Date: Sat, 12 Feb 2000 09:14:34 EST
From: VicHowel@aol.com
Subject: Gut Feelings Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

I stood at the window of my office, sipped at my coffee, and gazed out at a
sky that I knew was blue and alive with spring, even if it was unrelievedly
grey through the unwashed window. Behind me sat a sergeant with fourteen
years service.  He had made the coffee I was drinking.  He had been
assigned to me only last week, and he already wanted to be transferred.  I
wished that I'd got more sleep, even if young Richard Bell had been a most
pleasant diversion.  I blinked, forced my thoughts back to hand, and turned
to face Sergeant Ian Trell.

"You wish to be reassigned?" I asked, repeating his request of ten minutes
ago to me.

"Yes, sir, Inspector."

I noticed his face was the colour of beetroot.  Even his scalp under his
thinning blond hair.  His collar seemed much too tight for his neck.  Ian
Trell was stocky and I doubted he did much in the way of exercise.  "Why?"

"It's those poofs, Inspector - no disrespect intended, sir.  I don't know
what one of those blokes is going to grab when I'm in those clubs.  And the
thought of actually using the toilet!  Even when I have the need, you know?
Have you seen what those lads do in the cubicles?  Bloody hell, sir! They
don't even bother with the cubicles most of the time.  They do it out in
front of the urinal-"

"You knew that you were coming into an investigation that involved gay
clubs when you asked to be assigned to me, Trell."

"Yes, sir.  With all due respect, sir, I didn't know it'd be so - so
obvious when I asked to sign on."

"It's not any more obvious than a heterosexual pick up club, Trell-"

His eyes blazed with his fear.  "I'm sure, sir.  But there I'm not the quim
the lads are going after.  There, it's the boys after the girls - all quite
natural."

"Have those uni boys been feeling your bum again, Trell?" I asked, forcing
myself not to smile. The idea that this man might actually be attractive to
the lads frequenting the clubs I'd assigned him was enough to cause a man
to doubt Providence.  Sergeant Trell might be only ten years old older than
some of those lads, but he was ten stone heavier and far too out of shape
for there to be real interest.

In one short week, I had become convinced that the man's fourteen years
with the Met could only be explained by his making good coffee and knowing
where to buy the best buns in London.  That and that he was a toady.  He
didn't even pretend to be anything else.  I was the only Inspector who had
never had him on an investigation, so I had got him.

He looked away at my question and turned even redder.  "No, sir.  But a
bloke can see that they're thinking about it.  I didn't sign on to be
buggered by a laddie barely out of nappies, sir."

I bit my lip.  Hard.  It was enough.  I now had pain that I needed to hide,
instead of laughter.  I thought of the leather club I found Richard in last
night.  "I could assign you to clubs that cater to an older crowd.  Real
men frequent those."

He looked up, gazing at me happily.  "Do you think so, sir?"

"Trell, I've got to be honest here; I need you," I told him.  "There's-" I
glanced at the door and lowered my voice.  "There's evidence of heroin
flowing into these clubs.  Evidence enough for a solid investigation.  But
the Met doesn't have the manpower to give me the men I need.  It's only you
and I.  If it's to be done, we're the men to do it, man."  I leant closer.
"You want another promotion during the nine years you've got left, don't
you?  And I can't believe you're willing to allow the worst drugs there are
into any community of London."

"Of course, I don't, sir," he growled, coming out of his chair as if his
mother's honour had been questioned.  "We're going to get these lads - just
you and me," he finished, his face almost in mine.

"I can depend on you then, Trell?"

"Of course, you can, Inspector Goodson."  He stood, pulling himself erect
and puffing out his chest.  "I'm right beside you all the way, marching in
step.  And we'll win, even if it is just the two of us."

I held out my hand and he grasped it hard.  "Thank you, Trell.  I
appreciate it.  There are't many lads a chap can depend on these days.
You're one of the few, one of the best-" I was thinking of that awful
American TV programme from the 70's - Hogan's Heroes.  I had my Sergeant
Schultz.  I wished I knew what I could do with him.  I did not like the
idea that I might be Colonel Klink.

I sat back down and wrote out the address of the club I had gone to last
night.  "You'll need to keep moving around, Trell," I told him as I handed
him the paper.  "Like always, though, ignore any sexual activity you might
see.  That's not what we're after.  We want drug sales."  I smiled.  "And
stay relaxed, Trell.  We're undercover."

