
"You all right, Mark? You sound strange."
Silence. What was I doing?
"Meehan? You there?" I pressed the phone hard against

my ear to create a vacuum. Tony's voice bounced inside my
head as I attempted to limit all sound. I couldn't turn the
phone off. It made that dumpty dumpty dooo noise. I couldn't
close it and allow his huge voice to carry through the stillness
of the house. I tried not to laugh. This was utterly ridiculous.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"Hey? Did you hang up? Everything okay? Did you go see

Larry?" So many questions! "Mark?" A pause. "I know you're
still there." Another pause. I was silent, little breathy laughs
escaping me. "You're doing something stupid. I know it."

I was doing something stupid and I was tired of hiding like

a giggling adolescent playing a game. Grow some, Mark. Why
was I hiding? It wasn't Tony out there. Where did I expect all
this to lead? As much as I didn't want to have another violent
confrontation with Jamie, I knew some misdirection was in
order. I flung the door open and stepped out into the homey
calm of Tony's kitchen. It was time to turn the tables and get
some answers, or get my nose popped again, or get arrested.

Time to do something.
"I'm at your place." My voice pinged through the house

announcing my location. I pulled out a chair and waited. "I'm
sitting in your kitchen."

Tony's voice hardened slightly. "You got a reason for that,

Mark?"

Jamie stepped into view in the living room, his focus on

the phone in my hand. I settled back, waiting. This wasn't my
bank executive ex-lover approaching. Jamie looked like hell.
His bandage was gone. Angry stitches crisscrossed his
forehead, the threads wiry and ugly. Still in the same slacks
from yesterday, he was rumpled, wet and dirty, his loafers
caked with road salt and sand. I looked at Tony's once
pristine floor. Salt smeared the oak.

Jamie's expression was dangerous. I schooled my own

features. No fear. And no laughter either. He was dreaming if

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

he thought I was intimidated. I wasn't running or hiding from
anyone.

Tony's voice in my ear reminded me that there was

someone I should be hiding from. "Mark?"

"Hey. I'm here with Jamie in your kitchen. It's quite comfy.

We're about to have a nice chat."

I snapped the phone shut and placed it on the table before

he could respond. I didn't want him listening this time.

"Fancy meeting you here." I thought sarcasm would best

catch him off guard. I relaxed into my seat, crossing my
booted ankles and lacing my fingers across my stomach The
picture of calm.

Jamie filled the doorway. I couldn't read him. "Boyfriend

troubles?"

"Hey, you would know." Takes one to know one? It was if

the entire day hadn't happened. We had made no progress.

Lather, rinse, repeat.
"What's Tony going to make of this? What's he going to

think of you sneaking into his house? Looking for something,
Mark?"

"He was expecting me; I left my socks here this morning."
"Huh. So that's why you parked next store at the gas

station? You worried about keeping up appearances?"

"Enjoy your morning?" I should shut up. I didn't want

another escalating violent scene with him. We were one on
one—Stitched vs. Contused.

He ambled into the kitchen. His calm demeanor was a bit

eerie given his actions at my apartment. Why didn't he head
out? He knew Tony was probably on his way. If it was

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

possible for my guard to go up any further, it ratcheted
skyward.

He leaned against the butcher block counter. We sized

each other up. "I had to get bonded out. That wasn't
pleasant."

What, he wanted an apology? "What's that cost these

days? Because, I don't know Jamie, if that had happened to
me, my check would have bounced and I'd be sitting in jail
still."

"I'm trying to take care of that."
"What exactly are you trying to take care of? I'm clueless.

And penniless. Am I supposed to trust you to fix this?"

"You are impeding my progress. I need to access my files."

His words came out with blunt precision. He was getting
angry. Angrier. I could tell he was treading close to the edge.
"I chipped snow and ice for a couple of hours, Mark, and the
interesting thing? No laptop. You playing some kind of
revenge game here?"

Yes. "Did you leave it at work? Have you even been to

work? Maybe it's on your desk."

"You think this is funny? You think I'm joking around,

Mark?"

I lost my easy pose. "I don't know what you're doing. You

wanna enlighten me? Tell me a few more lies? Maybe explain
why the rent hasn't been paid and where my money's gone?
Explain why you're here and not at work. Explain what I
walked in on yesterday."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Jamie's jaw worked, grinding his back teeth. Was he

chewing on some new lie or the truth? Those startlingly blue
eyes searched the window for something I couldn't see.

"I owe some money." He admitted with reluctance. "I was

going to put your money back. You weren't supposed to
know. I've gotten a little over-extended with a few people and
I had to kite some funds. I should be in the black soon. But I
need my stuff."

His arms crossed defensively across his broad body. Tall

and wide, all muscle and hair and heavy-jawed Kennedy-
clean look. That thick athletic build I'd found attractive in
chinos and a polo—my prep school jock lover. What a joke.
I'd been used by a moron. He was playing me still.

"You could have asked." I said. "You could have said

something."

The lock rattled from the front of the house and the

opportunity to learn more was lost. Jamie pushed himself
forward as I stood.

"Your new boyfriend's back. Damn, Mark, have we even

broken up yet?"

What? Was he hurt?
"Are you kidding? Do not tell me you think we're going to

be together after this. Get over it. And he's not my
boyfriend." I snapped, grabbing my phone and texting him
before Tony was even through the living room.

Go fuk urself.
From Jamie's pocket came the sound of a mariachi band.

He shook his head at me. "Really mature, Mark."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

"He is, isn't he?" Tony, in uniform, walked in. I could tell

he was surprised we weren't killing each other. He looked
professional and he wore his cop face and his gun. That
wicked looking baton was on his belt and his handcuffs were
neatly clipped for easy access. I only wished he'd had his
sunglasses on. I didn't care for the distance there.

I faced him.
"You guys want to tell me what you're doing in my house?"
In all honesty, I said, "I came in to get something I left

last night. I didn't think you'd mind."

Tony ignored me. He homed in on Jamie. "You, Jamie? Did

Mark let you in? Why am I thinking the answer is 'no'?"

Something passed between them.
Challenge. History.
"The door was unlocked, I followed him in. Hey, I'm trying

to retrieve my property. It's been stolen. Maybe you should
be looking into that instead of trying to get into Mark's
pants."

Tony let that go. I flushed in a creeping wave of pissed off

that started at my neck and spread up to my forehead.
Unperturbed, Tony asked calmly, "Did you file a report for
your stolen property? I don't recall that being the case.
Maybe you and I should take a ride over to the barracks and
do that."

Jamie tensed. A flicker of something that could have been

disbelief passed over his smug face. "I'll leave."

Tony's voice grew hard. "I don't think so."

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

Holy shit. Tony was going to arrest him again. Twice in one

day. Was this personal? I wondered if it even had to do with
me or this situation.

Jamie started to lose his shit. I felt like a stranger

watching from the outside. Something bigger was happening
here, something they weren't telling me. Jamie opened his
mouth. "You sure you want to do that? I want my stuff.
What's that? Larceny, Tony? Maybe you have some stolen
items in your house. Maybe you have some big confession
you wanna make here to Mark? Did you fuck him yet?"

I leaped at him. I couldn't help it. I threw myself forward

wanting to shut him up. I was somewhat satisfied to see
Jamie flinch, throwing up his hands. Tony was fast and he
grabbed me. "Settle down. We're going to keep things
friendly this time." My elbows were held back behind me,
straining my shoulders. I took some deep breaths, nodding.

Jamie laughed. "Too close to home there, Mark?"
I tried to twist out of Tony's hold, but he was trained for

this kind of thing and he was strong. He was also my friend. I
had to keep that at the forefront of my mind. "I'm fine. Let
go."

With my arms useless and Tony preoccupied, Jamie

suddenly came to life. He didn't come at me as I expected,
instead he bolted toward freedom, his athletic power evident
as he sprang with speed toward the back door. Tony tossed
me out of the way, intent on Jamie. I stayed put. I didn't
want any part of this scene.

I stood there in the empty room like a dope. I had

expected Jamie to take off long before this. Why had he

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

stayed? Tony chased him through the mudroom out the back
door. I heard Jamie fall down the icy steps, Tony on top of
him, and then came the rumble of Tony's deep voice as he
read Jamie his rights for the second time that day, the harsh
snap of handcuffs, and my breath whistling through my lungs.
That could have been me. A litany of swearing bisected the
quiet authority of Tony's monologue. I didn't budge.

"Goddamn it Tony! I just followed him in there. The

fucking door was open!" That was true enough. We were both
trespassing. I still couldn't believe Jamie was going back to
jail.

Busy day for the Resident Trooper.
I turned on the faucet, getting a drink and drowning out

their voices. I splashed water on my face, reached for the
fluffy, perfectly placed blue dish towel and dried off as Tony
led Jamie across the ice to his SUV. It was almost too much
to see Jamie with his arms cuffed behind his back a second
time.

Almost. He deserved whatever he got, as far as I was

concerned. I still had things to do. Tony came in, rigid and
unfriendly. With a sharp look, he gruffly ordered, "You are to
be here when I get back. Are we clear?"

I sighed, nodding. "Yeah. I'll be here." I was this close to

saying Yes sir.

He left without saying another word, slamming the door as

he went, and I waited for the sound of his SUV departing.

