Big Chicago

Big Chicago Part 6...By Samayel


His voice makes the hair on my neck stand up, and the surprise makes my bladder clench around the coffee I soaked up this morning. He’s here…behind me…in the doorway. Harry Black is here. Say something, Drake! Fuck! Anything! Just sound calm. Calm…ha! Yeah…right.

I turn slowly, keeping my hands on the keys so he won’t see me trembling.

“I…I didn’t know I had an audience. I’m very…out of practice.”

Also out of breath. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt with no collar, open at the throat, and black slacks that show the quality of his tailor. He’s barefoot, and his hair is still short from the prison cut he’d been sporting. He must have stopped to clean up before he came here. He looks impeccable, as comfortable here as I imagined him. The eyes. His eyes are still hypnotic. Sparkling green, impish, as if he’s laughing at the world in silence, and deep, like the glimmer of water at the bottom of a long, dark well.

“I apologize for the unannounced arrival. I didn’t mean to surprise, but I was just enjoying hearing you play. I can’t play, myself, but it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy listening. And by the way…I can get you some music notation if you’d like something a little less complex than the Minute Waltz. I can’t even believe you tried that one. I knew you had nerve, but you’re pushing yourself too-”

“Who are you?” It came out strangled, but I can’t stop staring. Fear and desire don’t mix well, like oil in water, and it’s hard to see straight. How quickly I’d forgotten the strength of his presence. He dominates a room ruthlessly, whether there are two people or two thousand. Something about him radiates power…precision…confidence, and it makes my head spin being near it.

“Harry Black will work for now…or just Harry if you prefer. Who am I beyond that? A grateful gentleman that was very impressed by you, and who is very glad that you accepted his invitation. I’m sorry I was delayed and couldn’t make it home sooner, but as I’m sure you know, leaving is a bit trickier than arriving. It took a little more time to arrange than I originally expected.”

He’s padding into the room, on feet I’ve seen break bones, a glass of scotch and ice in a hand I’ve seen maim others. He’s magnificent, and I know he’s trying to be disarming. I know what he is beneath the surface. I can’t not be terrified, and I try to stare at the keys instead of him. I know it’s rude, but I’m not sure I can speak while looking at him with…with these thoughts in my head. Too much. Too fucking much.

“How? How did you get out? I…I saw the news. I’m glad you’re alive.” He’s standing behind my right shoulder, ice clinking in his glass while he sips his scotch. The smoldering nearness of him makes my skin hot and prickly.

“Prisoner transfer. As far as anyone there knows, Mr. Black is bound for the SuperMax facility, for instigating a riot and conspiring to kill other inmates. Of course…there is no Mr. Black, and the vehicle that picked me up was driven by my own people. You’d be amazed by what can be accomplished by a good hacker and some authentic looking documents. A few large bribes helped too. Thirty minutes after I left that shithole I was debriefing in a safe house and getting clean before I came home. My job there is done…Drake Malfoy.”

My name. He knows my name. He must have my records. He tells me these things like it doesn’t matter that he just arranged the deaths of at least five people. He doesn’t seem to care what I know. He’s going to kill me. I’m a liability. I’m an unnecessary risk. Why am I here? Did he just want to fuck me before he makes sure I stay silent forever? I can’t stop shaking. I can’t control it. He must know I’m shit scared. I’m going to die. At least I had a few good days before this. I’m sorry….I’m sorry about so much. I want those years back…and when my life flashes in front of my eyes, so much of it was wasted that it makes me sick. My head is spinning…I’m hot and I can’t breathe. The floor is jumping up to meet me and the darkness is so welcome. At least…at least I won’t have to see it coming.

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“Doc? Can you make it to my place today? Yeah…just routine check-up. Maybe some blood samples and some other samples for lab work. You know…‘eyes, ears, nose, and throat, turn your head and cough’ kind of stuff. The last doctor to look at him was borderline retarded and wasn’t worth a shit. Thanks, I mean it. We’ll be here. I’ll have Ron bring you in. He’s already en route. Right. See you soon.”