He glanced at the coffee pot and untouched buns.  "Should I tidy up your
office, Inspector?"

"It's going to be a long night - for both of us.  Go home and get some
sleep this afternoon.  I am."

He nodded and eyed again the breakfast he'd found for us.  "You think I
might take them with me, sir?  The buns, I mean?"

I nodded and made a note to have it put in his next report that he be
required to enter an exercise regimen.  If he was an especially good lad on
this case, the order would come from a doctor, rather than me.  "Take some,
Trell.  What you don't want, give to the other lads."

 * * *

I dressed in the evening shadows of my bedroom and thought about the night
ahead.  Trell wouldn't find anything more than poppers and perhaps a bit of
ecstacy - if he could get close enough to one of the slave boys that hung
on the leathermen like spiked gauntlets.  I doubted that, though; those
lads were fixated on hairy, older men who had the command presence to
dominate them with practised ease.

I had seen Trell's idea of gay club attire.  He looked like an overweight
queen attempting to be macho.  No, he wouldn't find a slave boy with his
stash tonight.  I grinned as a new thought struck me.

Sergeant Trell of the Metropolitan Police might well find himself a
leatherman in a playful mood. Thinking he was onto something, he would
guilelessly follow the bloke home.  And then ... I imagined hearing his
screams as the first flog every so gently bit into his naked, fat buttocks.

I laughed and tried to resist the pleasure rushing over me as I imagined
it.

Of course, the Met would have Sergeant Trell back tomorrow morning if some
leatherman did decide to sate his sense of humour.  And with no serious
harm done.  Only, our Sergeant Trell would be a well-embarrassed lad, even
more so if the leatherman did the nasty with him.  I doubted the man would
be his usual talkative self for at least a fortnight.  But he might learn
something tonight that fourteen years as a policeman had yet to teach him.

Oh yes!  Please, God, direct a curious and sympathetic leatherman to
Sergeant Trell tonight.  A man who, at thirty-three, still lived with his
mum.  He needed a bloody ploughing - a long, intensive bumfuck.  With dildo
and prick, with a side order of chains and flogs.

I realised what I was telling myself I wanted for poor Trell.  And
instantly recanted.  A gay encounter shouldn't be a punishment, not for
mental slowness - and especially not for an innocent at the hands of a
leatherman.  For fourteen years, Trell had carried out orders to the best
of his ability, and he was proud of being an officer of the law.  I
resolved that the man would not suffer a shit job from me as he had from
most of the other Inspectors to whom he'd been assigned.

As I stepped into my trainers and inspected myself in the mirror, I
admitted that I would almost like to be a fly on the dark wood of the bar
so I could watch Sergeant Trell on assignment. Instead, I was going to
Illusions.  Young Mr. Chandler, the American who had taken gay London by
storm, had managed to pique my interest, even if I did find drag slightly
distasteful.

* * *

It was just twilight when I parked my Sierra two streets down from
Illusions in Soho, locked it, and started down the dingy street.  Dark
shadows stretched across the roadway, and darkness already claimed the
alleyways.  It was the time of day that people naturally hurried.

"Looking for a bit of fun this fine evening, are you, mate?" a man's voice
called softly to me from the chase I'd just passed, a Welsh voice.  I
pivoted, even as I cursed myself for not having been aware of the alleyway.
He stepped out onto the pavement and faced me, his open hands at his side.

I relaxed and nodded as I faced him.  "You could give a lad a fright like
that," I said.

He chuckled and stepped into a pool of light coming from an open window
beside us.  He was as tall as I was but quite slim, not gaunt but wiry.
His hair was curly and quite dark, almost black.  His T-shit was worn and
one knee in his jeans had ripped.  I suspected better lighting would show
that they were dirty as well.  I guessed that I faced a dosser but forced
myself to keep an open mind.  I stepped closer and saw he was quite
handsome under his mop of unruly hair.  And young.  I could go for a bout
in the sack with him, if he turned out to be something other than a tramp.

"The name's Aled, mate."  He glanced at the street behind me.  "You don't
look the type to be wanting a fake femme."

I smiled at the alliteration.  "You know Illusions then?"

"Oh, right!  The girls can be quite generous with a quid."

"You're homeless?"

He shrugged.  "I have a small flat."  He looked me over quickly.  "I've got
a tight arse, good lips, and don't care what I do with them if it feels
good-" He smiled seductively.  "For the price of dinner, they're yours
tonight, mate."