Then I got to work.
First I retrieved the computer, set it on the neat kitchen

table and fired it up. While it was setting up, I snagged a soda

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

100

from the fridge and a sack of pretzels from the pantry. I was
sure he wouldn't notice. Making myself comfortable, I typed
uradickhead and Jamie's computer opened to me like a virgin
on prom night. I should know. I'd been the virgin.

I settled in to look around and see what was what.
Crunching on pretzels and washing them down with root

beer, I saw that Jamie had a lot of photos. There were the
obligatory family photos, of course: his mother's botoxed,
unlined, and seamless face; the two of us skiing at Butternut;
Killington. A few of his hockey team. One of his cock (who
does that? But I'd recognize that fat little bastard anywhere),
and a folder filled with naked men. Not professional photos of
artfully lit, exquisitely sculpted, hairless gay models ala
Robert Palmer. No. These looked like they'd been taken
during sex.

That's nice. I felt worse.
There were plenty of files and folders for his job. I checked

his email using Tony's wireless. Most of his mail was work
related, some from me, a few from his mom, some sports
sites, and credit card transactions. Those looked interesting; I
clicked on his MasterCard.

It was overdrawn, though there wasn't a balance listed. I'd

have to check that out. I checked his bank accounts. Nada.
Nothing. Zip. Empty. My jaw hit my chest. I copied the pages
onto my thumb drive.

I had thought to clear his hard drive, just to piss him off,

but if this computer was evidence, it needed to remain intact.
He'd have a hard time finding it, first off, and secondly, the
changed password would stall him a bit. I closed everything

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

101

and shut it down. I wiped every key, the screen, every square
inch of the laptop, then wrapped it in a towel. I shrugged on
my coat and headed for my Jeep. I'd move it into Tony's
driveway and tuck the laptop under the driver's seat. I was
going to return it to the apartment, maybe stick it under the
bed.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

102

Thursday, February 12

Six o'clock came and went and still no sign of Tony. I

wasn't about to call him.

I was feeling nauseous. In my boredom, I'd eaten half a

package of double stuff Oreos, the pretzels, a beer, two
cokes, the root beer and a can of pasta fagioli. And a yogurt.
Plus the cereal bar. My stomach ached. My head ached. My
nose throbbed. I needed to get out of there.

Outside the snow fell in innocent whirling flurries. The

temperature continued to drop and the roads soon would
freeze with black ice. For all I knew, Tony was working late.
The forecast predicted four to six inches over night. Not a lot,
but with the cold and the half foot we'd received the evening
before, the state police would be busy clearing accidents and
helping stranded motorists. I couldn't stand waiting any
longer, so I left a note on the table and put on my coat. Tony
knew where to find me, I told myself. It was Thursday night
and I wanted to get home, kick back, watch some CSI, vomit
and scan the paper for a new apartment.

I could still hear his firm directive issued over three hours

before: You are to be here when I get back. Are we clear?

I ignored the voice in my head telling me to sit tight. I

drove the mile to my house, retrieved the key from a worried
Mrs. Marsh, and realized that Mike had installed a steel door.

Funny. It was total overkill, but, God love him, it was

thoughtful. He and my dad must have had a ball putting it up.

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Kevin was going to crap monkeys when he got the bill. I
smiled.

By nine, I was nodding off in front of the television, flannel

pants and a hooded sweatshirt keeping the chill away, my cell
phone charging and purposely off. I'd looked through the
paper at apartment listings, but my heart wasn't in it. I had
no cash. How was I going to find an apartment? I rubbed my
eyes in exhaustion and stretched out on the couch with a
blanket, blocking out the image of myself living in my
parent's basement while I repaired my finances.

I woke up to a firm rapping on the door. Stumbling off the

couch, I placed a bleary eye to the peep hole. I was treated
to the ominous sight of Tony lurking in the shadowed
stairwell. He had circles under his eyes and a scruffy beard
covered his jaw. He was bundled up, snow covered his hair
and pea coat. He looked good. Like a rough and ready sailor
home on leave.

This ought to be fun.
"Why'd you leave?" He demanded as soon as I opened the

door. He brushed past me bringing a wave of cold air into my
warm apartment.

"C'mon in."
"I asked you to stay earlier."
"No. You told me to stay. I got tired of waiting and I left.

What's the big deal? It's one mile, Tony."

"I expected you to be there. You broke into my house,

Mark. I'd like to know what power of deductive reasoning led
you to conclude that was an acceptable solution to your
problem."

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Uh oh. Condescending? Not going to happen.
"I'd like to know why you arrested Jamie twice in one day.

It seems to me like there's something going on here—more
than you're letting on or some sort of history you're hiding." I
was reaching, but something was up.

I could feel it.
"He broke into my home. Case closed."
"Bullshit. We weren't doing anything but violating your

hospitality." If I expected honesty, I had to give some. "And
trespassing."

He looked away, unbuttoned his coat and threw it on a

chair. Sitting down, he unlaced his boots in angry jerks. He
was soaked and dripping on the rug. His hands were chafed
and red.

"Where are your gloves? Why aren't you wearing a hat?

It's fifteen degrees! This could have waited until tomorrow." I
distanced myself by going into the kitchen. "Do you want
some tea?"

Who was I? Suzy Homemaker?
He pursued me. "You used a key and came into my home.

Uninvited, but I don't choose to believe that there was
malicious intent there. Am I right?"

I nodded, sticking a mug into the microwave.
"Jamie's a whole 'nother matter and you know it." Tony

rolled his shoulders, his mouth flat, "What was at the house,
Mark?"

He was bracing himself.
I told him the truth. "His computer. I left it there last

night. I stuffed it in the pantry, which, I might add, was hard

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to do given the volume of food you have in there. Then I went
back for it this afternoon. I meant to take it with me this
morning but I was preoccupied..." I trailed off. "I have no
excuse. I knew he'd come here looking and I figured the very
last place he'd go to find something was at your place."

The microwave dinged. I made tea. It kept my hands busy.
"Great." He seemed more resigned than angry. I didn't like

that he expected the worst from me.

"I'm going to give it back. I wanted to copy his files first,

see if I could find out if he had my money in his account, and,
I guess, transfer it back over. He stole my money; I wanted it
back. But there's nothing there but a lot of zeros. He's broke."

"Did you tamper with his files?"
I hesitated. Gave him a spoon and the sugar. "Only his

password"

"Where's it at now?"
"Why? I'm not forking it over. I'll talk to Larry tomorrow

and see what he says."

"You're lucky he didn't attack you. I don't understand

what's going on with you."

A place for everything. Everything in its place, I

remembered.

"Why do you need to understand? This isn't about you.

This is about my life. What the hell, Tony? You jerked me off
and now we're going steady? I don't think so." I was being an
asshole. My anger was out of line and I knew it. But he was
hiding something. I could feel it and I was sick and tired of
being deceived.

His face hardened. "You're mad at me?"

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Those friendly brown eyes narrowed and moved in,

crowding me, coming right up into my face. My back met the
wall.

"We're friends. You came to me." He poked me. "You

involved me the minute you put stolen property in my house."
He paused and stared at my neck. "I didn't hear you saying
no last night, Mark. I heard a whole lot of yes. If I wanted to
push it, you'd let me take you right here."

I decided right there to assert myself. Cocky bastard. "Tell

me what the hell that was all about today. I got this morning.
He deserved it. This afternoon had nothing to do with me. It
was personal."

"It had everything to do with you." His chest hovered

close, not yet touching me. I held my ground and his gaze. "I
told you he came on to me last summer."

I nodded.
His mouth turned grim, "Well. It was more than that."
I knew it. When Tony chased him out of the house this

afternoon, between his unrelenting anger and Jamie's smug
assurance that Tony wouldn't arrest him, I knew there was
more to this story than I'd been told.

"How much more?"
Tony let out a resigned breath, his face sad. He moved

closer, as if to offer me support. "A lot more. Look, I'm not
proud of it, but he came on to me one night at the Village. It
was right after my Dad ... we went into the parking lot. I
don't know, he was all over me and I let him suck me off."

I sank against the wall, thankful for its support, needing

time to adjust to this new revelation. Tony's chest rested

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against me. Pressing me. Smothering me. Tony, Mr. Morally
Upright, crushed me. He'd always been someone I could
count on. A friend.

"Get out." My voice held about as much substance as the

snowflakes melting in Tony's hair.

He sighed, his weight firm on me. "Yeah. I should. That's

why I wanted you to stay earlier." I tried to stop listening. I
wouldn't look at him. "Mark. I'm sorry. It was a horrible thing
to do. I should have told you. I was so fucked up last summer
and—"

"Well, we're all sorry, right? I know I am." I sounded like a

martyr but screw him.

Tony eased his body against my rigid one. Maybe he was

trying to absorb my hurt. He stroked my face tenderly with
his large, callused hand while I stared at the clock on the
wall, struggling to keep my mouth shut and my face still. "I'm
sorry, Mark. I have no excuse. None. The two of you hadn't
moved in together yet. I thought he'd tell you. When he
didn't, I knew I had to. But.... "His speech trailed into a
hoarse whisper against my lips and I braced myself. Those
big arms came around me and he moved to hold me. I was
poker stiff, but in danger of falling apart.

