A Car Burned in an Alley By Robert S. Costic
Robert Costic has written a collection of fairy tales, "Flamethrower Fairy Tales," a novella, "Kepler's Revenge," and a collection of aphorisms, "Lightning Words," and has translated fairy tales by Theodor Storm and Friedrich Hebbel from German. All are available as ebooks everywhere.
Officer Hardy spotted a burned-out car smoldering in a residential alley. He parked his cruiser, pointed a spotlight on the vehicle to illuminate it in the night, and walked over. It appeared to have been torched. All the windows had burst. Hardy peered in and examined the seats, reduced from cushions to mere steel and wire, and the trunk, but he found no bodies. But he did spot an ashen rag hanging out of the fuel latch and surmised that it had been lit.
A frumpy, middle-aged man peered out the back window of his house down at Hardy, who looked back and waved at him. The man opened his window. "Did you see anything?" Hardy asked him.
"No," the man said.
"So odd," Hardy said. "Someone torched this car and no one around here seems to have noticed; otherwise it would have been called in to the dispatcher. I just happened to spot it while on patrol."
The man shrugged.
Hardy could still read the burned car's license plate, so he went back to his cruiser, aired his findings to the dispatcher, and looked up the license plate, which came back as stolen from a Clint Rorsch who lived nearby. Soon the crime scene officers and detective arrived and took over the scene. Hardy drove to Clint's house, a pretty standalone house surrounded by a garden bursting full with shrubs and flowers.
A knock on the door.
"Hello?" a slender young man wearing boxers answered, distracting Hardy with his state of undress, although Hardy noticed an exhausted expression in the man's eyes.
"Hello, I'm Officer Hardy. Are you Clint Rorsch?"
"Yes," the man said.
"I wanted to swing by and let you know that I located your car. It was several blocks away in the next neighborhood."
"You did?" Clint asked. "Can I get it back?"
"We're going to need to examine it for evidence. Also, it was torched and looks completely destroyed. It's not going to be useable."
"Fuck," Clint said.
"You may have told another officer already, but could you just tell me what happened? When did you first notice that it was gone?"
"Do you want to come in?" Clint asked. "It's cold outside and I'm not dressed to be standing at the door."
"Okay." Hardy stepped in. Clint led him to the couch, where they sat together. Clint slouched and pulled one leg up under the other so that his crouch was wide open, and Hardy could see some skin in the gaping open fly. Clint reached for his glass of chilled vodka, which had been sitting on the coffee table.
"I'd offer some but I'm guessing you can't during office hours," Clint said.
"You're right. That's fine."
"So, basically, my boyfriend stole it from me," Clint said. "James Reed. We had a fight a couple of days ago. He caught me having sex with another man. I had been seeing this other guy, Alfonso. It wasn't romantic between us, but Alf had been hitting on me at the gym. He'd stare at me. I'd stare at him. He'd place himself at equipment or around the weights so that we would be within eyesight of each other, and he'd flex for my viewing pleasure. It was ridiculous. I didn't play along, but he kept doing it, grinning at me the whole time, and eventually he just came up and start talking to me. He asked me if I liked what I saw, and I said I did, which was true. And I gave in because my man would never let me top and I had been craving it for over a year. And Alfonso, Lord, he had a hole. I could lick his hole and my tongue would go right through his sphincter. He had baby-smooth thighs I'd run my hands along as he rode me. That's how James found us. He threw Alfonso off me just as I was climaxing. He was in a huff and took the keys and drove away. I haven't seen him since."
"Where does he live?" Hardy said.
"He lives here," Clint said.
"He does? And you haven't seen him in two days?"
"No. This should all be in the original police report. I think there's a lookout for him."
Hardy vaguely remembered there being a lookout that matched this story, but so many lookouts were posted over the course of a week that he could hardly keep track of them all. "Does James have his own car?"
"Yes."
"And is it here?"
"No, it's also gone."
"When did it go missing?"
"I don't know exactly," Clint said. "At first I was upset about what had happened. I was thinking about James being angry at me, and at his taking my car. And then Alfonso left. And I called the police to report the stolen car. And somewhere along the way his car was gone, too."
"So it was gone by the time the police came and took the report."
"I think so," Clint said. He straightened out and stretched a great big stretch, extending his arms upward in a lazy, matter-of-fact way, like someone who had woken up moments before, and when he did Hardy could see every little crevice of Clint's body tense. But then Clint relaxed again and discreetly pulled closer to Hardy, not so close that they touched, but so close that only about an inch of air divided them. Clint sighed.
