The Thrill is Gone

Summary: Some disturbing things come to light, triggering unpleasant memories for Remy, and new worries.

Bella stretched and scratched as she went to the refrigerator for her flavored creamer. Rene was already hollering up a storm in the background, glad to be home from his grandmother’s, where he’d had to use his “indoor voice” for most of the visit. He liked being back in front of his own set, watching Power Rangers and playing with his toys.

She padded outside in her pajama bottoms, Martha’s Vineyard sweatshirt and slippers to get the mail, nodding to her neighbor across the street. She opened the box and started sorting through a thick sheaf of letters and bills.

Something caught her eye as she was about to walk back inside.

Her car was backed into the driveway, more specifically, Remy’s car. He still hadn’t come back yet from whatever his “weekend” involved.

Bella usually drove straight in and parked, then backed out every morning.

Julien.

He must have gone out last night after she turned in; she tried to remember if she ever heard the door click shut, or the jingle of keys?

Once the car he’d stripped was out of the garage – Belladonna worried it wouldn’t be the last – Julien had parked his own truck inside, wanting it to be off the street.

She made her way back inside and set down the mail.

“Can I have eggs, Maman?”

“In a minute, baby,” she assured Rene. He beamed and went back to the “tag team” match he set up with his action figures and an old shoebox. Bella checked her housekey hanger by the microwave, annoyed when she didn’t find the key ring. She searched the countertops and living room coffee table. No luck.

Bella headed back to Rene’s room and leaned her ear against the door. She heard sonorous breathing, cut short by an abrupt, guttural snore. Julien was home, passed out, she guessed in disgust.

She tried not to let the door creak as she tiptoed inside. She thanked heaven that he was the only occupant of the twin bed. She’d long given up on her brother having any semblance of tact in that regard, and still felt bitter when she remembered previous incidents of his insensitivity. She got in the habit of ushering Rene out of the living room whenever Julien brought home houseguests, sequestering her son in her room for safekeeping. He was young, he had eyes, and Bella wasn’t ready to answer awkward questions.

She found the keys sitting atop his discarded pants. The room was a pigsty. She collected them soundlessly into her palm and drifted out. He didn’t budge.

Bella headed back outside and opened the car.

She cursed at the faint stench of marijuana. Remy was going to kill her.

“What de fuck wuz he t’inkin’?” she muttered to herself. “Might as well bring de police to de front doorstep again, frere.” She wound down the windows to let the car air out and spied something in the back seat.

There was an empty donut box and to-go coffee cup. She grabbed those and threw them out in the outside can. She searched further, not wanting Remy to find anything else there that would make him accuse her of abusing the favor he’d done.

A brown knapsack was tucked under the passenger seat. Belladonna decided to take it inside. She didn’t remember it being there before when she’d buckled Rene in the night before.


*

The first thing Remy noticed as he woke up was that the pillow beneath his head smelled different.

In the light of day, the night before came into crisp, sharp focus.

He stayed over at Logan’s apartment. His body was exquisitely limp and slightly sore from their encounter in the kitchen. Remy would never look at doing the dishes the same way again…

Dessert hadn’t been bad, either, he mused. After brushing his teeth (Logan thoughtfully provided him with a brand new Reach), they climbed into Logan’s comfortable queen-size bed, and Remy spread himself over Logan’s body like warm butter, legs tangled together under the covers.

Until Logan’s lips ran on autopilot, drifting along Remy’s hairline and forehead in soft kisses. Gentle caresses became rough, insistent. Remy longed for a taste of him, meeting Logan’s hungry gaze with a feral look.

“Don’t plan on fallin’ asleep jus’ yet, chere.”

“Geez…” Logan muttered. He stubbornly tried to protect his throat from Remy’s mouth, but it was futile. He suckled the crest of his ear, then speared the tip of his tongue inside, swiveling it. Logan bucked beneath him and his body roared back to life, erection throbbing and poking Remy in the stomach. Hands that were barely pushing against him changed, pulling him closer, fingers closing around his arms or clutching his soft hair.