"Don't." For the first time since this entire nightmare had

begun, I actually thought I might cry. I shook my head
slowly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. I
tightened the traitorous quiver of my mouth and held myself
together by sheer force of will.

His words were soft with regret, "I didn't know how serious

it was between you two and I was angry—with you for seeing

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him, with him, with myself. I let him. I couldn't tell you,
Mark."

He could have said something. Jamie never would have. I

wondered how much more there was left to discover on that
front. Was there anyone in town with a dick that Jamie hadn't
diddled? How could I have been this unaware? I'd been
utterly complacent in my own life. I let Jamie into my home
and my bed and I knew I was settling. He was a player when
I met him. Fun, sweet even, but a player still.

Tony's lips brushed against my mouth, coaxing and

seductive. I shut my eyes. Squeezing them closed. I clenched
my fists, and turned my face away from his attempt to
comfort me. Then my rage caught up with my hurt and I
shoved him across the kitchen, as hard as I could.

"Get the fuck off of me, Tony." He stumbled and caught

himself, his eyes somewhere between contrite and surprised,
"I think I've been played enough in the last two days, don't
you, T?"

His expression changed to one of outrage and his volume

flared. "I never played you. That was your asshole boyfriend,
Mark."

"Yeah? So what the hell is this?"
Tony flew at me. He flattened me against the wall, not

giving me a second to prepare for the force of his mouth
coming down on mine. No gentle search or coaxing apology,
but a bruising display of fury and possession. He grabbed my
wrists when I struggled to push him away and slammed them
above my head, making the window rattle in its pane. I tried
to kick his nuts into his teeth but he wedged his thigh

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between mine and held me, pinioned, kissing me, breathing
hard against me and slowly grinding his hips into mine.

I'd never seen him out of control in the almost twenty

years I'd known him and a lick of unexpected, unwelcome
heat unfurled inside me. I turned my head, but he followed
me, sucking at my mouth, then pulling back enough to order,
"Open your fucking mouth Mark."

I groaned. Somehow that forceful tone made me violent

and needy. I was pissed but went from hurt and angry to wild
and willing and angry. I wanted him. I wanted to climb inside
him. Tear him apart. I pushed my hips back into his, greedy
for it, my hands still trapped by his, and let him into my
mouth with a low, melting moan of consent.

Jacked up against the wall with two hundred pounds of

Italian beef against me, his tongue pressed in to take mine
with bruising intensity. I sucked him in, my head bobbing
against the wall, using his tongue like a cock, and Tony
moaned this time.

My mouth was sore and swollen when I finally broke the

kiss. I didn't smile. I bit his jaw, mouthed his Adam's apple
and ran my tongue along the dark hair scattered across his
collar bone. I tasted salt, soap and man.

"Let me go." I struggled impatiently in his fists.
"No." He came back, this time to slide his mouth hotly

along my jaw up to the shell of my ear. His tongue swirled
lightly and then he sucked the lobe, biting me with enough of
a nip to make my breath hitch. His mouth slid low to lick my
neck.

"Tony, let me go."

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"Why? What's your plan Meehan? You going to put that

mouth to good use?"

"Shut up." He let go.
I grabbed the bottom of his sweater, needing to feel his

skin against mine in the worst way. His hands were yanking
at my hair, trying to bring me back to his mouth but I was too
busy trying to strip his clothing.

"Mark." I caught him staring at my nose. "I don't want to

hurt you."

"Now you notice? Just don't bang it. I'm fine." I peeled his

sweater up and over his head, dropping it on the floor behind
him. I undid his belt as his fingers trailed through my hair.
He'd calmed down a bit, but we were both on edge.

His cock peeked coyly from the top of his boxers, almost to

his navel. He was a big guy and my mouth watered at the
thought of sucking him to the back of my throat. He grasped
my head tighter as my hand brushed against those wiry hairs
running in a path straight to the straining root of his erection.
I closed my fist, watching as he humped into my hand with a
heavy grunt. The head of his cock was wide as a plum and
wet on the tip; I rubbed my thumb along that slickness,
smearing it in a lazy circle. Tony groaned and ground harder.

"Suck me, Mark."
I didn't need to be told twice. Pulling his jeans down to his

hips, I set his cock free. My hand stroked that tender sack
underneath, the sparse hair tickling my fingertips. His skin
drew up as I rolled his testicles and found the sensitive ridge
leading up to his hole. He spread his legs farther, "Yeah that's
it."

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Kneeling on the cool kitchen floor he guided his cock into

my mouth, one big hand holding me by the back of my neck
as it had last night. The clean, musky scent of his groin filled
me and I tasted the sweetness of Tony. I sucked him in
further, a smooth glide into my wet mouth. I used my teeth,
scraping lightly, and then I stopped to pay attention to his
smooth broad crown. I swiped my tongue around the tip,
nibbled and licked.

Tony gave a happy moan, held me firmly and plunged

right down my throat. "That's right ... suck it, Mark. God. You
have the sexiest mouth."

His control slipped further. How crazy was I to get off on

Tony's lost restraint? I loved the feel of his strong body
straining and sweating and trembling. Even in my submissive
pose, which was hot as hell, I was the one in charge. I was so
hard my flannel pants were tenting out and I reached a hand
down to touch my own cock.

I wrapped one fist around the base of his dick and let him

pump into my mouth for a few rough strokes while jerking
myself off with the other. Pushing and pulling, we found a
rhythm that had him panting and mumbling and me on the
brink of coming. I wanted to suck him harder and faster and
deeper, but we needed to find a condom. He slammed into
me, gasping.

And then I dragged him out with slow suck.
"Jeeze-us Mark." He helped me to my feet and tried to kiss

me but I stopped him.

"Yeah. I know. We need a condom."
Tony smiled evilly. "I have one."

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I snorted. Of course he did. "I have some too. You wanna

do this right here? Or do you wan—"

His mouth came down and he twisted to lift me onto the

countertop. I felt the toaster push back into the wall. We
knocked over my box of Captain Crunch and it scattered
across the countertop. I banged into the cupboards, trying
not to smile. My kitchen was in no way as roomy or organized
as his. I didn't think he cared much, but we were creating a
mess.

"Take these off." He was impatient, trying to strip my

pants off, his voice gruff. Was this a race? If it was, I wanted
to win. I scooted up and he yanked them down my legs with
a couple of strong jerks, and then tossed them onto the
breakfast bar.

My naked ass crunched down on a few stray puffs of

breakfast cereal. Tony stepped between my knees, his pants
half down his legs, his face hungry. Those deep brown eyes
searched mine. I gripped his arms, his back, his neck;
anywhere I could reach him.

He pressed into the vee of my thighs; those sure hands

trailed up, exploring and spreading my legs further apart. His
fingers teased through the thatch of hair around my cock and
I curved into and around him.

Touch me.
"I am." His hand engulfed my heat and he sucked my

tongue deep into his soft, sweet mouth.

I wanted him inside me, his fingers, his tongue, his cock,

everything. I hadn't felt this turned on since, well last night,
but before that, it had been a while.

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My hands explored the planes of his chest, the muscles of

his arms, his strong back and his broad-headed dick.
Touching him, feeling his firm taut skin made my hands tingle
in pleasure. I loved his skin, hot and hairy and clean. His own
hands had a lock on my inner thighs and he was humping his
naked dick against mine, my ass now completely off the
counter. A little further and he'd be able to push into me. He
brought me higher with moans and murmurs, licks and the
coarse scratch of whiskers. I wanted him to take that step for
me. I knew I was going to come quickly. Again.

Tony fumbled with his jeans and found what we needed.

Had he expected this? Come looking for it? Why not? I was
easy and needy and at this moment beyond caring.

"Tony." He was all over me. We needed some lube if we

were going to do this right. I yanked his head back by his
hair. "Tony. Stop. We need to find lube."

His brown eyes darkened even more. A trick of the light or

maybe his pupils were dilating, I don't know, but he looked
sexy and depraved. He glanced around the kitchen and I
immediately shook my head. No way. I wasn't putting salad
dressing or some other food item in my ass.

Been there. Done that. No thanks.
"Yeah. Okay. I want to fuck you right here. Where is it? I'll

get it."

I disengaged. "I've got it."
I hated walking out with my bare ass jiggling, crushed

cereal bits falling to the floor. Still, it was a nice ass. I'd
sweep the floor tomorrow.

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He trailed me, eyes on my ass. I didn't want to go into my

bedroom, so I slipped into the bathroom before I changed my
mind, snagged the bottle and tossed it to him. Catching it,
Tony stripped his t-shirt over his head, revealing his chest,
hairy swirls of blackness and cut pectorals, rigid muscles and
sleek skin. That tattoo of St. Michael, patron saint of police
officers I remembered, watched me. It stretched across
Tony's chest; detailed, colorful, brilliant in its depiction. There
was something about a man with a tattoo.

I ripped my sweatshirt off.
"You want me inside you, Mark?" Tony asked.
"Are you kidding me?" I nodded. Was he asking or telling?

I was draped over him latched onto his neck, gripping his
dick, humping at his hips, and he was leading me backwards
into the bedroom. I gave up. I let him push me into that place
I didn't want to go. I'd slept with Jamie in that very bed two
nights ago. We would have to chase these demons away.