Hardy he didn't hurry to get up. He sat there, digesting everything and looking at Clint. He wondered whether this made Clint feel awkward, this looking, but Clint did not seem to mind and even seem to be inviting it in his own inconspicuous way.
"Do you have addresses and phone numbers of James' friends and family?" Hardy finally asked.
"Yeah, a few," Clint said. "I have them programmed on my phone. I could give them to you."
"Yes, that would be helpful."
But Clint just sat there, looking at Hardy, as if he expected something else to happen.
"Are you going to get that information?" Hardy asked.
"Oh, yes, yes," Clint said. And he grabbed his phone from the coffee table and started reciting names, numbers and addresses to Hardy, who wrote it all in his notebook.
"All right, well thank you for your time," Hardy said when they finished. "I'll be sure to be on the lookout for James and his vehicle."
"You can stay if you want," Clint said, looking up at Hardy as Hardy rose.
Hardy looked at Clint again so as to remember him. "I have to go back to work."
"I thought you are working," Clint said.
"I am," Hardy said. "By the way, do you have Alfonso's address?"
Clint did, and minutes later Hardy rapped on Alfonso's apartment door.
Alfonso answered, this time wearing only a bath towel. "Don't these people wear clothing?" Hardy thought to himself.
"Oh my," Alfonso said. "What do I owe this pleasure."
"Good evening. I'm Officer Hardy. I wanted to stop by and ask some questions about James Reed."
"Oh, that," Alfonso said. "Well I don't think I could be of much use to you. Last time I saw him was when I was riding Clint. I'm sure he told you all about that. I was riding Clint hard and good, and he was about to cum, and next thing I knew I felt these strong hands throttling me. When I turned around I saw him there, his face red like a hot fire iron. He took off with Clint's keys, and that's the last of it."
"And what did you do after James left?"
"I left. Not much point hanging around after that. Went home."
"And outside of your relationship with Clint you didn't know James?"
"No. Officer," Alfonso said, "I'm telling you, I don't have anything to help you find him. Now, if you'd like to stay for a little while I could keep you entertained." Alfonso dropped his bath towel to reveal his fully erect cock, a sliver of precum dripping from the prepuce.
Hardy looked at it. "Have you been erect this whole time?"
"I was playing with myself before you came knocking on the door," Alfonso said. "Even lubbed up my ass. I like to finger myself while I'm stroking, you know. If you wanted you could unzip, not even take off that uniform, and come right inside me. It'd be easy. It'd take just a moment." Alfonso reached under his balls and fingered himself to make clear to Hardy that entry would be willing and easy.
"You and Clint deserve each other," Hardy said. "Good night."
For the next several hours Hardy patrolled the city, thinking about the burned car. Hardy guessed that James took Clint's card, torched it, came back to the house, took his own car, and went to stay either with a family member or a friend. He looked at his notebook, filled with addresses of people James knew, and decided to visit every one of them. It was growing late in the evening and the dispatcher was not giving out any radio runs. Hardy had the time.
He visited one address after another, looking for a car that matched the description of James' vehicle and bore his license plate. The hours passed. He cruised down the streets, casually scrutinizing all the cars, playing Tchaikovsky on the stereo to help pass the time. He had done this sort of work before. Sometimes he had success; sometimes he did not. He did not have huge expectations, but at about 2am he found it. The car sat almost a block away from the address for James' mom's house.
Hardy parked his car and walked up to the address.
A knock on the door.
A man answered, this one dressed in boxers and a t-shirt.
"Are you James Reed?" Hardy asked.
"Yes," James said.
"I'm Officer Hardy. You are under arrest for the theft and destruction of Clint's vehicle."
"Okay, fine. May I put some shoes on?"
"Yes," Hardy said, and allowed James to put on some slippers. Hardy pulled James' right arm back and handcuffed his hand, and then he pulled the left one back and did the same. He escorted James out of the house, closed the door, and escorted him to his cruiser. "Before I can put you in the back I need to do a quick search of you. It'll be less than a minute." And Hardy began touching the inside of James' shirt collar, his torso, the inside of the waist line of his boxers, and the underside of the boxers. For a moment James could feel Hardy's breath on his neck, and then before he knew it he was let in.