Texas Charm, chapter six (Patreon)

Art woke a little before six. The alarm would go off at six-fifteen, so that gave Art a very narrow window. The previous week had been misery. Work was always busy, but after their shifts, Zach had holed up in the spare room with Salma and plotted. Art resented the whole shamanic community.

It had stolen his lover. The idea that Pochi and Salma demanded Zach’s time drove Art a little crazy. 

Art ran his hand up Zach’s bare leg, stroking the sleep-warmed skin. Zach generated heat like no one Art had ever met. He radiated it. It was hell on the air conditioning bill. Art leaned down and kissed the side of Zach’s neck. Restless now, Zach threw out an arm and half turned.

Art kissed the base of Zach’s throat. Zach was a neck whore, so usually he was awake the second Art touched it. When Art added little nibbles on the side, Zach gasped and clawed at Art’s shoulders. “Shit. I’m awake.”

“Are you?” Art ran his hand down a muscled thigh to wrap his fingers around Zach’s cock. 

“Oh, definitely. You make one hell of an alarm clock.” Zach pulled Art close for a kiss. Zach skipped gentle foreplay and eagerly thrust his tongue into Art’s mouth.

Taking back control, Art pinned Zack to the mattress. “I make a better lover.” He kissed Zach’s shoulder before nipping at the vulnerable skin.

“You really do.” When Zach’s fingertips brushed against Art’s cock head, Art ground down, trapping Zach’s hand between them. 

“I’m driving this lap,” Art said. He scooted backward, and the blanket slid to the floor, revealing Zach’s body laid out like an offering.

“Hit the gas; my cock is already overheating.”

“Backseat driver.” Art muttered his mock-complaint. Then with a wink, he scooted down and wrapped his lips around Zach’s cock. Zach threw his head back and gave a strangled scream and thrashed. However, that wasn’t enough for Art. He wanted more—he wanted to drive Zach beyond the ability to form words. Art sucked for a second and then ran his tongue along the underside of Zach’s circumcised cock. The smooth head tasted sharp, like a salty and rich cotija cheese.

“Oh God. Oh. Damn it, do something.” Between each word, Zach gasped. He fisted the sheets until one corner popped free, and then his cursing turned more colorful. Art loved it when Zach lost control—when all those overactive gears in his head finally slowed. When Art finally sank down on Zach’s cock enough that it nudged the back of his throat, Zach finally fell silent. Hungry moans and pitiful whimpers took the place of all those curses.

Zach came with a shout, his whole body arching up off the bed. Art swallowed some, but Zach jerked enough that a short spray hit his own leg and the mattress.

Art rolled to the side and grabbed his own erection. His need to come was near blinding and within a few strokes, his semen splattered across Zach’s thigh.

“Hey, I would have done that,” Zach said. His voice was still foggy with sleep.

“I couldn’t wait,” Art said. He lay next to Zach and ran a thumb across his lower lip.

Zach rolled his head to the side and studied Art. “That is a nice way to wake up in the morning.”

“It is, huh?”

“Yep. I’ll have to return the favor some time.”

“Any time,” Art said. With that, they both fell silent, their bodies pressed together. Art wished they could stay in the moment forever. As much as he believed in his job, if he won the lottery, he would kidnap Zach and take him to a deserted island where they could avoid all other human contact. Maybe their families could visit. Maybe.

Zach’s sister was a gossip, and Art’s mother…. Art adored his mother and he admired her strength, but Nelba Lammas tended to leave neuroses in her wake. 

The alarm went off, and Zack softly muttered a string of fucks while Art hit snooze a little harder than necessary.

“Off to the salt mines.” Zach let his legs fall out of the bed, but he twisted his body so that his head was still on the pillow.

“Yeah, you look like you’re moving.”

“It’s a new form of movement. Alternative movement… like alternative facts, but with less stupidity.”

“Oh, you still look stupid,” Art said. 

Zach threw a pillow at him. “Bastard.”

The moment was so perfect that Art didn’t want to wade back into the politics and the magic that lurked outside their bedroom. Unfortunately, his own magical control was weak and he had no way to make the rest of the world vanish. “I’m going to be stuck in with the captain for a while this morning.”

Zach hauled himself upright. “I’m not making a death notification on my own. While I'm waiting for you, I’ll see if I can track down anyone who might have followed Minton from Dallas.”

“I would start with victims’ families.”

“I’m not so sure we can limit the scope that way. This was all over the news. Justice groups protested the verdict while disability groups argued for understanding. The dueling demonstrations infuriated half of Dallas. And we don’t have to look to Dallas for people who would have hated this kid. The father’s neighbors wouldn’t have appreciated a famous rapist in their upper middle-class neighborhood.” After dropping that bomb, Zach headed for the bathroom.