"It's going to be so fucking good." I wasn't sure if I said

that or he did. It was clear we were both thinking it.

He tossed me down, landed on top of me on the covers

and clasped my thigh around his strong hip.

"Where—"
"Right here." He suited me up for battle, and then drizzled

the lube over his fingers, warming it up. In a completely
unexpected move, Tony tangled his fingers into mine. Slicking
them. What did he want? I reached down to grease myself.

"Wait. No. Wait. I want to do it with you." His hand stayed

mine, held it, and then his thick index finger joined my slim
one in a smooth glide. I cried out. That initial entry was

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always a surprise of pain and pleasure as my tight ring fought
against the sweet stab of invasion. A hard shiver ripped
through my body as we reamed my hole, readying me. It was
a lot to take that quickly, but yielding had never been this
intensely erotic. Tony disappeared farther down my body and
sucked the head of my cock into his mouth right down to my
pubes.

"Oh shit yeah." My balls pulled up, my legs fell open and

together, our fingers began fucking my ass, hitting my sweet
spot with his callused finger. He drew me further into his
throat with tight wet swallows. I watched his cheeks hollow
and my head fell back, my eyes closed. He loved me without
stopping, the head of my dick hitting the back of his throat,
until finally I wrapped my free hand around his head letting
my orgasm build, Grunting and whimpering, my legs shaking,
my brain exploding, I pumped into his open mouth. I was
being fucked as surely as I was fucking him. It was out of this
world. I was out of my mind with lust.

My heels dug into his back, my hips arched on a final

thrust and it was over. I was reeling. I collapsed, wrung out.
He tugged the condom off and ... I didn't care what he did
with it. Tony crawled back up my body, laving my navel,
running his teeth along my ribs, sucking my nipple with a pop
and then he was kissing me. I tasted latex on his lips. He
broke away and I gasped, "Wow. I thought I was good in
bed."

"It's not over yet." Smiling, he tore open another condom,

jerked my knees up over his shoulders and finding that slick
open channel, he slid into me with a slow steady stroke. I was

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ready, willing and loose, but, damn, he was a big man and I
felt every inch slide into me. Sweaty and grim, he drove all
the way home as I pressed back, letting him in and trying to
relax. He was stretching me, bigger than anyone I'd been
with, and I was more than a little uncomfortable.

Sweat ran down the side of his face as he gritted out, "You

okay?"

Why did he keep asking me this?
"Yes. Move. Now."
Taking my thighs in hand, he screwed into me long and

easy. I watched his face. I couldn't help it. He was gorgeous.
His balls slapped against me as he picked up the pace and the
pleasure was building. Pushing my legs into my chest, his
cock smacked into my prostate. My ass twitched, my channel
lubed, hot and throbbing with the sweet pain and delight and
full, tight heat. I was grunting. I didn't have the sense to be
embarrassed about it because I was lost to everything except
Tony.

I was hard again. Holy hell, it was incredible.
"Touch yourself for me." His mouth closed on my calf, his

hands clenched my thighs and he gave it to me hard. "You
like that baby? Like it when I fuck you?"

Oh God, yes, I did. I tried to wrap my mind around the

fact that this was Tony and he liked it hard and dirty and
demanding and—good Lord he was turning out to be the best
fuck I'd ever had. Instead I fisted my dick, trying to keep up
with him. I bore down as his cock pulsed and throbbed and
plowed my ass. Sweat dripped off his face and onto my chest.
I was wet, sticking to the sheets and to his skin.

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Incredibly another orgasm was building low in my body as

he nailed my p spot with precision. Almost there, that son of
a bitch dropped my legs and wrenched my hand away from
my hard on. I fought him, I was so shocked. Panicked and too
fucking close to the edge, I struggled, trying to gain release.
He drew my arms over my head and pinned my wrists into
the mattress, slamming into me now. Tony's mouth came
down, hard. I exploded in a shattering orgasm, crying and
twisting and fighting and crazed with lust and relief and, oh
God, gratitude, and it went on until I finally let it all go,
shaking into him. He licked my mouth and then stiffened up
and quietly that big body shook. He shot off inside me as he
purred, kissing my mouth softly until he went boneless on top
of me.

Holy shit. I couldn't move. Wouldn't move.
We were stuck together; sweat and semen fusing us as we

labored for breath. His cock slipped from my body. My wrists
were still above my head, but he no longer held me down.
Instead his fingers laced with mine. He licked the wet from
my neck and murmured softly. "That was worth waiting for."

Was it? He had the right of it there. I'd never been so at

the mercy of anyone sexually and was shocked to have
gotten off on it. Gotten off? I came like a freight train. It was
the best orgasm of my life. I wanted to do it again.

I didn't respond. Truth be told, I couldn't. We simply lay

there in the muted darkness, stroking each other and
breathing together in our cocoon of tangled bedding. The
smell of his skin, the taste of his lips, his hair tickling my

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nose—it all felt oddly right. I held him, refusing to allow my
brain to catch up with my body.

"Meehan. You alive?" his voice broke the spell. His words

feathered my ear.

I mumbled, "Yeah. Please don't tell me you're a big talker

after sex."

"You okay, Meehan?" He leaned back to look at me,

freeing my hands.

"Yeah, but I think I need a cigarette." I pushed him off me

and he rolled away, stripping off his condom, and tossing it in
the trash. He trailed his hand through the stickiness clinging
to the fine hairs of my abdomen. He licked his fingers.

"I probably shouldn't be eating this right off my hand since

you've been sleeping with Jamie."

Oh, man.
I blinked at him, "I can't believe you said that."
I couldn't. I sat up, grabbed something off the floor.
Shirt?
Underwear?
Pride?
I don't know. I rubbed my stomach, my crotch, my legs

and got up, smacking him in the head with the wet clothing.
"Hey. That was great but it's time for you to go, Tony."

"Hey, that didn't come out quite the way I meant it."
I walked into the bathroom with as much dignity as I could

muster and slammed the door.

[Back to Table of Contents]

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119

Friday, February 13: 8 am

Friday morning, I woke alone in my bed—which was a very

good thing. Tony had pounded on the door for a few minutes
following his abysmal attempt at post coital conversation, and
then, while I washed away my sins in the shower, he gave up
and left. I was sated and clean when I'd crawled into the
stained sheets and I slept the dreamless sleep of an innocent
man. Not so innocent, I knew, but I liked the imagery.

I was sweeping up cereal debris in the kitchen when I

remembered my phone had been off all night. It was eight;
time to face the world. All things considered, I was in a good
mood. Getting laid had that effect on me, though I was still in
shock over Tony's revelation.

I had ten calls. Four from Tony before he'd arrived last

night, I deleted those. Two from a strained and subdued
Jamie asking me to see him today; I saved those. A few from
Larry wanting to know if I had retrieved the potentially
damaging property (I needed to call him back immediately)
and a final message from Tony at six forty five am.

Call me.
What was with this guy and his direct orders? I considered

it not at all.

I got busy. The only item I hadn't tossed of Jamie's was

his file box. As pissed off as I'd been, I wasn't vindictive
enough to throw out his birth certificate and kindergarten
photos, so I'd tucked the files away in the storage closet,
knowing that I'd have to eventually give it back.

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The office was homey, particularly since it belonged solely

to me now. With a cup of coffee in one hand, I flipped on the
radio, and then jimmied the lock on the metal file box. It
bulged with Jamie's secrets. I poured through each section
systematically, checking each document, searching for what I
didn't know. At some point, I was going to have to give this
entire box to either Jamie or the police, but I refused to be
ignorant of the facts. This was my life too. If he was in some
kind of financial crisis, which he'd indicated the day before, I
needed to be in the loop. I had this vision of my money tied
up in the courts for months while I lived in quiet desperation
in the house of my youth, my dad hovering and helpful.

Not an option. I'd borrow money before I moved home at

thirty.

Reading through Jamie's documents was tediously

uninteresting. Paperwork was not my thing. Half an hour went
by and finally I unearthed a stack of paper-clipped credit card
statements. They were organized alphabetically, which was
alarming in and of itself. I had no idea he had this many
accounts. There were a total of six major cards; a few store
cards; and the American Express he used only for work. Most
were in default in big numbers. Even I recognized that this
was too much credit for a single guy in his early thirties. I
turned his laptop on and waited for it to get its act together.

Jamie had expensive taste. He had a flashy status car,

wore fine Italian shoes, and liked his Brooks Brothers suits.
He spent a lot. However, the conclusion I was coming to
about his debt far outweighed what I could rationalize. I

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logged onto my computer and, using the calculator, started to
tally up the balance.

Between the credit cards and the car payments he owed a

whopping $150,000. Stunned, I stared at the number in
disbelief. He had no equity, no home, nothing of value other
than the clothes on his back. Even his car was leased. He'd
never be able to secure a loan from his own bank with this
credit history. What the hell was he doing?

I had always assumed, possibly because he'd told me as

much—that he was saving money the same way that I was. I
wanted a house, to travel, to go back to school, to sky dive: a
future. What did he want? Did I even know any more? We'd
been together since July, laughing, making love, skiing and
playing, but had we ever been serious? I thought we were on
the same page. The pages here painted a much different
picture than the one I had seen.