There is a cold rag on my head. I’m on silk. His bed. His sleeves are rolled up and when I open my eyes and look, all I can see are the cords of tensed muscle in his arms. There are scrapes healing on his knuckles. The antibiotic ointment gleams on them. I feel light headed…and a little nauseous. Harry Black is snapping a cell phone shut and picking up an icepack. He pauses when he looks at me and sees my eyes open. He called a doctor. A doctor is coming. Why waste time on a doctor for someone who knows too much and is going to wind up in some morgue? I’m too confused to think straight, but he’s smiling while he puts the icepack on my head.

“Maria is bringing some orange juice. You worried me for a minute there. Your pulse is a little high, but I don’t think you have a fever. I’m just guessing, but this last few days must have been a little stressful for you, right? Unanswered questions, too many assumptions, incomplete information and too much of a change of pace for such a short time. You need to relax…not that I can blame you for being a little high-strung.”

I lose it. I’m not proud. Not anymore really. Having a breakdown because you’re pissing-yourself-scared of death is allowed in my book.

“I don’t want to die. Please! I won’t tell anyone anything! I’ll do whatever you want! I swear it! I swear to God I’ll do anything…just-” It comes out punctuated by sniffles and gasps, but he interrupts with a vaguely insulted air and a finger raised to his lips.

“Shhh…shhh! Hey, hey, hey now. None of that. Not in front of the girls. Besides…I have no intention of doing any such thing. I think I’m a good judge of character, and if I didn’t want you here, believe me, we wouldn’t even be talking now. Breathe, okay? You’re going to be just fine. You can walk out of here anytime, and nothing will happen to you. I’ll give you my word on it. I know how little that counts for these days, but it means something to me. Maria will be here any second, then I think we should talk before the Doc gets here.”

Maria knocks politely and brings the juice, and Harry sets it on the nightstand and thanks her with a smile. She pulls a worried face for me, and asks if I’m alright. I don’t know if I can speak properly yet, so I just nod and gulp the orange juice. As soon as the door closes, Harry seats himself on the edge of the bed and sighs.

“Heh. Where to start? I’m gonna go out on a limb here. I knew you were smart. More than smart enough to piece together some of what was going on back there. I didn’t think you’d react quite like this though. I am a good judge of character…really…and I liked what I saw in you…there. Don’t look so surprised. Do you remember what I said?”

I whisper it. Those words will be locked in my head as long as I live. I just didn’t think I’d live long enough to have a reason to say them out loud.

“You belong on silk sheets and under candles. Kissed by starlight with champagne bubbles on your tongue. This is not where you belong.”

“You do remember. Well, you forgot the last part. For the record…hurting you would be like ripping the Mona Lisa in half. I would never destroy something beautiful. I never spoke a word to you that I didn’t mean. What I do…my job…that isn’t who I am. I won’t say that it doesn’t come with some complications that I’d rather not have, but…how do I say this? Drake…I’ve been looking for someone. It isn’t easy…in my position. So much I can’t say, so much I can’t share…at least not with most people.

While we were in there, I think I got a glimpse of who you really are, in spite of everything you’ve done and seen, and I liked what I saw. You gambled on me, when it would have been safer to keep your mouth shut and take advantage of whatever happened after the fact. You drew a line and picked a side. It was the right side. You can guess that I’m not frightened by taking chances. In gambling, all that matters are the stakes…and the odds. You’re here because the stakes are worth it to me, and I think the odds are on my side. I need someone…who understands what I can’t talk about, and knows when to stay silent. I want someone that can name the books I read and match me word for word. I don’t want a pet…I want an partner.

What I do…my work…it has a purpose. A higher purpose. I can’t explain…yet, but with enough time I might be able to. Just because I do…what I do…it doesn’t make me an ogre. What I am…here…is alone.