“So this is turning out to be a typical case after all.” Art played with the idea of wearing a suit since they did have to talk to Minton’s father, but they still had to interview at the scene, and the homeless didn’t respond well to formal dress.

Zach stuck his head back out. “Meaning?”

“Meaning we have an abundance of suspects,” Art said. He hadn’t wanted to take Carson up on his offer to help track down leads, but he might have to. If the gods were kind, they would solve this before the press descended on them, but Art never counted on the gods to be that charitable.

Zach gave a huff. “Hell, if I didn’t have an alibi, I would say you should put me on that list. If I’d known he was in El Paso, I would have lost my shit.”

“You and half the department.” Hell, Art would have put himself on the list. This whole case stunk, and Art hated that they were catching it now, when the damn Talent community was already sucking up most of Zach’s free time. "Still, start with victims' family members."

Zach grunted and closed the bathroom door. That could mean anything from "fuck you" to "stop telling me how to do my job" to "no problem." Wearing a shirt and no pants, Art headed into the kitchen to make coffee.

They were both still quiet when they got in the car. Art kept replaying the details of the crime scene. If a victim's family member had taken revenge, it would explain the wild firing and the lack of theft. It didn't explain why the person had shot Minton in the back of the head. If someone was angry enough to kill him, Art would think they would want to see his face—his terror. But maybe the person had started to regret the murder even before pulling the trigger.

Art opened the garage door and started backing out, but he slammed on his brakes a few seconds later.

"What the hell?" Zach blurted.

Art pointed out his window toward their front porch. Salma sat on the thick adobe wall with peeling green paint. She closed her tablet and walked over to them. As she came closer to the door, Art's shoulders tightened and a headache started to gnaw at the base of his skull.

Zach got out the passenger side and called over the car, "Salma, what are you doing here?"

She stopped a few feet from the car. "Waiting for you."

"Since when?"

"I believe my Uber dropped me off at five."

"Since… what?" Art blurted. He didn't like that Salma had crashed into their life, but he sure as hell wouldn't have asked her to sit on their steps like some sort of supplicant.

"My computer makes it easy for me to carry on my work from anywhere, and it is much later in DC. I am used to being awake at this time," she said calmly.

"Skipping the time difference, why are you sitting out here? Why didn’t you ring the bell?" Zach asked.

"I didn’t wish to wake you or disturb you."

"Disturb us?" Zach's voice had a brittle edge.

"There is much positive energy around your home. I would not disturb you," Salma repeated. Shit. So she had sensed they were having sex. Art had never been embarrassed about his sexual orientation, but he sure as fuck didn't want someone magically eavesdropping.

"What did you want?" Art demanded.

"May I join you in the vehicle?"

"Of course," Zach said before Art could turn her down. However, Art wasn't going to contradict Zach, so he stared at the garage as Salma got in the back. While Zach was putting his seat belt back on, he gave Art an odd look.

She waited until Art started to back out of the drive before saying, "I came to give you the outcome of the challenge."

Zach cringed. "Oh shit. I can’t believe I forgot. We caught a complicated case at work." Zach used his most apologetic voice.

Art was less conciliatory as he said, "We're going to the station now, so if you want to go somewhere else, we can drop you off anywhere on the route."

"I can call a car service from the station," she said. Art really resented how calm the woman remained. "You may wish to work with Shaman Boucher to develop a privacy shield. Since my guide swims in a school with other guides, I can monitor the area and warn you if someone is listening, but as an adept, I cannot provide privacy if someone is intent on listening."

“Yeah, we’ll get on that,” Art said sharply. Boucher didn’t put out the vibe of someone who wanted to give away his time to train less experienced shamans, and Art wasn’t about to ask for favors. “Who won?” The faster she gave her report, the sooner Art could drop her off somewhere.

“Diego Corredor and Ephraim Vinson both claimed seats.”

Zach asked, “Do you have a good feeling about them?” 

They had reached a red light, and Art stopped before using his rear view mirror to study Salma. She was reading her tablet again, but she looked up. “I don’t know either well enough to form an opinion,” she said in that same unflappable tone.

“You haven’t known me much longer,” Zach pointed out, which was a rare bit of common sense. Zach was a great detective, but ever since Oberton had dangled the temptation of a guide in front of him, he had lost some of his critical thinking skills.

“Yes, but an ifrit chose you. He looked into your heart and judged you worthy of trust, and I rely on the wisdom and the age of the ifrit.”

“That might not be wise—trusting aliens from another dimension,” Art pointed out. When Art’s spirit quest had ended with him finding his cat guide, the shaman from his father’s tribe had explained that Art’s cat was not a tribal spirit at all. What most people called shamanic guides were visitors… aliens. Art’s connection to a chabochi guide made others in his father’s tribe uncomfortable because the cat was an intimate link to outsiders.