His financial nightmare before me, I took a closer look at

the line purchases, hoping to glean some clue in to what the
hell he was purchasing. It was confusing and bizarre. Most of
the charges indicated online purchases—a lot of online
purchases. A history of bad decisions and lack of restraint,
half a year of lying and sneaking around, here the image of a
desperate Jamie emerged from the scattered statements
across my desk. It seemed his finances had gotten out of
hand last August. I searched through the months of
inexcusable recklessness and I knew this had taken a turn
after he'd moved in. I quelled any desire to take responsibility
for this. This was his shit. Not mine

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And most of it was on gambling. He'd dropped thousands

and thousands of dollars a week on sports betting sites and
online gambling sites. There was a stay at Foxwoods Casino.
He'd taken cash advances at Mohegan Sun. No one considers
this wealthy New England state as hosting a ruinous gambling
industry; here was evidence to the contrary.

Each month, the numbers multiplied disproportionably

until like a lead weighted balloon they crashed down on his
fiscally irresponsible head. That reckless, feckless idiot. He
must have thought my piddling $20,000 was child's play.

My mind raced, firing question after question. I was free

associating my way to a conclusion—a conclusion I wasn't
going to like. What the hell had he gotten himself into? That's
a lot of minimum payments. What would it mean in his
position to owe that much? Would it ruin his reputation? How
would it affect his mother's social standing? His mother
wouldn't give him a penny; that was clear enough. How the
hell could he pay it all back? Could he borrow? Would he have
to declare bankruptcy? Rob a bank?

Oh shit. I suddenly knew why he was desperate for his

computer. He didn't care about my money. I had to wonder if
he was beyond caring about anything. He had bigger fish to
fry. $150,000 in debt, having stolen everything I had, what
would a man with an entire bank at his fingertips be capable
of doing?

I had to call the police. Call my attorney,
Call for a bodyguard.
I knew all these roads led to me calling Tony back—not

something I particularly wanted to do this shining morning

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after, but I refused to act like a fool. More of a fool. A
complete and utter fool.

I cleaned up my mess, filing the papers and closing down

the laptop. Depressed and a not just a little defeated, I called
Tony.

[Back to Table of Contents]

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124

Friday, February 13: 2pm

I was on my way back from Larry's office when I noticed

Jamie's red Audi TT cut into traffic. There was a new ding in
the rear fender and his taillight was out. Why wasn't he at
work pilfering from the till? Maybe he was on a suggested
hiatus like me. I was sure Smithfield Bank and Trust frowned
on the arrest, twice in a single day, of their branch manager.

My phone rang. I glanced at the display: Tony.
"Hey."
"Meehan. You left a bunch of messages." He was

preoccupied, his tone of voice just short of irritated.

"Yeah. I need to talk to you—"
"Right. I was out of line," he stated in that irritating, self-

assured way of his. Like fault was perfectly acceptable,
forgivable even. Which it was, of course ... in most situations.
I continued to follow Jamie's car through Smithfield, my
thoughts racing.

"About which, Tony? You fucked him, too. I wasn't the one

taking a chance last night: that was you. You were an ass, by
the way."

"I said as much. I apologized."
"Technically, no, you didn't."
"If I'd said sorry one more time we'd have fucked on the

kitchen floor, Mark. You didn't have a problem accepting my
apology when your pants were down."

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Well, he had me there, but I still didn't like hearing it said.

"Listen. I'm driving and using my cell. I've got to go before I
get pulled over. Are you in the office? I need to come by."

"Wait. Mark." I waited. I knew where this was going.

"What's up?"

"I've turned Jamie's crap over to Larry. Jamie took

everything, right? Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one
he's taken funds from. I tried to reach you all morning. I went
down to see Larry for some advice, but I should speak with
you."

"You needed to speak with the police first."
"I am talking to the police now." I pointed out.
"You know what I mean. You need to drive over here and

file a report before you do anything."

I disagreed. "My first inclination was to talk to the bank,

Tony, which I did. My accounts were empty. That's what you
do. Then I called Larry. I had no reason to suspect things
were this out of control. I took everything to Larry. I need to
know if I've done something illegal, even accidentally. I
wanted legal advice before I walk in the door to your building.
My call, T. I believe, constitutionally, the law is on my side."

Gauntlet thrown and I was not completely in the wrong.
He digested that. I could feel the tension crackling

between us. Or was it the crappy cell service that plagued the
Smithfield Hills?

A few tight seconds ticked by until he huffed out a breath.

I had a sense that more of the goddamn saga of James
Dupree was about to unfold. "Jamie's MIA."

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"Oh really?" He was directly in front of me; well, two cars

in front of me. "What makes you think that? You saw him
yesterday. You arrested him."

"He got bonded out a second time. He didn't show up at

his mother's place and he didn't show for work. We just got a
call from Mrs. Dupree. She's a bit high strung."

That snarling witch. She probably told them I had him

hacked into pieces in my deep freeze. "Tony. Even I know
that's ridiculous. You had him in custody, what," I checked
the time, "twenty hours ago?" I passed the pizza place and
then the State Police Barracks. I put the phone on speaker
and rested it in my lap, not wanting a ticket today. I felt that
Tony might not let me off this time.

"I'm aware of that. I thought you should know that he's a

loose cannon and he's disappeared."

"Maybe he went to the mall." I snapped. The Audi sped

along. I continued to follow. "Maybe he's with someone."

"Maybe. I wouldn't be surprised."
"He's right in front of me T. We just drove by the barracks.

My God, he's fine, okay? He's tooling down the road with not
a care in the world. Call off the hounds."

That was met with silence.
Great.
"Okay well this has been real, T, but I need to hang up. I'll

have my people contact your people."

He snorted, "Just don't do anything stupid, Mark. Got it?

You need to get your ass in here."

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"I will." What else could I say? I turned the radio up and

continued to watch Jamie's zippy car whiz down 202 toward
Bantam.

Larry was checking into the best way for me to proceed

and would call me by four. I felt in control for the first time in
forty-eight hours. Experience warned me that this feeling was
illusory, but I ignored my skepticism. I needed to move
forward. I was well aware that later today I'd have to walk
straight into a law enforcement office and speak with some
kind of white collar crime unit. Division? Person? I had no
idea. I'd looked on the internet—all I could find were
hundreds of criminal defense attorneys willing to fight the law
if I should be accused of fraud. What were you to do if you
were the victim? Call an attorney? See the cops? I should ask
Tony but he couldn't offer me legal advice and I wasn't
particularly keen on him today. I believed that things could
wait another hour until Larry called.

I went through a mental checklist: Located my money?

No; Information on Jamie? Delivered; Jamie feigning his own
disappearance? Check; Tony, still mad? Yes. Everything
seemed in order.

Jamie's car made an unexpected turn onto South Lake

Shore Drive, a twining road that served as a short cut around
Bantam Lake. It was picturesque but riddled with pot holes
and sharp corners. The snow was piled high and it was
freezing without mercy.

This time of year, the lake was dotted with ice fisherman

sitting in bundled lumps on the ice, often with their dogs and

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coolers and little else. Not a lot going on at the lake. What
was he doing out here?

Maybe he was heading over to the rink for a pick up

hockey game? Not possible. It was far too early.

I had nothing else to do, so I followed him at a distance. I

was curious but I didn't want another confrontation. I needed
to see what the hell he was doing. I was officially a stalker; a
new low for me.

The road was made narrower by ineffective plowing. The

banks along the sides were fat, high and sloppy and it was
treacherous driving. I crossed a thin causeway covered in
sheer, slick ice. I didn't care much for this road, but the Jeep
handled it.

Jamie's car turned into the nearly impassible Bluff Point

entrance. I kept driving. Bluff Point was a narrow strip of land
on Bantam Lake with a single access road looping the small
peninsula. It was a deserted, desolate campground this time
of year. Either Jamie was pulling in to have a snooze or a
snack or a clandestine quickie in the frozen outhouse, or
something wasn't right. I got out my cell phone. One bar.
Damn it. I called Tony.

"Yeah Mark?" He was gruff, bordering on unfriendly.
"Hey. Can you check something out for me?"
My voice was tight with apprehension. The red car slid

onto the private road leading to the empty campground. The
access road to Bluff Point was partially plowed. Evergreen
trees obscured much of the view of the high ground, but the
skinny road hugged the lake and was clearly visible. Why

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would he risk getting his car stuck? The park was closed for
the winter. What was he up to now?

"It depends. What do you need?"
"I'm over near Bluff Point. Listen, this is crazy—"
"No kidding?"
"I'm serious, T. I'm kind of following Jamie's car."
"What? Where are you again?"
"I'm up at Bantam Lake, at the Point. Something's really

strange, Tony. He shouldn't be out here, but I'm watching his
car slide all over the road. He's driving into the campground."
I watched as that brave German car's all wheel drive tackled
and spun through almost eight inches of loosely plowed snow.
He was crazy.

"Okay. I'll check it out."
"It's nuts. I wonder what the hell he's thinking." I drove

into the bait and tackle shop, now boarded up for the winter,
and turned the Jeep around. My view was somewhat
obstructed by a small boat house.

"Sit tight. Do you understand me? I'll be there shortly." He

disconnected.