They moved together, groping, kissing, dragging hot mouths over hills and planes of flesh, feasting, kneading…needing…

Remy disregarded Logan’s attempts to keep him from sliding down his body and slipped free, skimming over the tan peaks of his nipples and the divide of his ribs. Logan’s hips bucked and thrust up at him of their own volition.

“Damn it, don’tcha get enough?” he whined, but his fingers crept back into his hair, kneading his scalp as Remy’s mouth misted over the head of his cock.

“M’greedy. Wanna taste you.” And taste him he did, lapping up his salty, male flavors. The remnant of toothpaste coating Remy’s tongue bathed Logan’s flesh in faint mint, sweetening him, and Remy indeed couldn’t get enough.

“If I didn’t know better, Rem, I’d think ya were a certified sex maniac.”

“Dey give certificates fo’ dat kinda t’ing?” he mumbled around him, scraping his blunt fingernails through the nest of black curls covering Logan’s groin. “Sign me up.”

From there, it was all over. Logan’s face contorted and every muscle strained beneath Remy’s ministrations as he imbibed him.

Dessert was served, with an order of whipped cream.

They drifted off, this time with no false starts, and Remy slept like a baby.

Logan’s clock read eight AM. Remy sighed to himself, gently pulling the covers higher over the rise of Logan’s chest. His partner snuggled more deeply into the blankets and sought him out in sleep.

He needed to trade cars again and get to the shop. He owed his uncle more time in the garage with a specialty T-Bird that was the focus of their next show in Atlantic City. Most importantly, he needed to set up his weekend with Rene for the following weekend and take him to pick out a treat at the toy store. His birthday was coming up, and Remy wanted to make it perfect.

But he was so reluctant to move. His cheek rode the crest of Logan’s breathing as his chest rose and fell. He was completely content; if the brief jerk of Logan’s arm as the nerve convulsed, right before his arm wrapped more snugly around Remy was any indication, it was mutual.

Moments later, Logan stirred awake as though sensing his thoughts.

“Got anywhere ya need ta be?” he asked hoarsely.

“Shop. Workin’ on a new car. Oncle will wanna kick my ass if I don’ head over soon, mec.”

“I ain’t holdin’ ya hostage, but lemme feed ya before ya head out.” Before the rejoinder could leave his lips, Logan stopped Remy with “Food. Feed ya food.”

“What’d ya think I thought?”

“Never mind.”

“Aw, c’mon…”

“Ah-ah-ahhh,” Logan warned, gently thumping him in warning. “Easy, killer.”

“Eh. Remy’s gettin’ a crick in his neck, anyway.” He feigned disinterest and yawned, stretching as he twisted himself away. He was up quickly, treating Logan to the sight of his retreating back.

Logan simply stared as Remy began to retrieve his clothes, regretting that he was covering his beautiful body. It wasn’t something he’d admit out loud.

“You gettin’ up, Logan?”

“I ain’t one fer layin’ around. Too much on my mind once I wake up.” His yawn was sonorous and leonine, expanding his broad chest. He strode past Remy, naked as the day he was born. He didn’t bother to retrieve so much as a pair of boxers on his way to the shower.

“I’m gonna make a pot of joe.”

“S’fine,” Remy murmured, admiring Logan’s posture and the roll of his glutes as he strode out. Tit for tat.

Remy went out to the kitchen shortly after Logan set the timer on his pot and climbed into the shower. Remy heard him whistling jauntily over the hiss of steam while he stood over the sink. He finished the job, chuckling to himself as he dried the dishes.

He noticed a plastic video store bag on the counter and poked through it. Logan’s selections made him curious and confused. He didn’t seem like the Disney type to Remy, but that was one more layer to peel away. Remy filed it away in the back of his mind to ask Rene if he’d seen either movie Logan chose, thinking to perhaps borrow them before they were due back.

The shower shut off with a low thump. Remy found a mug with the name of Scott’s construction company printed on it in gold, as well as a NASCAR commuter cup decorated in flames and checkered flags and filled both of them with piping hot brew. Remy took his black, grateful that Logan liked his coffee strong, too. His mind clicked into second gear, his “taking care of business” mode. Remy already missed Rene.