"You're a rentboy!" I groaned, finally understanding.

"Maybe."  He laughed.  "And you?  What are you - an officer of the law?"

I chuckled.  "Maybe."

"I like what I see.  And I don't think a gay copper is going to see dinner
as the same thing as a twenty-five pounds charge."  He laughed again.
"Besides, I can't be very selective when I hustle; and, right now, I want
to be selective."

I slowly began to realise this lad would give me a nice cover inside the
transvestite club. "Do you have nicer clothes?" I asked.

He grinned broadly.  "You don't like the idea of having your way with a
poor homeless waif then?"

"You have me well pegged, Aled.  I am with the police and I have to spend
some time in Illusions this evening.  You want dinner or anything else with
me, you have to be a presentable gay lad."

"Damn!" he groaned, making a production of it.  "I make one exception and
now I'm told to make another - how many more will you want from me,
Mr. Policeman, before this night's done?"

"Do you live close by?"

"Do want a quick shag before dinner?"

I laughed.  "I want you to look presentable."

He shrugged. "We're standing in front of my building - will you come in?"
I nodded and he took the three steps up to the entrance.  I followed when
he had opened the outer door.

"I don't have too many disguises, and you've seen through my being
homeless.  Will I be able to survive your inspection as a starving
student?" he asked as he led me down the narrow corridor to the back of the
ground floor.

"Which school?"

"University College Hospital," he answered as he unlocked the door to his
flat.  "I'm a medical student."

"And you're a rentboy?" I croaked and stared at him in shocked surprise.

"I have to live somehow.  My folks are on the dole - no money there.  My
student loan barely pays for course fees and books.  Besides, I'm gay - so,
why not?  I even holidayed in the Canary Islands last autumn - that's
something the folks have never done."

I glanced around the room.  It was shabby but looked like a student's
studio flat.  There were books everywhere.  And piles of clothes.

Aled pulled off his frayed T-shirt and rummaged through a pile of clothing
until he'd found a rugby shirt.  He threw it on the unmade bed and turned
to another pile of clothing that I saw was all jeans.  He sat back on his
haunches and held up a pair of cords.  "It is just spring," he mumbled to
himself.  "Still gets a bit cool late.  Why not?  So do it, Aled, they show
off your bum rather fetchingly."  He threw the trousers on the bed with the
shirt and stood up.

He faced me and put his hands on his hips.  "Time to come clean,
Mr. Policeman."

"What?"  I studied him for a moment, liking his smooth chest, but he kept
his face blank.

Then he laughed.  "What do I call you?"

I blinked and I felt the heat of a blush spread across my face.  "I'm
sorry.  The name's Phillip Goodson."

"And is Phillip Goodson really a policeman?"

"Yes, I am."

He grinned.  "I've never stripped for a copper before - will you search me
then?"

"I will later if you want, but you're supposed only to be changing
clothes-"

"I don't wear y-fronts.  These jeans come down and I'm bare-arsed,
Phillip."  He toed his trainers off and crossed the room.

"Want to help me get naked?" Aled asked as he reached me.  Before I could
answer, he had thrown his arms around my neck.  He was kissing me then, his
crutch grinding against mine.

My arms went around his slim waist and my fingers walked up his spine,
leaving him shuddering as he held onto me.  The smooth, tight skin of his
upper back was goosepimply by the time my hands reached it.

He broke from our kiss, his lips tracing my jaw.  "Open my jeans, Phillip,
and play with my bum," he breathed at my ear.  "I really like that."

I gently pushed him from me and reached for my wallet.  "Aled, I really am
a policeman," I told him as I held out my identification for him to see.  I
glanced from his crutch to mine and smiled.  "Right now I'm on assignment
and I need your help.  Later, after I've had a chance to look around
Illusions, we can get into exploring things between us quietly and
pleasantly."

"Inspector?" he mumbled, reading my identification.  He stepped back and
studied me closely.  "You're far too young to be an Inspector.  Exactly how
old are you, Phillip Goodson?"

"Twenty-eight," I told him as I took my wallet from him and returned it to
my hip pocket.  "I was lucky to be in the right place at the right time for
the past few years."

Aled nodded and took another step back, reaching the side of the bed.  He
unbuttoned his jeans quickly and slipped them over his bum without modesty.
He sat down and pulled the trousers over his feet.

His prick was no longer erect but was still tumescent, its head pushed
through its cowl.  He glanced up at me as he reached for the cordoroy
trousers beside him on the bed.  He grinned impishly.  "Sure we don't have
time for something?"