I watched in shocked confusion as a burly man in a tan

jacket unfolded himself out of the driver's side door. It was
cold and even from a distance, I could make out that he wore
no gloves, which was unfathomable to me given the
temperature. He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and
gazed out at the Point. Maybe he was an ice fishermen
searching for the perfect spot to cut a hole in the frozen lake
and drop a line—with my ex-boyfriend's stolen banged up car.

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This lone figure had no right to Jamie's property. My alarm
increased.

What the hell was going on?
A rusted out white van blew past me, spraying salt, sand

and ice against the side of my Jeep and scaring the bejesus
out of me. I didn't know why, but unless that van was
delivering Lo Mein and egg rolls, it was out of place here. It
went bouncing and skidding down the snowy drive into Bluff
Point, struggling along in the dense snow until it fishtailed to
a stop behind the Audi.

The first man, the one who had emerged from Jamie's car,

made his way through the shin-deep snow to the van. He
didn't seem surprised by the new arrival. Obviously they were
meeting here. Some words were exchanged and then what
looked like friendly laughter. It all appeared innocent. I knew
better. It was menacing. My prickling skin wasn't having a
reaction to the heated air and the wool of my sweater. I didn't
have itchy heat: this was fear. That was Jamie's damn car
and it should not be out there.

The man tramped back to the car, yanked open the

passenger door, and hauled Jamie out by his down jacket.
What the hell? Jamie struggled awkwardly to stand before he
was viciously slammed into the side of the car, his head
smacking into the roof. I watched in dawning horror as he
stumbled to his knees into the half foot or more of snow. His
hands were secured behind his back. He tried to get up, but a
boot connected with his shoulder blades. He landed face first
on the unforgiving ice.

Where the fuck was Tony? What was going on?

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Didn't they know I could see them?
I shut the car off, fumbling for my cell phone, sweating

and nauseated. I wondered who those men were, what in
God's name Jamie had gotten himself into and how the hell to
help him. It never once crossed my mind that I should leave
Jamie to his fate. I didn't know what to do, so I hit redial,
jumping out of the car before I suffocated on my own panic.

I opened the back of the Jeep and grabbed a tire iron. I

wasn't going to sit by while someone beat Jamie to death in a
deserted campground. I knew something terrible was going to
happen in this isolated place. I started walking.

"Hey." Tony finally answered his cell, "There's been an

accident on 202. I'm going to be tied up here for a few
minutes until someone else gets here. I'll be there shortly." I
could hear the squeal of an ambulance through the phone and
in the distance. He was right down the road, almost here. It
was inconceivable that for once I had followed instructions
and he hadn't. I knew I was being unfair.

Jamie was truly in danger.
Somehow the tan coated man wrestled Jamie back to his

feet and shoved him roughly toward the path leading to the
deserted restrooms. My attention was caught by the door of
the van opening. I hid behind the boat house to watch as a
neat, dangerous looking older man climbed out. He shut the
door carefully, hitched a bag onto his shoulder, and followed
Jamie and his captor.

"Shit. Something's going on, Tony. You have to get here."

I babbled.

"What? Slow down, Mark. What's going on?"

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"It's Jamie. You have to send someone out here. Got it? I

can't leave him up there." Fraught, panicked, I had to get off
the phone.

"What? Calm down. I'll b—"
"Please. I think they're going to hurt him."
"Mark. Wait for me. Don't go anywhere. Stay with the car."

T was shouting at me by this point. "Do not get involved."

"Just get someone out here." I slammed my phone shut

and clicked it to vibrate.

I took off at a sprint, the road slick. I could barely see

them through the thicket of brush as the men made their way
up the path. Soon, they disappeared from view.

I wasn't suited to be anyone's hero but I couldn't stand

there with my thumb up my ass praying for a savior. I didn't
care about all the things he'd put me through or the mistakes
he'd made; I wasn't deserting him to this. I jogged onto the
deeply rutted path made by the vehicles. I lost my footing
and almost fell into the snow a few times.

The afternoon sun was blinding against the starkness of

the white and ice that surrounded me. On the lake, fishermen
perched in the cheery light of the bitter February afternoon.
The setting was serene; beautiful, but still, cold, quiet. My
breath froze in tiny puffs that chilled my nostrils and ached in
my lungs. Terrified for Jamie, I kept a firm hold on rational
thought and trudged up the trail to the restrooms. I followed
tracks three sets of boots had hollowed into crusted snow
matching my steps to make my climb quicker.

By the time I reached the summit, I was breathless with

fear for Jamie. I found my cell and texted Tony, giving him

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my location and what I could recall of the license plate
number on the battered van. He needed to know where I was
and what I was doing.

In the clearing, a wide cinderblock structure stood. It

housed both bathrooms, I remembered, and was the only one
of its kind on the peninsula. Below the roof line a row of
rectangular windows reflected sunshine. They ran the length
of the building, letting in natural light all year long.
Chickadees chattered in the trees, and every so often a car
would pass on the road below me. I could see the entire lake
from my vantage point: it was stark and barren. My heart
hammered in my chest. My blasted phone vibrated in my
pocket. I was an idiot to ignore it. But I had to.

I heard the sound of sirens in the distance.
I assessed the situation. I heard the men talking inside,

the pitch of their voices low and steady and carrying through
the vents in the side of the building. I slid the tire iron along
my leg and advanced as noiselessly as I was able in the
snow.

I couldn't make out individual words, only rough tones and

cruel laughter, the sound heavy in the frozen air. My stomach
bottomed out. I wanted to cover my ears from the terrible
sound of Jamie begging for mercy. What had he gotten
himself into? Who were these men? I had no idea how to
intervene. If they had weapons ... they could kill me.

The voices halted and out through the vents came the

unmistakable sound of brutality and violence. Something hard
met resistance and a something—Jamie—hit the wall and then
came the distinctive noise of retching. The beating didn't let

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up. I tried not to be ill as well when Jamie called out for help.
I stared down at the road, willing Tony to arrive. Scared,
frustrated, enraged and frozen by the reality that there was
nothing I could do to help him, I stood alone on the edge of
that fucking clearing, my blood boiling and my hand gripping
a weapon I didn't know if I could use.

A chickadee landed above me, its eager little head darting

back and forth with curiosity. It seemed to be questioning
me: What are you going to do? Clenching the tire iron, I
stretched high and smacked the heavy curved end into the
window, shattering glass with a satisfying blow. The
frightened birds lifted into the sky and the men inside grew
silent as the sound of sirens carried in the crisp air. Anger and
frustration bubbled up and I wailed on the window a second
time, and then I moved on to the next, breaking each one in
a line down to the doorway.

I'd gotten their attention. Jesus Tony, please get here.
The sirens drew closer as the door jerked open and Jamie's

attackers stepped out fearfully. I froze, memorizing their
faces. We stared at each other. They were in wide eyed
shock, the stupid bastards, and I was ready to crack their
heads open with the tire iron. The older man I now saw was
only about forty, his silver hair clipped against his head, his
eyes mean. There was blood on his jacket, his hands,
splattered across his face, on his pants, in his shoes. The
other, the scruffy blond in the tan jacket, carried a towel in
his hand.

A towel. To wipe up with.
The sirens were directly below us.

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"You should probably get out of here." I rasped.
The men, vicious and surprised, reacted instantly, taking

off into the thicket. Blood on their shoes left disturbing pink
waffles in the purity of the snow.

I ran like hell to the men's room to see what Jamie's folly

had wrought. I snatched my cell phone and dialed 911.

At first the diffused light in the building made it difficult to

see. The scene that greeted me was a tough one. Jamie was
on his stomach, bleeding on the concrete, his head next to
the floor drain. His eyes were closed. His coat had been
yanked down to his elbows, his shoes lost, his hands still tied
and now they were colorless behind his back, the white of his
Brooks Brothers shirt saturated in startling red.

I called his name, but he was unresponsive, lying in vomit

and blood. His face was swelling even as I watched, bruised,
and bloody almost beyond recognition. His nose was
obviously broken and his stitches pulled apart so the wound
gaped open. I must have been speaking to the emergency
operator, but I don't remember that. I remember my training
kicking in as I yanked off my coat and got to work saving his
life.

I assessed his vitals, following the protocol drummed into

me for years: Airway; Breathing; Circulation. He'd been
beaten with something more than fists. I found my keys and
used my pen knife to slice the bonds holding him. I didn't
move him as I attempted to staunch what blood flow I could
with paper towels from the wall dispenser, then I covered him
with my coat as he was already going into shock.

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I ignored the shouts from outside. I sat there instead

counting Jamie's respirations and monitoring his thready
pulse, keeping him still, worried he'd start to seize. I knew
better than to move him until the paramedics arrived on the
scene, which at last, they did, Tony right behind them. I let
go.

Standing, splattered in blood, I faced Tony. He was angry

as I'd ever seen him before, his face mottled, his nostrils
heaving, his mouth a slash of unforgiving rage. I assumed it
was safe outside, or he'd have come in with a weapon in his
hand, I was certain.

"I told you to wait." His voice bounced against the

concrete. The paramedics told us to leave. They were
strapping Jamie to a back board, taping his head down,
running an IV, fighting to get him to the ambulance. Jamie
remained unconscious throughout and the sight of him, this
damaged, splintered the last hold on my composure. I had to
get out of there.