Remy treated himself to a piece of the leftover steak, heating it in a small frying pan; putting it in the microwave after all of Logan’s efforts was a sacrilege.

Logan had his game face on as he came out to the kitchen, hair still slightly damp and curling at his nape. He already had on his work boots, sturdy Levi’s and a thick sweatshirt layered over a plaid flannel whose tails hung out below the hem. He looked ready to work hard.

“Called Summers. I’m headin’ out ta the site to work on some drywall. I’ll be out all day.”

“I bet.”

“Ya’ve got the right idea.” Logan tossed another leftover fillet into the pan once Remy cut his up.

“Keep de rest of de stuff til it’s gone. I don’ need de dishes back yet.”

“That’s lunch for a coupla days,” Logan agreed easily. “I ain’t much of a cook. I do all right, but it ain’t my favorite thing.”

“I love ta eat, so I love ta cook.” He amended that. “Had ta build up m’own ‘mommy’ skills once Bella an’ I split.”

“I spoiled myself fer too damned long. Got used ta eatin’ out a lot once I was single again an’ bringin’ home takeout. Easy t’do when yer only buyin’ dinner fer one.”

“Try cookin’ more often. Opens up yer options.”

“Ain’t got anyone ta teach me.”

“Ain’t that hard. Pretty handy wit’ dat grill already.”

Neither of them wanted to cave first and suggest a future cooking date. Logan tore off a piece of steak and pushed it into his mouth, licking the juices from his fingers.

“Were ya plannin’ on watchin’ some movies, homme?”

“Eh?”

“Were ya in de mood for ‘The Incredibles?’” Logan almost choked on the piece of steak he was working on. He coughed, then swallowed. Remy reflexively rubbed his back, looking apologetic. “Caught ya off-guard?”

“Didn’t know if ya planned on bringin’ yer little buddy,” Logan mentioned. “Just…thought it might be nice ta have somethin’ here for him, if ya felt like bringin’ him along. I don’t get kids here that often. Ain’t exactly a playground in my livin’ room, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Ya didn’t hafta go through de trouble,” Remy said, but a soft smile toyed with the corners of his mouth.

“Ain’t like I’ve never watched a kiddie flick.”

“I jus’ take Rene as m’own excuse ta see it in de theater wit’out folks lookin’ at me funny.”

“Good plan.”

“He won’t mind if ya wanna tag along next time, but he’ll wanna talk yer ear off in de middle of ev’ry bit.” He eyed the bag. “How long’ve ya got ‘em for?”

“Five days.”

“Wouldn’t mind seein’ de Godfather again.”

“Director’s cut.”

“Remy’ll bring de beer.” He walked toward the door with Logan a few paces behind him. “Wanna beat traffic.”

“Take it easy.”

“Don’ work yerself inta de ground, mec.”

“I’ll have worked this hard from the cradle to the grave; it gets the job done.”

“Den let Remy know de next time ya wanna play.” Logan stood framed in the doorway with Remy staring back at him from the hall. “Thanks fer dinner.”

“Thanks fer comin’.”

“Any time.” His wave was casual as he headed for the exit. Logan quietly shut the door and sighed.

What next? What could he hope for, and was it worth it?

Knock, knock, knock…

The door hinge creaked slightly as Logan opened it again. “Ya forget someth-“ Remy’s face was suffused with humor and desire as he fisted his hands in Logan’s sweatshirt. The kiss goodbye was warm and sloppy, very thorough, and it put Logan’s mind to rest. Slightly.

“Thought I wuz just gonna walk away, didntcha?”

“Brat.”

“Bye.”

“Call me,” Logan barked after him as Remy now left.

*

When Remy pulled up to Belladonna’s house, Rene was on the porch playing with his toys. His face lit up and he ran down the front walk before Remy finished parking his mother’s car.

“Papa!”

“Careful, Rene!” Remy cried, trying to make sure he didn’t smack his son with the car door as he tried to open it. “Move back! Gimme a sec to come out.”

“Where’d ya go, Papa?”

“Went t’see a friend. Remember m’sieu Logan?”

“Uh-huh?” His hug was rib-crushing. Remy kissed the top of his head and ruffled his hair.