This place is beautiful, isn’t it? So many nice things. Comfortable. A lot better than some places I’ve been, but I’m alone here. Not solitary confinement alone. I can come and go when I want, but when I come home, it’s always to a place full of things that are nice, but have no meaning, because there is no one I can share them with that matters to me. You’re something different in a world of all-the-same, and I…I thought I’d take a chance on you. Let’s face it…something between us…chemistry, if you will, makes me want to see you in my life…completely. I wanted you the minute we set foot in that cell, but raping people just isn’t my thing. I did what I did to give you a reason to believe that I’m better than that, and I meant it. You’re in no danger from me, and if you want to go, you can…and I’ll make sure you’ve got enough for a good start out there. Just…I’m asking you stay. Do whatever you like…play the piano, read, sleep in, enjoy yourself however you like, but please take a chance on me. I’m not going to disappoint you. Okay?”

Floored would be an apt choice of words for my condition. If I weren’t already lying down, I’d be sprawled across the floor in an ungainly heap. He wasn’t like this…in there. The intensity is down to a simmer, and when he speaks to me, he sounds like a nervous teenager asking a girl he barely knows to the prom. I don’t know what to say. I have to say something, but I just nod. I know the question that has to be asked. I can’t even ask it while looking him in the eyes.

“Rules. There are always rules. What are they?”

He looks chagrined, and he keeps playing with the gold Rolex on his wrist.

“Shit. Yeah…there are rules. I wish there weren’t, but they’re not mine. Between you and me, no rules, be yourself, say what you think, do what you feel, but there are complications that come with my line of work. I can’t help that. I was damn lucky to meet someone like you where I did. What would I say if I met someone…like a bank teller, or a waiter? Hi, I’m Harry…I whack gangsters and scum for a living…nice to meet you. Not so hot an idea. You already understood before I even said a word, and that’s more than I’ve ever found before. It isn’t just flattery to add that I also think you’re drop dead gorgeous.

Here’s the gist of it. We never talk about my work in front of anyone, unless I mention it in front of you first. You remember Ron? The driver? He’s a company man, like me, and a good friend. The chauffeur gig is a cover. He’s one of the few people that comes here regularly. The doctor that’s coming to give you a check up…he’s the company doctor. He’s kind of an annoying bastard, but he’s one of the best. Him you can trust. Maria and Therese know nothing. Let’s keep it that way. The cover story is that I own significant shares of a plastics company. The Phoenix Corporation. All you know is that I sit on the board of directors and frequently have to travel.

Officially, to you, and in the eyes of the world outside of here, my name is Harry James Potter. To Maria and Therese, and on certain jobs, I’m Harry Black. I have other aliases, but those you can learn later as needed. Depends on who I’m meeting, really. No one comes here, and I mean that. No one. Company people only, or pre-approved by me. There’s no standard phone line into this building. The TV and computer are satellite linked. Don’t worry…there’s nothing in the computer you can’t or shouldn’t see, and it’s secure. I can get a cell phone for you. A secure one. Never reveal the address of this building, and if you want to leave or go somewhere, ideally it should be with me, or with Ron as a driver and security for you. He’s good. One of the best wheelmen in this business, and a wicked good shot besides. Worst case scenario, if you wind up alone, take a cab to a few blocks away, then walk until you can make sure you’re not followed and have Maria buzz you in.

Maria and Therese have been cleared, and their mail and other interactions are handled carefully. P.O. boxes. Yours would be too. Therese and Maria make trips for groceries and supplies twice a week. Mail leaves with them or comes back with them. They believe I’m eccentric and obsessed with privacy. They respect the rules, and have clean records of employment, or they wouldn’t be here. They’re paid very well, and they work well together, and this place runs like clockwork. We all follow the rules, no one has any problems.

That brings me to the next subject. Records. I read yours. Please try not think of that as creepy. Given my occupation, it was necessary. I didn’t want to spy on you, but before I could take a gamble and bend the rules here, I had to hedge my bet. I had your files pulled and a comprehensive security check done and waiting for me when I got to the safe house. I know who your parents are, where you went to school, and even where you stayed before you met Zabini. I had the piano shipped in last week, because I hoped it would give you a chance to do something you enjoyed. I expected it’s been much too long since you’ve been able to do anything like that, and you deserve more than a few breaks in my books.