I stepped out into the blinding sunlight and walked away,

Tony dogging me with each step.

"I couldn't wait, T. I told you to send someone. I called the

ambulance as soon as I was able. I did everything I could. I
scared them and those men took off into the woods as soon
as they realized the police were coming."

"That doesn't matter, Mark. Why do you persist in putting

yourself into these thoughtless situations? You should have
remained in your vehicle and waited for help."

"Would you have?"

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"You didn't know if they had weapons or who they were or

even why they were up here. You behaved irresponsibly, you
fucking jerk." His voice tightened, carrying across the point. I
was shocked by his loss of professionalism, of restraint, of his
cool. "Those men could have taken you, held you hostage,
shot you, beaten you and you walked right up there. I don't
understand you, Mark. It's as if you can't pair two intelligent
thoughts together."

"I couldn't do that. I wasn't any help to him, but I couldn't

leave him while I waited for you. I couldn't stand at the car.
Christ. No man could have done that and how dare you think
that's all the help I could offer! Fuck you, Tony."

The woods were crawling with cops. I hadn't even realized

it. I had no idea how long it'd been since I entered the
restroom. I saw the two men below us, being led to cruisers
in handcuffs.

I kept walking. Stumbling. Tony yanked me around by the

sleeve of my sweater, "Mark. Put this on." He handed me his
coat. My own jacket was covered in Jamie's blood and lying
forgotten on the grimy bathroom floor. I must be in shock.
Emotional shock. I couldn't understand what had happened or
who the men were or why they wanted Jamie or what crime
he was paying for.

I could guess it was over money.
Tony led me down the trail to his Expedition and pushed

me inside the warmth of the vehicle. His fingers under my
chin, he tilted my head up until I met his eyes. "Stay here. Do
you understand?"

I nodded.

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"You're going to have to make a statement."
"I'd like to do that at the hospital. Could I do that?"
He stared at me, shook his head in disgust, and walked

away to meet with his colleagues. I sat numbly in the car as
the shaking began and waited.

[Back to Table of Contents]

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139

Friday, February 13

There was both good and bad in working at the local

hospital. I knew everyone and had no privacy, but I could get
information and could see Jamie if I wanted. I didn't at first. I
simply needed to know that he was going to live.

I waited in the small, comfortable room outside of surgery.

I should have gone into the staff lounge, but I knew I'd need
to deal with the police so I did my best to be available. Tony
came and went, sometimes bringing me coffee. A different
trooper came in to take my statement.

I didn't care.
Jamie's mother arrived in a cloud of Chanel and sat as far

away from me as she was able without landing in the hallway.
Her hair was a perfect helmet of blond, blown to perfection,
curling under her pointed chin. She gave me a frosty look,
then unearthed a novel from her hand bag and began to read.
She didn't seem too broken up that her son had been nearly
beaten to death by two loan sharks from Waterbury.

Perhaps they were family?
It wasn't until later, when gossip finally worked its way

into her closed mind that she understood I had saved her
son's life. Sort of. She thanked me reluctantly.

I couldn't decide if she didn't like the fact that I had been

the one to intervene or that I'd bothered to do it at all.

I'd been there about an hour when my family arrived.

Sarah came waddling in with a bag of hot meatball grinders
from the Pizza Pub; my dad attempted conversation with Lady

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Dupree; my mom sat holding Sarah's hand and giving her a
hard time about her caffeine intake. It humbled me to have
such unflagging support. I had to tell them about Jamie, the
money, the beating and the eviction.

Jamie's nose and jaw were broken and a few teeth as well.

His cheek was shattered. He'd fractured his orbital floor or,
more accurately; it had been fractured for him. He'd
sustained injuries to his ribs and his spleen was enlarged. He
laid in the trauma unit, finally stabilized, a pitiful wreck. His
eyes were swollen shut and he was sedated in order to keep
him still and comfortable. He'd live, but he'd have a painful
recovery. I'd gone in to sit with him after his mother left.
They'd beaten him with a length of pipe recovered at the
scene. Blunt force trauma to the head. It was a wonder he
wasn't dead.

I sat and softly spoke to him. Telling him what an asshole

he was and how I never wanted to lay eyes on his miserable
face again in this lifetime. That he was a feckless prick and
that I hoped he rotted in jail and his mother collapsed from
the strain. I heard a cough in the room, Tony was keeping
watch, and I zipped my trap.

I had things to think about if not to say.
What I'd learned in the last three days was that the image

I had of the "real" Jamie was the tip of a profoundly unstable
iceberg. Beyond the financial crimes to be investigated, he
was involved in illegal gambling. He'd borrowed money from
the wrong people and had then tried to default on the loan.
That much was known. The rest we'd have to wait to find out.
Larry had Jamie's computer as well as his legal documents. I

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

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141

had known nothing and would most likely never recover my
cash. I'd paid for my stupidity.

I got up, hugged my family, and walked out of the hospital

without turning back. I was done.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

142

Saturday February 14: 12:15AM

When I arrived home from the hospital, I was charmed to

find an eviction notice hanging from a piece of scotch tape on
my front door.

That Kev. What a prince.
I tore it down, stared at it for a half second, and then put

it out of my mind. Nothing was going to change tonight. We'd
get another half foot of snow and I'd freeze trying to dig out,
but I couldn't look for an apartment for a few more days and
he wasn't going to kick me out in the street. I'd deal with this
Monday.

I bent to pick up a small basket, covered by an aged floral

dishtowel, sitting against my new steel door. Mrs. Marsh had
hobbled bravely up the stairs in my absence. I recognized the
act of civility. I blinked back my gratitude at her neighborly
offering of chocolate chip cookies. I knew she'd made them
for me. Her note said simply, "Hope you're feeling better."

I went straight to the bathroom, stripping my

bloodstained, filthy clothes as I went. Inside the steamy
shower, I stood braced against the slippery tile and let the
pounding water ease my aching body. I washed the dirt and
blood and anger I'd lived earlier right down the drain with the
soap suds.

I wasn't devastated by the loss of Jamie and our living lie

of domestic bliss; I was pissed by my own inability to see the
truth—which smacked of self pity and I loathed myself more
for it. Now Jamie was gone from my life and while I should

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cry or rage against God or strike whatever dramatic pose the
heartbroken lover should strike, I found myself vastly
relieved.

Free. Open to possibilities.
Jamie had been a different person when we met. Fun.

Outgoing. Wild at heart. We bickered and wrestled and
enjoyed our time together, or so I had believed. Then he
deviated into a monster—not like the ones Kayla and Jake
imagined lived under their beds. Jamie was the worst kind of
monster; the one you never saw coming until it was too late—
the one you invited in, the one you trusted. It wasn't the
money. It was the pain of being used, taken for granted.

Those were smaller disappointments, really. The larger one

was the man I'd taken for granted. I had to find a place for
that so I could move on. I couldn't imagine what he'd say to
me after this evening with Jamie's blood everywhere and my
harsh words and reckless behavior.

I forced myself out of the shower, refusing to look at my

battered face and hickey laced neck. The mirror and I weren't
going to be friends for a while. I dressed in my sweats and a
UConn T-shirt, pulling on some wool socks to keep off the
chill of the floor. My next place was going to be warmer. It'd
have a better landlord. It would be on the ground floor and
have central air. Since I was dreaming, I added a hot tub to
the list.

I half-heartedly flipped on the TV and flopped onto the

couch with a cup of cocoa in one hand and the remote in the
other. It was snowing again. It fell in the yellow glow of our
lamppost. There would be great skiing tomorrow.

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144

I heard him on the stairs before the knock came. My heart

skipped and for the first time, I allowed my need for Tony to
bloom inside me. How could I have been this blind? Sarah
was right; I'd denied myself a chance because I was afraid. I
had settled.

And it came and bit me on the ass.
I let him in, like the night before, but this time I didn't wait

for him. This time I wrapped my arms around him, pulling
him, cold and damp, sturdy and reliable and waiting silently. I
held him against me.

I remembered that first year he conned me into training

with him for the Road Race. I was sure he felt sorry for me, a
skinny, undersized kid. He was a strapping, muscular
eighteen, spending his last summer at home. He pestered and
cajoled and ran steadily at whatever pace I could handle until
I was up to the task of completing the race course with
competence. It was great. Tony was great. Every year he
came back during college and we'd train together, and every
year we'd hit that finish line together. I'd been too afraid he'd
reject me, again, to bother reaching out to him as anything
other than a friend.

I'd been a fool.
"Hey. You all right?" His words were velvet against my ear

as he embraced me. We stood there, in the open doorway,
and something gave inside me. Some piece of resistance I'd
been clinging to. I let his quiet strength fill me.

I took a hiccupping breath as my throat tightened. I

swallowed hard, my Adam's apple making a painful click over
the sound of the muted TV. Tears welled in my eyes, I was so

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145

profoundly thankful for his presence right then. I thought I
might possibly break down. I tried to nod. Tried to speak. I
tried to let him know through my stillness that I understood
and that I cared. That I wanted him and that, more than
anything, I was sorry.

