Page 58 of College Town

“She must be agreatperson if you’re marrying her,” Lawson says, a little dry, a lot bitter.

Tommy sighs deeply, and pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closing a moment. “Technically,” he repeats, sharp-edged as a knife, “we’re engaged.” His eyes open, and they look tired, now. “It’s a – a political arrangement. Like royals do. A way to cement our standing with the bratva.

“It’s notreal,” he says, when Lawson only stares at him. “We don’t kiss, we don’t touch, we don’t do anything. It’s all politics. A way to keep an ally close and happy.”

“You don’t do…anything?” Lawson asks.

Tommy meets his gaze head-on, his eyes a cold, steely black instead of brown. Solid, and strong, and steady. “Nothing.” He says it like a swear. Like a vow.

It’s too much. Too serious. Lawson’s numb, sure, but not so numb that he can respond in kind. “Why not? Because she’s taller than you and your ego can’t handle it?”

Tommy’s eyes flash. A muscle in his jaw leaps. Too late, Lawson realizes he shouldn’t have teased. He’s always been the sort to poke the bear, but this time it was a mistake.

In a low, angry voice, Tommy says, “Because I don’t love her. And because I’m gay.”

Lawson’s heart makes a wild leap for his throat, so he turns away, and looks back out the window, unseeing. “Cool. Me, too. Guess you knew that.”

“Law–”

“What are you and your fake fiancée and your crime family doing in Eastman, then? Get tired of putting concrete shoes on New Yorkers?”

Tommy makes a frustrated sound, but he answers. “The Giacoletti family. Rivals,” he supplies, before Lawson can prod. “Not nice guys – yeah, yeah, I know,” he adds, when Lawson snorts. “There’s crime and then there’s crime, Lawson. The Giacolettis are into some wild shit. And they’re franchising. They’ve got some lesser known cousins scattered across the country, and they’re using them to peddle heroin that’s mostly just fentanyl.”

Lawson’s memory pings, and then he jerks, a wave of realization crashing over him. “The college kids. The ODs.” He turns back to Tommy and sees him nod, expression grim.

“Yeah. That was their stuff.”

“And the shooting?”

“Them, too.”

“Shit.”

Lawson doesn’t watch the news. His life’s depressing enough as is without burdening himself with the rest of the world’s problems. Every time he’s tried to turn it on, it’s nothing but bad across the board, from fatal traffic accidents, to ever-rising prices, to new wars kicking off halfway around the globe. But in a town like Eastman, it’s hard to miss the most dramatic local stories: they scream out of trending hashtags, and pass the lips of his customers and coworkers. The staff at the library has started circling more, keeping a hawkish eye out for suspicious activity, watching him so closely he squirms in his seat when he’s writing.

College kids are always partying too hard, drinking too much, and occasionally getting busted for illicit substances. At least once a semester, someone gets really smashed and winds up skinny-dipping in the fountain on the square. But lately, he’s heard more sirens, and seen more red and blue lights, and the tales of the co-eds are getting darker and darker.

Mouth suddenly dry, he says, “Ten kids since May.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, mouth a grim slash in his lined face. “The Giacolettis are slinging pills they bought off the cartel. They’ve changed suppliers, and their contact? Someone right here in Eastman. We don’t know who,” he says, when Lawson draws breath to ask. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. That’s why we’re in Eastman.”

Lawson realizes that, however pathetic, there’s a part of him that hoped – prayed, even – that no matter how painful the reunion, no matter how badly things turned out, Tommy had come forhim. That he’s thought of him these twenty long years, and couldn’t stay away anymore.

But of course it’s just about business.

Of course.

“That seems like something you could have sent a toadie to investigate for you.”

Tommy’s head inclines a fraction, brows lifting. “That’s not how I do business.”

“Right. You like to barge into coffeeshops flaunting your Rolex and your ‘pretend’ fiancée.”

Tommy goes pained.

Lawson returns his gaze to the window. “Why do I get the impression everything you just told me could get me killed?”

Tommy doesn’t answer, and that’s an answer in and of itself.

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