I know it was coke that got you into trouble, and that can’t happen here. Understand? I’m not making a value judgment…the problem is that it brings other bullshit along with it, and this place is secure and meant to stay that way. There is no wavering on that. What we do outside of here is irrelevant, but we don’t bring trouble here.

These aren’t just rules. These are Holy Writ. They’re Commandments. I liked what I saw enough to ignore things that might make other people flinch, but when it comes to the integrity and security of my work, there are no compromises. Are we understood?”

I don’t know what I’m doing. I knew what I wanted with such clarity this afternoon, but my mind is a quagmire now. I want to run away…take some money and start over far away from here, but he makes me weak. I’m frightened of what I become when he’s near…when I hear the things he says. He’s better, and kinder, but he’s like Blaise all over again. Just by being near me, he makes me ache to submit. I used to love that feeling, but it’s hard to reconcile it with moments when my mind screams for me to run for safety. I have to ask more questions. There are things I have to know. Will the answers salve my conscious? I pick at this like a sore I won’t let heal. I need an excuse to let go and say yes. I need my fears allayed…and I have a lot of fears.

“What…what do you want me…to do? I could leave…today…if I wanted to? You’d let me? I don’t want trouble. I just want to be safe. I’m…I’m very tired…of being scared. I wouldn’t do anything that would make trouble…but what would I have to do? What…what do you want from me?”

“This might sound a little weird…given the time you’ve had of it, but I don’t want you to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with. I don’t have a big itinerary or anything, but I had some loose plans for the right now, starting with getting a check up. I was thinking dinner here tonight, a good night’s rest, maybe some shopping tomorrow if you feel up to it. Anywhere you like. Just some time on the town before we celebrate that birthday you have coming up. Other than that…read to you heart’s content, make music, enjoy the food, and live. Find out for yourself what you want to do with the rest of your life.

I’m going to be blunt…I hope you’ll actually spend some time with me and let me enjoy your company, but I didn’t bring you here to pressure you into sex or bribe you into staying. I mean it. I don’t want a pet. I can have that if I want, and keep it apart from my life here. I want to know the things about you that I can’t read in a file. I’d like to flatter myself into thinking that my gamble will pay off, and that someone might decide to stay here because I’m worth being around. I’d like it very much if that someone turned out to be you.”

What do you do in a situation like this? This insane shit is my life. A stunningly handsome man, wealthy enough and strong enough to protect me from anything, wants me for his own…no strings attached…and with just the usual luck I always seem to have, he’s a hit-man with the soul of a poet. A romantic philosopher who kills for money. The brusque knock at the door makes me gasp, and Harry turns to answer it.

“Come in!”

The door opens quickly and a man in an expensive and perfectly tailored white suit enters. His hair is long and black, heavily streaked with gray, and bound back in a pony tail. He picks up two enormous bags and steps in with a look of bored irritation.

“This is a house call I shouldn’t even be making. Rules, ever hear of them, Harry? Who the hell is that, and what the hell are they doing here? And don’t give me any of your usual sass. If it isn’t you or the staff, I’m not required to give a damn.”

Harry is grimacing, but whispers a few last words while the man drops his bags and starts pulling out equipment.

“Just think about it. Please. You won’t regret anything…I promise.”

‘Well? I’m still waiting for answers. And get me a chair. Might as well be comfortable while you interrupt my golf game. You’re lucky you’re a commodity, boy.”

“Doctor Snape, this is Drake. He had a little fainting spell, and he hasn’t had the best medical coverage for quite awhile, so I thought it would be a good idea to get him a proper check up by someone that knows what they’re doing. Drake…meet Doctor Snape.”

“Flattery will get you nothing, brat. Make yourself useful and get that chair while I get my things ready. I’d like to make this brief.”

Harry brought the chair from the desk, rolling his eyes behind the doctor’s back so that only I could see the look of exasperation on his face, but this man has eyes in the back of his head.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me either! Put the chair by the bed and leave. Then I can get on with this and get back to my game. Go!”

