Page 3 of Lethal Seduction

Blake plops another hunk of beef in his mouth and pulls out his phone, completely ignoring the question. Is he on social media right now? In the middle of our date?

Clearing my throat, I try and get his attention. “I’ve been a detective now for seven years, a cop even longer. I can’t believe how fast the time has gone, but it can make it difficult to date.” I take a sip of wine. “The hours I keep prevent me from making solid plans and have often gotten in the way of my relationships.”

Blake continues to scroll on his phone and then giggles. “Look at this meme.” He holds up his phone, showing a picture of a dog with a birthday hat on and something written below.

I don’t bother to read it. Instead, I try to imagine myself getting physical with this guy.Nothing.I actually feel nothing, not even a tingle or twitch. Either my age is affecting my libido, or I’m simply done with this date, and Blake. This self-absorbed jerk couldn’t care less about me. I’m a meal ticket, nothing more. I need to get the fuck out of here, and fast. The restroom sign in the corner is like my beacon of hope. If I excuse myself, I could hide in there until this guy gets bored and wanders away on his own. Maybe he’ll find another meme incredibly funny and go searching for someone to share it with?

Not likely.

Without any other options, I’m about to get up and leave when my phone buzzes. I’ve never been so relieved to see my boss’s name across my phone screen. This is my out, my chance to escape. If I could kiss my chief through the phone, I would—I’m desperate. “Excuse me for a second,” I say and get up from the table to take the call away from the crowded dining area.

Once I’m near the entrance, I answer. “Borne here.”

“Borne, we have an incident,” my boss, Chief Derrick Mace, says. His voice is stern and no-nonsense on the best of days. This is not one of them.

“What happened?”

“Need you down at the Who’s Your Caddy Golf Club, immediately. There’s been a murder. One of the rich clientele, who happens to be somewhat of a local celebrity, was found tonight along with a staff member.”

“I’ll be right there, sir.”

“There’s more,” he says. “I need you to be very discreet about this.”

Discreet.The boss knows I’m gay, and this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been sent to a murder scene involving a celebrity caught in a compromising position. My guess is whoever thisstraightcelebrity is, he was found in a not-so-straight situation—with his pants down.

“Let me guess, our local celebrity has family in high places? They don’t want certain details getting out to the press?”

Mace clears his throat. “It appears there may have been a sexual relationship between Branson James and a male staff member from the club. The family would like to keep Branson’s, how should I say it… proclivities, private.”

Not that it’s the 1970s or something, but the idea of someone being gay still instills fear and loathing in some people. Sad, but true. “Understood, sir.”

Mace hangs up the phone. The conversation is over, and I don’t have much time to get there and secure the scene. I look for our waiter and spot him at the cash register. Without a minute to waste, I hurry over to him.

“Hey, bud, I have to get going. My date over there,” I point to Blake, “hasn’t finished his meal, but I have to run.”

“Okay?”

“Work comes first sometimes.” I shrug. “I’d like to pay for our bill.”

“Sure thing.” The waiter searches through his apron pockets and pulls out the meal ticket.

“Thanks.” I hand him my credit card and wait for the transaction to go through. It’s over one hundred sixty dollars, but the relief I feel to get out of the nightmarish date and head to the crime scene is better than sex. Did that really just cross my mind? Either I’ve had some really shitty sex or not enough sex, either way, I hope never to think those words again. I hand the waiter a forty-dollar cash tip and say, “Can you let him know I won’t be back?”

The waiter looks back at Blake and then to me. He gives me a knowing smile and nods. “Sure thing, man.”

“You’re the best.” I hand the waiter another ten dollars and hurry out the door.

While dining and ditching a date was never in the plan or in my normal wheelhouse, I can’t help but acknowledge the sense of relief I feel at my escape. I’ll definitely need to discuss this with Leah next time I see her for coffee. She’s not a therapist, but she has been through more in her lifetime than I could ever imagine dealing with and subsequently is a wealth of advice.

As I exit the restaurant, I’m assaulted by the sounds of the massive city where I work and live. The many lights, distant sirens, and horns remind me of the life and possibilities that still exist. One bad date can’t get me down. Running for my car, I unlock the door on the fly and get inside, slamming the door behind me.

Let’s find out what Mr. Branson had been up to.

3

PATRICK

It’s a warm and sunny Saturday morning in Southern California, but I, Patrick Flores, am both in awe and appalled at the amount of sweat accumulating on Tina’s brow and soaking the armpits of her t-shirt. Tina Brokaw is a cute girl with long brown hair, a decent body, and a fun personality that I’ve loved since the day we met. Back then, she was hitting on me at the local gay bar until I whispered in her ear that I was into dudes. The look on her face was priceless, but from that moment on, we’ve been the best of friends.

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