“Had dinner. Watched a game.”

“Did you have pizza?”

“Naw, we didn’t have pizza! What is it wit’ you an’ pizza?” Rene grinned up at him, and Remy noticed another of his front teeth was missing. “What’s dis? You been gettin’ inta fights? Where’s yer tooth?”

“No!” he crowed, sticking his index finger into the empty space. “Tooth fairy gave me a dollar.”

“Dat’s some nice fairy.”

“Can we spend it at Chuck E Cheese?”

“Not t’day.”

“Awwwww!”

“Gotta work wit’ Oncle at de shop.”

“Already?” Bella watched them from the screen door, overhearing the exchange. “Why so early?”

“Why not? Dat a problem? Need me to take him?” Rene looked hopeful.

“Non,” she replied, but she looked uneasy. “Ain’t put gas in yer car yet,” she explained.

“Don’ worry ‘bout dat,” he shrugged. “I can do dat maself.”

“It ain’t no trouble. G’wan, Remy, take mine.” Remy huffed.

“Don’ know why.”

“Suit yerself.”

“Fine. Remy’ll take Bella’s car. Sheesh.” He tossed her key ring up in the air and caught it with emphasis. “Wan’ me ta take Rene ta breakfast?”

“He just had eggs.”

“Can I go, Maman?” Remy chuckled.

“Oui, chere.”

“Get yer shoes.”

They headed to Denny’s. Rene ordered a stack of fruity pancakes; Remy ordered the Grand Slam halfheartedly, not really hungry after his snack at Logan’s. It would make just as good a lunch if he reheated it at the shop.

Once their waitress brought their drinks, his cell rang.

“Dis Remy.”

“C’mon in ta de shop,” Philippe barked at him. His feathers sounded ruffled, and Remy’s gut twisted.

“M’comin’. What’s wrong?”

“C’mon in, now.”

“I’m wit’ Rene, here at Denny’s. We ain’t got our food yet.”

“Den drop him off once ya do. We had a break-in.”

Cold prickles washed over Remy and his voice lowered. Rene noticed his sober look, distracting him from his crayons and placemat. Remy gestured for him to go back to what he was doing. “Have ya reported it yet, Oncle?”

“Got a coupla boys in blue here now, checkin’ it out. Cleaned out m’office. Petty cash box an’ de receipts.”

“Merde.”

“Don’ get me started. Ain’t happy right now. Hurry on in. Hug de boy fer me.”

They rang off. Remy hardly touched his breakfast. When the server came back to ask how everything was, he preemptively asked for a to-go box. He busied himself with nagging Rene about his manners and wiping whipped cream off his son’s mouth.

He was thankful that his son chatted his ear off on the way home.

“Gonna come back tonight, Papa?”

“Might not, petit.”

“Awwww!” His pout wouldn’t work a second time, but it came close.

“Be good. Call ya soon.” Remy kissed him soundly and then walked him inside.

His car was parked in a different direction than it was when he showed up earlier. He assumed Belladonna took it to get gas after all, but he was still irritated. The clutch in her car was sticky; Remy made a mental note to come by and fix it later in the week. It would give him the excuse to come and see Rene, anyway.

He called out, “Bella! I brought him home!” He heard his ex’s wife in the background; it sounded like she was talking on the phone. “Rene, g’wan back and tell Maman yer here.”

“Okay, Papa.” His son’s moist kiss warmed his cheek as he ran back. Remy waited until he heard his son’s voice greeting her before taking his leave.

He spied his car keys on the dining table and scooped them up, tossing her keys there instead. His phone vibrated at him; he’d set it on forward for the remainder of the ride home, deciding it was best to save the crisis at the shop for himself, keep it away from Rene’s ears.

The first thing he noticed was how clean the car was; it looked like Bella had it washed and vacuumed, and there was an overwhelming scent of one of those vanilla air fresheners. It tickled his nose; Remy sneezed and cursed under his breath.

“Ain’t doin’ me any favors wit’ dat crap,” he muttered, but he was glad to see the needle hit the “F” on his gas meter when he turned on the ignition.