"Later," I said.  "You're a nice package, lad - but I want time to explore
it leisurely."

He snorted and pulled the trousers over his feet.  Standing up, he turned
his back to me and bent down to pull the cords up.  "Look at it and get it
fixed in your mind, Phillip.  This arse is yours if you don't keep me
waiting too long."

"It's as nice as the rest of you."

"So, what are you going to be doing at Illusions and why do you want me
with you?" he asked as he pulled his zip up and sat back down to pull on
his trainers.

"I want to observe what goes on quietly - without interruptions.  Your
being with me will provide me the cover to do that."

"And you'll be observing what?"

"I'll be looking for drugs.  Heroin specifically."

"Heroin?" he squeaked, picking up his shirt and pulling it on.  "That stuff
is boring, it sends a bloke off to dreamland.  From what I've read about
it, all a lad on it wants to do is sit down and contemplate his navel."

"Boring or not, it's making a nasty comeback, Aled.  In the gay clubs
especially.  We want to close it down before it becomes any bigger."

* * *

We sat in the darkest alcove of Illusions.  Aled had picked our table and I
had followed him.  Our location had the advantage that I could see most of
the floor of the club and, through the wall mirror, the bar as well.  There
was a larger crowd than I would have expected for a week night, and it was
almost uniformly young.

I noticed one burly but handsome middle-aged man sitting immediately in
front of the stage.  He had an attractive young man sitting on either side
of him and all three of them were loud.  From the few words I overheard, I
knew they weren't speaking English.

"That's Ilyich," Aled said as he picked up his mug.  "Him and his lads from
the embassy."

"Embassy?"

"Russians.  They have something to do with promoting trade with Britain, I
think."

I studied him for a moment.  "How do you know so much about them?"

"They're flush and they like to spend it."  He chuckled.  "I think they
also get off on seeing how much British arse they can poke, too."

"So, you've made it with them?"

"Ilyich mostly - about once a month.  I've only had the other two twice now
- and that at the same time.  They tend toward the rougher stuff."

"Rougher stuff?"

"They're big blokes - all three of them are.  And Ilyich is the biggest of
the three.  They don't like lube for one thing."

"Ouch!"

He laughed.  "That's one of the many things I say when I'm with them.  But
they pay well."

I sat back and studied the men across the club from me.  The Russians
hadn't had money in years, not since Yeltzin talked down the tanks in front
of the Russian Duma.  Yet, Aled was saying that these Russians paid well
for a compliant rentboy.  "How much do they usually pay?" I asked my wiry,
dark-haired companion.

"You aren't going to pull me down to the nick, are you, Phillip?" he asked
softly.

I glanced over at him.  "I'm not investigating prostitution, lad - or one
young Welshman's enterprising spirit."

He smiled.  "Ilyich pays a standard hundred quid for a night of
arse-bursting.  The two younger guys pay fifty a piece."  He shook his head
slowly.  "It's not so much when you consider that your bum is out of
commission for at least two days afterwards."

"Still, that's a lot of money.  More than one can expect a Russian to have
these days.  Is it just sex when you're with them?"

"Yeah.  Mostly anyway."

"How about drugs?"

"They have them available."  He shrugged.  "But, then, who doesn't?  What
they have for guests isn't what you're looking for, either.  They've got
grass, poppers, ecstacy - that kind of stuff."

Hmmmm ... I thought that I really did want to learn more about the Russian
trade commission.  They sounded like such interesting lads.  "How
accessible are they?"

Aled frowned as he contemplated the question.  "They work during the day, I
suppose," he answered slowly.  "They party hard, but that's only with a guy
they want.  I've heard the younger two mention other Russians but haven't
met any of them."

I nodded slowly, sorting out my thoughts.  "It sounds like I need a Trojan
Horse to get inside their defences."

"Not me, Phillip.  I'm just the dosser they invite over once in a while."
He grinned and slipped his chair closer.  "And there's only one dick I want
to ride tonight ... Which does raise a point-"

I met his gaze and shivered as I felt his fingers find my knee.  My cock
instantly became interested.  "What point?"

"The over all package you present is a nice one, Inspector Goodson.  It's
quite enough to make me horny.  But I would like to see what I fancy, you
know - just to make sure it's the right one for me."  He grinned as his
fingers dived for my crutch.

"This is a public place," I groaned.