Harry puts the chair down beside the bed, and this Doctor Snape starts laying out things I recognize on the nightstand. Blood pressure, and glucose testers, vials, syringes, something like litmus papers for simple blood tests. A small, portable microscope and more.

“Did you get lost between the ‘g’ and the ‘o’ in go, Harry? Amscray!”

Harry shrugs and leaves, giving me one last look of sympathy before he goes. Then I’m alone on the bed with a very irritable looking man next to me, and he has a penlight in one gloved hand and a tongue depressor in the other.

“Tongue out, mouth open. I’ll assume you’re not congenitally retarded or he would have warned me. Let’s try to make this simple…Drake.”

My name drips off his tongue like a curse. What must he think of me…or of Harry? A boy in an outdated skirt and top. No wonder he’s disgusted. I do what he tells me, one terse command after another. True to what Harry said on the phone, he does all the standards. Eyes, ears, nose and throat, and then he starts with the blood pressure and pulse. I come up a few points below normal, but nothing serious, and my pulse is just a hair high, which is unusual for a person whose blood pressure is a little low compared to average. I get my finger pricked and my blood sugar is low too. All he does is grunt and make other non-committal noises while he orders me around.

I hate needles, but he draws five blood samples. FIVE! Fucking vampire. How many things can he need to check? He seals all but one of the samples and starts preparing some kind of chemistry set on the stand, rattling off questions like gunfire. Known allergies? History of drug use or alcoholism? Current medications or supplements? Dietary choices? On and on. He’s thorough, and he asks questions I’ve never even been asked before. When he gets to some very personal questions, about sexuality, and what I’ve been doing or not doing…I clam up. He pauses in the middle of his tests and gives me a look that could peel the paint off a wall.

“I’m not your mother. Answer the fucking questions and don’t be a blushing idiot. If you’re old enough to do it, and you are, then you’re old enough to talk about it out loud with a doctor.”

I have to explain…in slightly veiled terms, that I’ve had ‘passive’ anal or ‘active’ oral intercourse every day or every other for the last seven years, sometimes with multiple partners. I don’t mention prison, because he doesn’t really need to know that part. When you say these things, clinically, divorced from the reality of them, it seems so much more disgusting. When I run the numbers through my head, I realize that I had sex, involuntarily, about two thousand times in the last seven years. I was damned lucky that it was almost always with one person, and that was Flint. He accounted for 95% of the sex I was forced into having. I’ve been tested for HIV every year, and came up negative every time. I only had to suffer through a couple cases of gonorrhea. How’s that for winning at Russian Roulette? In the meanwhile, he’s gone back to his tests and his vial of blood and his microscope.

“Well…Drake, aside from being a bit insipid…there isn’t much wrong with you. Your blood sugar is low and you’re hypoglycemic. I’d watch my sugar intake if I wear you. That includes starches like bread, potatoes or noodles, as well as sodas, candies and all the other garbage kids eat these days. You could find yourself diabetic someday if you aren’t careful. You’re underweight for your size, by about ten pounds. Eat healthy and regularly…and get some exercise…it’ll level out your blood pressure. I can tell you’ve had a sedentary lifestyle for too long. You seem to be suffering from a little hypertension and anxiety, but that can be dealt with via good sleep habits and stepping away from stressful situations for a little bit and thinking rather than forcing yourself to deal with things instantly. Failing that, I can supply a very mild sedative. You haven’t been sleeping well, and I expect it’s mostly stress related. Sudden changes of environment can cause that. How long were you in prison?”

“Seven…seven years.” I’m so fucking humiliated. It’s like my worst nightmare came true. He can see it on me. It’s written all over me. Prison bitch. Trash. Slut. Junkie. Whore.

“Stop looking like that, and never presume that others are stupid. Your diet has been crap. The words ‘seven years’ came up half a dozen times while I was questioning you, you admitted to using illegal drugs, and to an unusual amount of sexual activity for a non monogamous relationship with one primary participant beside yourself. I also know where Harry has been this last month. Pardon me if I draw my own conclusions…they’re generally right. Here’s a piece of advice, boy. It happened. Get over it. That was there…this is here and now. You fucked up monumentally, but you don’t have to do anything that foolish twice. The definition of insanity is expecting different results from the same actions, despite seeing the evidence with your own eyes.