His stomach pitched when he saw the patrol car in the parking lot. Two officers eyed him carefully as he entered the shop.

“Where’s m’uncle?” he inquired.

“In the back. Checking to make sure nothing else was taken from the garage. We’re just making some notes. Are you Remy?”

“Yeah.” He nodded warily, feeling uncomfortable beneath his gaze.

“We’re looking for signs of forced entry. We’re also interviewing you and your uncle today to see if you can think of anyone who had an interest in the shop, be familiar with where you keep valuables stored, know when you come and go…”

“We close de shop at eight every night. I was away from home, didn’t come in ta work yesterday.”

“How about last night?”

“Nope. Havin’ dinner wit’ a friend, an’ like I said, didn’t come home.” He hoped his meaning was clear enough without having to spell it out for him. The officer nodded thoughtfully and scribbled on his pad.

“So no one works late? After hours, on repairs? Don’t you do custom work here? Use expensive parts and accessories?”

“I was plannin’ on comin’ in today,” Remy explained patiently. “Not last night. And Nate’s outta town. Had ta see ‘bout a sick relative.”

“He’s the other mechanic?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never had a problem with him as an employee?”

“No. Ever.”

“Okay. We’ll be back to talk to him, too, but in the meantime, we’d like to talk with the neighboring businesses to see if they noticed anything out of the ordinary last night. This is going into the legal briefs in the paper; that might generate witnesses willing to come forward, if they saw anything, aside from letting them know this guy’s still at large.”

Philippe came out, looking pissed and frustrated. “Dey took de cash, receipts, an’ some of de accessories we had stored in de garage we wuz gonna use on a car we’re restorin’. Set of rims dat cost me a grand.”

“Let’s sit down and you can give me a more comprehensive list. Was there anything that would have had the name of the store on it, or anything else distinctive to help us know the stuff if we find it?” He led his uncle away.

“Can you give me your full name, sir?”

“Remy Etienne LeBeau.”

“Birthdate?”

“February 14, 1969.” Remy looked puzzled but said nothing.

The police stayed for another twenty minutes.

“Let us know if you find anything else amiss. Here’s the number to our precinct.”

“’Preciate it.”

They followed the officers to the lot.

“That your car?” asked the one who Remy spoke to.

“Uh-huh.”

“Leave it to a mechanic to have the nicest car on the block.” He wrinkled his nose. “Smells like vanilla.” Remy had left the window cracked while he drove, for precisely that reason.

“Don’ blame me. My ex brought it back in that condition,” Remy scoffed. The officer grinned.

Once they were gone, Philippe took him aside. “C’mon. I need a word.”

They headed into the office. Philippe motioned for him to sit down. He took a gulp of his cooling coffee and eyed him levelly.

“Ya gotta tell me if ya know anyt’in’ ‘bout what happened, Remy.”

“I don’t!”

“Swear ta me. Yer my frere’s fils, Remy. Ya wouldn’ lie ta me.”

“I’d never do dat t’you.”

“Gotta ask. Thief knew where t’go an’ what t’take. No forced entry. Keep this place locked up tighter den Fort Knox at night.” Philippe sighed. “Someone had a key.”

“Nate wouldn’ do dis.”

“Ain’ likely,” he agreed. “Dis don’ sit well wit’ me.”

“It’s some fucked up shit.”

“Gonna hafta start stayin’ later at night. Don’ want someone t’inkin’ it’s easy t’get back in here an’ keep takin’ what dey want.”

“Non, Oncle. Don’ do dat.” His uncle was older, hypertensive, and didn’t need the stress. “Lemme stay if ya need someone, but don’ do it yerself.”

“Dis needs t’get resolved.”

“I ain’ got a clue.”

“Ya can’t t’ink of anyone who’s been in here, lately, might know de ins an’ outs? A customer? A friend?”

A niggling suspicion occurred to him, but he kept silent. “Non.”

“You sure?” his uncle prodded.

“Swear.”

His uncle rubbed his hand over his face. He looked tired. “Fine, den. Gonna work on the blue one t’day?”

“Already tol’ Rene I’d be here.”

“Den let’s work.”

But all day long, both men had their doubts, for different reasons.