He held me. "Meehan. It's okay. Listen I'm not going

anywhere. I never did. I've been here the entire time. You
hear me? I was angry; you scared the piss out of me, but I'm
over it now. I understand. I'm sorry. You drive me fucking
crazy, Mark, don't you know that? Just don't ever do that to
me again." He stroked my back, my hair and moved as if to
see my face, but I shook my head again. "C'mon. Let me in
the door, Mark. I'm soaked and freezing and now you are
too."

I got a grip on my emotions and let go, but Tony caught

my hand and pressed it to his cold cheek. He rubbed his
rough stubble into my open palm, his eyes closed in bliss and
his voice sweet, "Mark, it's all gonna be fine."

"I'm sorry." I was blinking and my damn lip was trembling.

I bit it.

"For what, Mark? It's been a bad few days. You didn't

know what he was up to. You didn't do anything you need to
apologize to me for, except maybe taking a few years off my
life this afternoon." He stepped into the apartment and shut
the door, shrugging off his coat.

"No. Not that. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, last

summer. I was a jerk."

"Hey, listen, I walked away. You were confused and you

reacted. But let's be clear on this: I didn't want to deal with

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146

anyone. I was as much to blame. I should have grabbed onto
you and not taken no for an answer a long time ago, so don't
try and take that on yourself. That was me, too, Mark." Tony
took me by the hand, led me to the couch, and dragged me
down half on top of him. He kicked his shoes off and they fell
onto the carpet. I curled around his body as he sat, tucking
my head under his chin. I rested my head on his chest and
breathed in the scent of his damp shirt and Irish Spring and
winter air.

"But—"
"No, Meehan. I should have done something. I was afraid

you'd turn me down."

Surprised, I drew back to look at him, "What? Why would I

turn you down? I wouldn't have said no. You were the one
that turned me down."

Tony nestled me back into the comfort of his body. "Mark,

you were seventeen. That was such a long time ago. I was
being smart. Man, you have got to let that go, yea? I was
twenty." He trailed his fingertips down my shoulder, lingered
over my back then drifted lower. I closed my eyes, willing
myself to relax, wanting to trust in him, as his heart beat
steady and strong against my cheek. His caress became a
sweep of tender circles until he lifted my t-shirt and smoothed
his hand over my skin. My body responded to his lazy
exploration as I waited for him to continue.

He took a deep breath, "That summer? I hadn't told

anyone at home I was gay, Mark, except Sarah. No one knew
and you were coming onto me on the back step of my
parent's house. Believe me, I wanted you. I was terrified of

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my dad finding out. It wasn't like with your family. I had to
hide until I couldn't anymore. I loved him, you know, and he
loved me. But he died thinking I'd 'grow out of' being queer.
By the time I knew that I wanted to be with you, things got
so complicated and then you were with Jamie. That dumb ass
had me by the balls. He knew how I felt about you. He knew
and I couldn't tell you."

Tony's fingers searched lower, sliding under the waistband

of my sweats to cup my ass. I wriggled into a better position,
twisting slightly. He continued, "And then I figured I'd only
have to wait a little longer because at some point, Jamie was
going to screw it up. I thought that we'd be worth waiting
for."

He squeezed my cheeks, his fingers dug in tight, and then

they inched lower, searching between my thighs. I decided to
help him out by climbing over him, straddling his lap, letting
him in, and all the while I kept my silence. This was the most
I'd ever heard him speak in our entire lives and I wasn't
about to interrupt him.

His fingers teased the tender hollow where my legs met

my groin and I burrowed into him. I ran my hands through
his hair and softly kissed the line of his jaw. I felt him smile
against my mouth.

"Tell you what, Meehan, you take your pants off and

maybe find some lube, and then I bet no one is going to feel
turned down again, right? We'll both be golden." He gave me
a look filled with mischief and promise and hope.

A winning combination.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

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148

I pretended to think about it. "Well, I don't know, it's

awfully late, Tony. Maybe we should wait unt—"

"You're going to like it, I swear."
"I know. So will you." I took hold of his jaw in both hands

and bent forward to nibble his lips with mine, not letting him
kiss me back. I blew on his mouth and withdrew, rubbed my
cock against his, and then backed away. I did it a few times,
almost but not quite giving him what he wanted. I felt
naughty and free and wonderful and, I guess, relieved.

He lurched forward to bite my lower lip. "You little frickin'

tease."

He grabbed my ass and jerked me into his chest. In what I

was coming to expect of Tony, he growled into my mouth and
took charge. He used his knees to spread my legs wide as his
fingertips bushed my balls and I hummed with delight. Still
hoping to unleash that control of his, I taunted him. "Are you
up for this Tony? It's been a long day."

"Is that a challenge, Meehan? Think maybe I can't make it

good enough for you to cry like a girl?" His tongue enticed my
mouth and his hand cupped my sack, rolling my balls in his
palm. "Again?"

I snorted then moaned as Tony's thick thumb found the

aching rosette of my ass and pressed lightly. "I just want to
come like I did last night. That would be good."

His thumb circled my hole as he dipped his tongue

between my lips. "I want in here." I took me half a second to
figure out that he didn't mean to kiss me. He drew his hand
out of my pants and stuck his thumb up against my mouth,
"Get it wet for me."

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149

Oh man, his words made my cock throb. I wet his thumb

with swirls and sucks until he pulled away. Peeling my sweats
down, he pierced me at both points; my mouth with his
tongue and my ass with that thick, blunt thumb. I moaned as
his other hand reached up to milk my cock. I held his hair in
my fists and kissed him with everything I had, my mouth
wide open to draw him in as he reached into the depths of my
tight channel with a burning stretch. I was rocking into his
hands, front and back and feasting on his mouth.

He broke the kiss and with barely repressed violence and

tumbled me back onto the living room carpet, tearing my
pants off my legs. "I need to be inside you. I've got to fuck
you right now."

Like I was going to say no. "Yeah, sure, T. Now would be

good."

My hand came smacking up to the drawer of the coffee

table where there was a bottle of lube. I found it and tossed it
onto the floor. I grabbed Tony's shirt and, with his help,
shucked it over his head. I touched him everywhere I could
reach, stroking, holding, and possessing him. I kissed St.
Michael, worshipping the length of his wings with open mouth
kisses, and found Tony's budded nipples at their tips. He
threw me back on the floor and those broad hands pressed
my thighs up against my chest locking me with my ass half
curved off the carpet. Before I knew what he was up to I felt
his mouth on my anus. Sucking. Licking. Rimming. His sweet,
lapping tongue smeared around my hole, working its way
inside and openly explored me. The vulnerability of my body
in his power and control had me on the edge. I moaned as his

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hot tongue drilled me then retreated. He placed a sucking kiss
on my hole, then another, watching me with a sexy smug
satisfaction.

Licking, laving, he readied me for his dick.
Damn. It.
I was close. "Please."
I was mumbling and begging and he still wouldn't give me

enough. I punched his shoulder and ground his head more
completely into my crack. I didn't know whether I wanted him
to finish me or not.

Tony crawled up my body to kiss me. "I love the way you

taste, baby. And the noises you make." He whispered as his
mouth touched mine. I tasted myself on his lips while he
groped around for a condom. Freeing his dick, he rolled it on.

"Get ready to cry now, Mark. It's going to be that good."
I laughed. "Oh my God, Tony."
He stroked the length of his penis with a squirt of lube and

gave me that slow smile I'd loved for so long, and then he
was on me, in me, starting a pressing assault on my body. He
stretched me, working his cock in. I pushed out and hoped for
the best. I could feel his shoulders trembling with the effort
not to hurt me on this first pass.

He was holding back, careful, my thighs splayed open, my

knees hooked over his elbows.

"You okay?" I whispered against his jaw, beating him to

the punch. "Cuz this feels great, but maybe you want to pick
up the pace a little."

He shook with suppressed laughter and those big hands

ground me onto his dick with a surge of strength. I cursed in

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an explosion of breath, trusting him in a way I'd never trusted
anyone. I opened myself, gripping and panting and asking
him for more as his cock rubbed that spot I knew would send
me to heaven.

"That's it, baby. Almost there. Let it go, Mark."
It was going to be hard and fast. I held on to his thighs

and let it happen with a cry. Tony kissed me while waves
erupted from the center of my spine, rolling through my body
in a current of sensation that made my cock dance and shake
and spew my release. My ass was on fire and clasping his
cock in time with my orgasm. Tony began to really lose
control. Grunting and swearing and calling my name, he filled
all my senses. His dick contracted inside me and then he was
coming, his face pained and wet with sweat. He pulsed,
sighed, and loved me.

And there we were, the two of us, heaped on my living

room floor, wiped out, sated, happy as clams, and sticky as
hell.

"Meehan, that gets better and better every time we do it."

Tony grumbled into my throat. He let go of my legs and rolled
us to the side.

"Next time, you're on the bottom though. My ass hurts."
He snorted at me, stroking my hair. "Any way you want it,

I'm there."

He drew me to my feet, and together we walked, smiling,

semi dressed and worn out, back into the bedroom, my heart
finally at ease. I didn't know what tomorrow would bring for
either of us, but I knew that he'd be there, waiting, no matter
what happened, and for now, that was enough.

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

152

[Back to Table of Contents]

Gobsmacked [Men of Smithfield]

by L.B. Gregg

153

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