Don’t live like a teenager forever…you’ll die young and look terrible before you go. Eat well, exercise regularly, sleep on a stable schedule and don’t treat your body like a toxic waste dump. Just because it’s legal to advertise something on TV, it doesn’t mean it’s good for you…in most cases, it’s quite the opposite, or they wouldn‘t be spending money to convince you to buy it. I’ve done the standard screening for social and other diseases that are most common and easiest to detect quickly, and you’re clean despite the odds. The rest I’ll have results for in a week to ten days after I get back to my office. For your information, I was this close to playing a par game when Harry called me. If it were anyone but him…I’d have told them to fuck off. Take my advice and you’ll be fine. I’ll have a write-up printed and sent to you here…assuming you’re going to be here…”

Zero hour. I guess I have to make that call. I’m in shock from the barrage I’ve been under today, and he’s packing his things like I’m not even here. His clothes say he makes the kind of money that Harry does. No one who went through the hassle to get him to see me would kill me. I think…I think I’m actually safer here than I’ve ever been in my entire life. It’s kind of dizzying actually.

“Yes. I’ll be here. And thank you. I think…I think I was just…scared.”

Doctor Snape stands up with his bags and sniffs at me.

“I suppose I can’t blame you. I forget sometimes that not everyone lives the way we do. Bit much to take in all at once. Harry had no business bringing you here, but it’s done, and he’s our golden boy, so he’ll get what he wants. Go easy on yourself, get some rest, and try not to need any attention that requires me. Another time, Drake.”

And then he’s out of the room and gone. I can hear him sniping at Harry on the way down the hall and on the way to the elevator. Harry will be back here any minute. I feel terrible…but tomorrow…I could be going shopping. Who says all changes have to be bad?

When Harry comes back in, I stay quiet while he sorts out the chair and sits by the edge of the bed. I feel exhausted. My stomach keeps fluttering, and the urge to throw up is still flirting with me. I can’t help it. I’m woozy from losing that much blood to the doctor’s samples, and Harry’s presence smolders near me. I can feel it. He’s full of thoughts he keeps to himself. I can tell he’s making an effort not to frighten me. How can this be the same powerhouse of certainty that took me into his cell? Nervous silence hangs over us. Too long. I want to cry. I feel stupid for it, and I won’t let it happen. Doctor Snape’s words are still ringing in my ears.

‘Get over it. That was there…this is here and now. You fucked up monumentally, but you don’t have to do anything that foolish twice.’

Am I crazy? The last time I let my desire to be looked after and cared for by a good looking guy make my choices for me, I wound up in prison getting raped for seven years! Am I making the bad choice again…or is this the change I’ve been waiting for my entire life? Harry Black sighs loudly, yanking my train of thought right off its tracks and back to him.

“Drake…I’m sorry. This is too much for you. Sometimes I gamble and lose. I can make sure you’ve got plenty of money to get a new start somewhere, and Ron can be here as soon as he drops off the Doc. I understand, and all I ask for is your silence about this place, and my name. I…I really do hope you have a…”

“I’ll stay.”

The words dropped off my tongue like anvils. I feel like I can breathe again, and the quiet smile that looks so good on his face is back again. I can believe he doesn’t want to hurt me. I can believe that…but I just can’t believe that he won’t wind up doing it anyway.

His words are kind, and when I tell him I’m still dopey from stress and giving blood, he gets up and tells me to go ahead and have a nap if I like. Dinner won’t be ready for a couple more hours. He’s happy, and he radiates that happiness. I lay in silence while he leaves, and I have to wonder what will come next. So much. More than I can process. I’m in his home, in his bed, enjoying his kindness. He is my ‘type’ of man. Too much so for comfort, because my kind of man always means trouble. I don’t want trouble, but…I think I want Harry.

I close my eyes praying for the first time since I was innocent enough to believe it would matter. Dear God, please don’t let one also be the other.

TBC!!!