“I…” Salma stopped, her face twisted with confusion.  “That is not how I see the ifrit,” she finally said. “All the jinn are different. All of us—the humans and the guides. We are connected to the world of jinn, but we are not alien.”

Zach punched Art in the arm hard enough to sting. 

“Who else is on the council?” Art asked as the light turned green. He needed to change the subject.

“Blue Nowak, Lisa Suarez, and Dohosan Moreno,” Salma said, her voice lacking the assurance of a few minutes ago.

Art didn’t know Nowak or Suarez, but he’d run into Moreno a few times when hiking. They both liked the same remote trails. He was a Mescalero Apache. Art had no idea how that tribe saw Salma’s sort of shamanism, and he had never known someone who was an active member of a tribe to run for a shamanic council.

“Do you know any of them?” Zach asked Art.

“Moreno in passing,” Art said.

“Blue Nowak is…” Salma paused and appeared to struggle with her words. “Interesting,” she finished. “In Egypt we do not have those who so openly discard concepts like gender. I am not sure whether to use feminine or masculine pronouns, so I tried to only use Blue’s name. I fear I will offend.”

“We should meet with them,” Zach said.

“Why?” Art asked.

“To see what they’re like. To see how they’re going to run the council.” Zach used his best no-duh voice.

“And what excuse are you going to use to stick your nose in council business?” As far as Art was concerned, the only way to hide Zach’s new guide was to stay away from shamans. Luckily, Pochi had very little interest in throwing around any of his incredible power—for which Art was intensely grateful. Hell, the only time they could count on the bloodthirsty little pixie showing up was when Zach hit the firing range. Pochi loved to hover near targets when Zach practiced. It had improved Zach’s shooting scores significantly. 

“I’m Salma’s advisor.”

“Her mundane advisor,” Art reminded him.

“In a relationship with a shaman who can get me to the spirit plane to attend the meetings,” Zach countered. 

Art gritted his teeth. “And if you don’t like what they’re doing? What then?”

“I complain,” Zach said with a shrug. “There’s not much else I can do, but if things get out of hand, you can challenge one of them.”

Salma had the nerve to add, “I do believe you would be able to defeat any of the new council members.”

Art glared at her. “Zach, shamans won’t want you around the spirit plane. Before a couple of weeks ago, you avoided the place.” Even when Art did take Zach there, his discomfort hung around his head like a cartoon cloud. Secrecy required them to keep to old patterns of behavior, like avoiding shamans. “If you start showing too much interest, someone is going to ask questions you aren’t going to want to answer.”

“You’re right.” The misery in Zach’s voice made Art feel like an ass.

“Perhaps I can get your help to monitor the paperwork and financial statements,” Salma said.

Zach brightened so much at the offer that Art didn’t object. Instead he gripped the steering wheel harder and focused on the road. After all, the quicker they got to the station, the sooner Art could escape being in a small space with al-Ghamdi. That was a worthy goal.

Art hadn’t dropped his bag at his desk before the captain waved him into the office. The general din in the room quieted, and from the sympathetic looks Art was getting, everyone knew about the case. The political cases always were the worst. Finding witnesses who would go on the record was difficult enough, but doing that while ducking reporters and having supervisors look over your shoulder was a level of hell.

“Good luck.” Zach gave him a jaunty wave.

Art glared back. “Yeah, right.” Picking up the Minton file, he headed for the captain’s office. Captain Williams was a fair man who had worked his way to captain through the Combined Search and Rescue Team, Special Investigations Group, and finally Criminal Investigations. Of all the captains, Art trusted him to know how to navigate a politically difficult case.

However, that same diplomatic savvy meant that Williams would go far out of his way to avoid making politically difficult calls. Until he had absolute proof, he would not stick his neck out.

“Sir,” Art said as he walked in the office. “I assume this is about the Minton case?” He closed the door and handed Captain Williams the file before the captain even asked. It wasn’t like there was any other reason for Williams to call him in.

“Jon Minton. You do catch the cursed cases.” Williams opened the file and started looking through the few reports Art had gathered last night. Without looking up, Williams gestured toward one of the visitor chairs.

“Suspects?” Williams asked.

Art sat. “Anyone who recognized his name. Right now we’re still doing records searches. We didn’t want to stir up too many people last night, so Zach is checking for victims’ family members or people related to the case who might have moved here after Minton. We still need to do a notification with Daniel Minton this morning.”

Williams nodded. “Good call putting that off. When the press gets ahold of this, we aren’t going to have a crime scene to work. The reporters will be all over it.”

Art nodded. The captain was right about that. Reporters from across the state were going to descend on them. And after that plague of locusts left, any remaining witnesses would be irreparably contaminated by reporters’ leading questions and inflammatory news reports. Art knew it was their job to inform the public, but sometimes the entertainment value trumped any ethical need to protect the police investigation.