"And this alcove is quite dark," Aled answered as his fingers traced the
tube my erection was making in my jeans.  "And this feels quite nice.  I
just have to make sure, though."

"Make sure?" I croaked even as I felt his fingers pull on my zip.  "You
can't-!"

Every light in the club doused then and young Aled took the moment of
complete darkness to unbutton the waist of my jeans.  He spread the denim
flaps and dropped to the floor.  His tongue found my exposed boxers.
"Watch the show," he whispered as light slowly came back on to centre on
the stage, "and enjoy what happens."

Perched on a stool in the centre of the stage was a small, androgynous
figure in a white top hat, tails and loose slacks.  A tinny piano began to
play a slow, almost funereal, march.  The figure began to sing Lili Marlene
in a throaty voice that could be either male or female.

I stared in shock at the stage before me and barely felt Aled pull my prick
through the slit in my underpants.  I had seen BBC specials of Marlene
Dietrich on TV.  She was a patron saint to gay London.  I had heard her
throaty, deep voice singing on records and, more recently discs.  I had
even seen cut-outs of her taken from early appearances before I was
born. But I had never thought I would see her in person, not with her three
years dead.

I gasped as the dark-haired Welshman under the table swallowed me.  But
even having his nose buried in my pubes could not pull much of my attention
from the magic that was happening on Illusions' small stage.

I was one with the young lovers of the song, strolling along the Berlin
avenue before the war took the soldier boy away.  But I was mostly
mesmerised by the person singing the words.  Logically, I knew it had to be
a man on the stage - after all, this was Illusions.  There was still doubt,
however; and I felt that I was where I had never been before - a small,
intimate club in a war-torn land, escaping into a bitter-sweet reality that
was guaranteed to haunt me.

Between my legs, Aled continued to suck me.  I felt it.  I knew it was
being done to me.  I was a police officer engaging in public sex, and it
did not matter.  Only the person on the stage had any reality for me at
that moment, the person who was singing to me from his heart.

The song ended and the club lights turned brighter before us.  Our corner
remained dark and Aled continued to swallow and tickle my dick.  I began to
come out of my trance even as my bollocks tightened against my shaft.

"We aren't supposed to be doing this!" I growled and made to push the Welsh
lad from me.  Only, he swallowed me to the root and my helmet was lodged
deep into his throat.  He hummed then and the tip of my prick was being
massaged by his throat muscles.

Orgasm spread through me like a tidal wave.  Jizz shot from my bollocks and
Aled sucked harder, determined to get everything I could produce.  I stared
out into the lighted club beyond us, vaguely aware that Illusions' Marlene
was now making the rounds of the tables, his top hat filling up with money.
And Aled continued to pull ever more come from the previously unsuspected
depths of my ballsac.

I watched as Marlene turned and studied the club until his gaze found our
alcove.  A brow arched and he began to cross the large room.

"Quick!" I yelped.  "Let go of it."

Aled pulled off my prick slowly.  Excruciatingly slowly.  I grabbed the
shaft and pulled it from his mouth.  "God!  He is coming over here," I
groaned as I watched Marlene pass the last table on the club floor.
Another ten feet and he would be in the alcove with me having my bloody
cock out of my trousers and Aled's spittle all over it.  I pushed it under
the denim flap of my jeans, feeling it between denim on one side and silk
on the other.

"And what're you boys doing in here in the dark?" a low throaty voice asked
from the entrance just as I buttoned my waist.  Light blazed around us as
Marlene switched it on.  I realised then that the Welshman was still on his
knees.  I groaned.

He looked from Aled to me and back to Aled.  "I'm just so glad you boys
could come," he said, his voice a syrupy caracature of a Southern accent as
he entered the alcove and sat at the table with us.  "Honeychild," he said
to Aled, "you can find the most delightful playthings to bring to Illusions
with that poor little tramp gig of yours.  He's just gorgeous."  He leant
closer to Aled and lowered his voice: "You aren't charging this one, are
you?"

Aled grinned and shook his head.  "I do a free one now and again, Brett."
He stood up and claimed the table's third chair.

I saw the studded dog collar around Marlene's neck then and realised this
was the same Brett Chandler I'd seen last night.  After having seen him
perform as Marlene, I understood why the rumour mills of gay London thought
he was interesting.  I found him very interesting myself, even if he did do
drag.

"Phillip Goodson here," I offered when the American turned his attention
back to me.  "You seem to have become the talk of London, Brett Chandler."

