Page 4 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

Galen chuckled fondly. “From what you’ve told me, she would have been.”

“My nana,” John told Jackson, “was the most genteel whore you have ever met. She literally told me that’s how she met my grandfather, while putting away enough hooch to kill a regiment. But after she married, she rocked a twinset and pearls, scandalized the PTA with her swearing, and—” He swallowed, and Jackson could see genuine fondness for the woman. “—told her entire neighborhood to go to hell after she took me in when my father caught me having sex and beat the shit out of me.”

Jackson’s mouth fell open, because he had not been expecting that much real emotion.

John shook him off. “No… no. I’m sorry. I’m a little too honest after Galen and I attend our NA meetings. I didn’t mean to burden you with that.” He straightened his spine, and Jackson could see the genuine strength in somebody with an admittedly odd, albeit altruistic, approach to life. “Iwantedto say that my nana would haveabhorredthese women, and when my political rage gets acute, I like to imagine her telling them all that she hasn’t seen this many twats since she stopped pulling trains in her old brothel.” He let out a happy sigh. “God rest her soul. I hope she’s teaching the other whores in hell how to cheat at poker and give blowjobs worth a fortune. She was, legit, a hero.”

“I’ll pour one out for her, next time I’m drinking…?” Jackson let John fill in the blank.

“Irish whiskey!” John said with a grin, indicating his red hair. “What else?”

“Fair enough,” Jackson agreed, inclining his head. “To grand old dames.” He glanced down at what he’d pulled up on his laptop. “We need more of them,” he said with a sigh. White women, most of them with coifed blond hair, many of them with blue eyes, stared back at him.

Galen grimaced. “I don’t even need to look,” he muttered. “Scary Stepford Dragons?”

“Yep,” Jackson said. “And hey, last year they started a chapter in… you guessed it—”

“Sacramento,” John said grimly. “I know. They have a small office about two blocks from the church where Galen and I attend our NA meeting.”

Jackson frowned at him. “Wait… correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that only a couple of blocks from Lavender Heights?”

Sacramento’s nightlife had made great strides in the past ten years—lots of small businesses, bars, restaurants, and streets people felt safe enough to walk late at night on pub crawls. Lavender Heights was in the heart of all that positive energy and activity, with an LGBTQIA library on one block and a couple of nightclubs three blocks away. It was the kind of place people—any people—could walk hand in hand after dark and mostly only be afraid of traffic.

Putting the office of a bunch of people with an anti-gay or -trans agenda within the proximity of Lavender Heights was like putting nitro and glycerin on the same block.

“It is indeed,” Galen said, his mouth tightening. “And this evening, we met a young man who has… well, seen things.”

Jackson’s eyebrows rose. “Like what?”

John let out a frustrated breath as he brought bowls and such forward to set the table. “That’s the hard part. He… well, first he propositioned us?”

“You,” Galen said dryly. “He propositioned you. You were standing by the car, waiting for me to catch up, and the young man stuck his head out of the bushes at crotch level and said—”

John gave a pained grimace, and Jackson realized he was embarrassed. “Don’t repeat it,” he muttered. “Please, Galen. It’s so embarrassing. He’s achild.”

Galen’s droll smile faded, replaced by gentleness. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I guess it’s only funny to me because I know you’re a decent man.” He glanced at Jackson and finished the story. “Anyway, he stuck his head out of the bushes, suggested a convenient way John could receive his sexual favors, and then disappeared again as I walked up. John told him he didn’t want favors, but we were lost and he’d give the kid a twenty for directions.”

“Did it work?” Jackson asked, because it was a good idea.

“Like that,” John said, snapping his fingers. “I asked him the way to a hamburger place, and the kid gave me one in two blocks. I said he could have the twenty and I’d feed him if he drove there with us.”

Jackson smiled. “Another good idea,” he praised.

John rolled his eyes. “Hey, just because the kids I work with are well over eighteen doesn’t mean I don’t understand what makes them tick.”

“Sex and food,” Galen said promptly.

“Moneyand food,” John retorted. “Street kids really don’t want to be doing the sex thing in the first place.”

“Or,” Galen added, “a place to sleep and food. And sometimes”—the play left his voice, because he too was a decent man—“a place to bathe and sleep and get clean clothes. And a kind voice. And food. Which is why we left him with John’s receptionist and called Henry over. I do hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Jackson said. “I didn’t need the car anyway. It’s fine.”

Henry had driven their shared custody minivan that day when he’d dropped Jackson off at home. Originally the plan had been that Lance, Henry’s boyfriend, would come get Henry after Ellery got home, but Lance had been forced to work late—he was a resident at UC Davis Med Center—so Henry got to keep Jennifer, the persnickety crap-brown minivanthat only responded to Jackson and Henry and frequently showed her distaste for anybody else at the wheel by doing things like stalling out at intersections or throwing her doors open dramatically. Her previous owner, a perfectly lovely schoolteacher with three kids, told him that once the car had protested a family trip by throwing open her back hatch and vomiting luggage all over the highway—no mechanic on earth could figure out how the latch had opened since it was supposed to be electronically controlled. “Not needing the car” was frequently code for, “Oh God, at least someone else is dealing with her,” but not in this case.

In this case, Jackson couldn’t think of a more comforting vehicle with which to deal with a kid off the streets in all his probable suspicion and skittishness. Jennifer would feel very real to a kid like that.

“So back to the street kid,” Jackson said as John leaned over his shoulder and frowned at the screen.

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