“Zach and I plan to be at the Minton house before eight.”

“I’ll get some patrol officers out to help canvass; Detective Orso is free to supervise on scene. And the brass is going to want regular updates. I have to call the assistant chief when he gets in, so what can you tell me that isn’t in this report?”

Art pursed his lips. He preferred to keep his theories to himself or share them with Zach who understood that theories shouldn’t color an investigation, but the captain wouldn’t appreciate being left in the dark. “He was shot in the back of the head.”

Captain Williams nodded since that was part of the incident report. “And?” he prompted.

“And the scene indicates overkill—multiple shots, several misses, and Minton’s head is largely gone.”

Williams frowned. “But back of the head usually means a suspect going for quick and efficient. I see the concern.”

“And we can’t figure out what he was doing in that neighborhood. We ran the plates on every car, and nothing came back registered to Minton or even the Mountain Arroyos area where he lives with his father.”

“So it’s not going to be an easy one,” Williams summarized.

“No sir.”

With a sigh, Williams leaned back in his chair. “Go do your notifications, and let me know if you have any leads that need chasing. I’ll brief Orso and have him meet patrol officers at the scene.”

“Yes, sir.” Art knew a dismissal when he heard one. When he stepped into the bull pen, the noise level dropped noticeably. Art had never known a cop who wasn’t addicted to gossip, and to his shame, he included himself in that. But knowing cops liked to talk and being the center of their conversations were two different things. He kept his gaze on Zach as he crossed over to their desks. Zach was poking away with the mouse, clicking furiously and chewing on his left thumbnail. 

Art smiled at the familiar expression—half wonder and half frustration—that Zach got whenever he found an interesting lead. He was so expressive and intense. Sometimes Art felt like his life without Zach was a pencil drawing done in shades of gray, complex but not very colorful. Zach and his unbound enthusiasm brought excitement into their partnership.

Perching on the corner of Zach’s desk, Art asked, “Whatcha find?”

“You’re assuming I found something.” Zach scrolled for a few more seconds before looking up.

“Because you did.”

Zach leaned back in his chair. “If you had known about Minton moving here, would you have done something about it?”

“I wouldn’t have killed him.”

“Would you have done something?” Zach gave Art such a quizzical look that Art started worrying.

“Maybe. I might keep an eye on him or ask the local patrols to be on the lookout.” At the very least, Art would have done a little unauthorized stalking to make sure Minton hadn’t taken up any old habits.

“Spoken like a true cop.” Zach twisted his computer monitor around so Art could see it.

Art leaned closer and studied the misdemeanor ticket logging system. Zach had been looking at tickets. Dozens of them. Tickets for stepping off the sidewalk outside a crosswalk, for parking more than twelve inches from the curb, for loitering, and a dozen other petty crimes. Several of the citations had been dismissed by the sergeant even before Minton could challenge them, and Minton had filed intent to fight most of the others in court. And all were signed by one officer: Edwin Lytle.

Fuck.

“It makes you wonder what a cop might do when the legal stalking failed. So, who’s investigating the cop?” Zach asked. 

“We tell the captain and let him decide.” 

“We’re going to get a lot of shit for bringing IA into this,” Zach warned.

“We’ll get more if we investigate a fellow cop,” Art countered. He hoped they could work the other leads fast enough to prevent this from turning into a circus. If reporters caught wind of this—that a police officer was a suspect in the murder of a serial rapist—the press would have Lytle tried in the court of public opinion before sundown.

Art knew he was being unfair to the press because for the most part, they were ethical people with a strong drive to make the world a fairer place. However, one or two assholes could do a lot of damage when they had access to large audiences.

“Lytle’s a good kid—I don’t think he would have done it. But if he did, he only did it because he believed he had to.”

Shit. Zach knew him. That complicated issues significantly.  And the day had started out so nice. Art wondered if he could find a way to irrationally blame Salma al-Ghamdi for all the shit hitting the fan. It wouldn’t be right or fair, but having someone to blame sure would feel good about now.

Chapter 1: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-6-19034447 

Chapter 2: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-2-19050307 

Chapter 3: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-3-19066252 

Chapter 4: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-4-19087127 

Chapter 5: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-5-19132901 

Chapter 6: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-six-19159661 

Chapter 7: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-7-19179823 

Chapter 8: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-8-19190078 

Chapter 9: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-9-19201497 

Chapter 10: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-10-19220764 

Chapter 11, 12: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-11-19228890 

Chapter 13, 14: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-13-19244456 

Chapter 15: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-15-19264338 

Chapter 16, 17: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-16-19276375 

Chapter 18, 19: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-18-19290091 

Chapter 20: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-20-19301548