He laughed and there was nothing girlish about him in that moment.  He
wasn't loud or raucious, but he was all male.  "These London boys, Phillip
- I just can't see why they're all so interested in little old me.  Take
Aled here - he's a lot more interesting.  Or you."  He grinned widely then.
"Tall, dark, and handsome just has my heart all aflutter."

"A nine inch dick helps the package along," Aled said and I felt myself
begin to blush.

Brett's eyes rounded.  "Oh.  May I see?"  He glanced at Aled.  "Some other
time, of course."  He grinned again.  "Unless the two of you want to add to
your pleasures tonight?"

"I plan on taking care of him myself, Brett," Aled answered quickly before
I could say anything.  "Perhaps another time, mate."

The American nodded and looked at me ruefully.  "It always happens like
that to me - the best man around is already taken when I show up."

"You seem to have Mr. Right."  I pointed to the dog collar.  "You were
wearing it last night, didn't your boyfriend give it to you?"

"I thought I'd seen you before," Brett groaned.  "What you must think of me
after the exhibition I put on!"

"The barrister from last night isn't your boyfriend then?"

"Hell no!"  He chuckled.  "I found him interesting the moment I saw him,
but he just got older by the minute after that.  I gave him what he wanted
and took out of there."

"Gave him what he wanted?" I asked.

"He wanted to dominate Brett Chandler.  And he wanted all of his buddies to
see it.  I gave him a blow job in that bar and walked out.  I like my own
games too much to play another guy's - by his rules."

"What about the collar?" Aled asked, eyeing the studded thing on the
American's slim neck.

He laughed.  "I'm a slave looking for his master, Phillip.  Besides, Mommy
made me promise not to wear any jewelry when I was leaving Atlanta.  No
necklaces, none of the good stuff.  Very old-fashioned Southern where a man
is a man and he doesn't like girl stuff.  Anyway, I really think I look
good with a choker around my neck.  I kept my promise to mommy - I haven't
put a piece of jewelry on since I hit London last year - but I've worn this
collar since the day after I arrived.  It looks pretty good on me, don't
you think?"

"Brett," Aled began, glancing over at me and smiling.  "Does anyone here at
the club - you know - sell drugs?"

The American turned and studied the dark-haired Welshman.  "From what I can
see that Phillip has and what you tell me he's got in his jeans, you don't
need drugs.  Just lie down and let him do the driving, Aled."  He glanced
back at me and smiled.  "I suspect you'll stay charged up all night long."

"Brett, I'm not looking for poppers," Aled told him.  "Phillip's looking
for heroin.  He's police, and the stuff is making its way into the gay
clubs."

The American's eyes rounded as his gaze remained on me.  "A cop and a
rentboy?  Doing what I saw you two doing when I came in here?"  He shook
his head slowly as if to clear it.

"Phillip Goodson, you are an interesting man, aren't you?"

"We've got ten young gay men who have become addicts the past six months.
The numbers are increasing.  It's not at epidemic proportions yet, but it's
getting there.  I want to stop it - to put the lid back on Pandora's box,
as it were."

"I have just one question, Phillip - are you gay?  Or do you just like to
play with cute guys like Aled here?"

"Aren't those two questions?" I asked grinning.  He shrugged.  "I'm gay.
But what does it matter?"

"I just don't like guys playing what I think are the wrong kind of head
games.  A gay guy getting it on with Aled or me - that's okay.  It's still
okay if he's a cop.  It's not okay if he uses his badge to make one of us
give him sex and, in his mind, degrades the guy doing it."

"I went down on him of my free will, Brett," Aled told him and grinned.
"Actually, he sort of resisted."

"That's kewl then."  He continued to study me for several more moments.  "I
don't get off on drugs, Phillip.  If I've got to use a chemical to get
turned on, my partner's a real dog and isn't worth it.  From what I
remember about horse from high school health class, the stuff just zonks
you out.  I'll keep my eyes and ears open, though, and get back to you if I
learn anything."

I pulled a card from my wallet and wrote my home number on it before
handing it to him.  I found another card and did the same for Aled.

"I've got another set to do before I'm through - so, I'd better go," Brett
announced and stood up.  "Hopefully, I'll see you both around."  He looked
directly at me.  "You especially, Phillip."

"Shall we find somewhere to eat?" I asked as we watched Brett Chandler
leave our alcove.

"There's a trendy little bistro on Gerard Street, Phillip.  It's quite
expensive and stays open late."