Page 20 of Cash

“Come on, Brick.”

“What?”

Jules grabbed Brick’s arm and opened the front door. “You need a drink.”

“I do?”

“You do.”

“No, no, no! Wait!” Brick pushed at Jules’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“Come with me, and I’ll tell you as much as I can,” Jules said firmly. “Besides, your place ain’t safe.”

“What? Why?”

“Your doors are all busted up for one fuckin’ thing, and those assholes think I’m staying here. They’ll be back.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Brick grabbed his phone and then let Jules lead him over to the townhouse, sick with dread as he imagined every shadow was someone with a gun about to pop out at them. He had a thousand questions to ask, each one more nuts than the last as the possible scenarios ran wild in Brick’s mind.

Was his mother right and Jules had some crazy government job? Were those men who attacked them spies? Was Jules in possession of secret plans for an enemy weapon that was going to be used to destroy the country and only he knew how to disarm it? Or was it something even more sinister, like Jules was a special agent that had been sent here to assassinate someone who was a threat to the President?

Brick managed to keep his crazy thoughts to himself, but he was about to burst by the time he was standing inside Jules’s living room.

The interior of the townhouse was every bit as fancy as Brick had imagined—wooden floors, marble countertops, a fireplace with a damn remote control. The furniture was leather and wood, simple, masculine. There wasn’t any personal decor that Brick could see except a long folding picture frame up on the mantle. It looked as if it could collapse together to form a cube, and each of the six pictures were connected by thin hinges.

The first photo was of a young teen with serious resting bitch face and a little girl with big curly hair sitting on the front steps of a little house. There was another picture of the same girl but as a teenager, wearing a frilly blue dress and all made up as if she was going to prom. After that was a photo of Jules and the serious boy, both perhaps in their twenties, posing in front of an El Camino with flames painted on the sides.

Jules had returned from the kitchen with his hands full. He had two glasses of what looked to be bourbon or whiskey, a big bottle that was the likely source, some gauze, and alcohol pads. He set everything down on the coffee table except the two glasses and then approached Brick.

“Your brother and sister?” Brick nodded at the photos.

“Yeah, when we was little.” Jules handed one of the glasses to Brick. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Brick took a hesitant sip.

Ugh. Whiskey. Maybe.

“That okay?” Jules asked.

“It’s fine. But just for future reference, I like spiced rum and Dr. Pepper.”

“Noted.”

Brick looked back at the photos, and he recognized the next one as Jules’s brother and his husband from their tropical beach wedding. The photograph after that was a very creepy bald guy with a handsome blond in his lap.

“Buddy of mine and his fiancé,” Jules said. “They’re family too.”

“And what about them?” Brick eyed the last picture. It was a photo of a redhead, a thin brunet, and an old man who was grinning from ear to ear. “A throuple?”

“Nah. Them’s two younger ones are a thing most of the time, and the old guy is the skinny guy’s grandpa.”

“How many gay friends do you have?”

“Lots.”

“Huh.” Brick finished his drink. “That’s great. Very awesome of you to have so many queer buddies. So awesome. So, yeah, about the strange men who broke into my fuckin’ house looking for you?”

---