By Robmacz

The following day I didn’t wake up until the early afternoon. Partly the result of exhaustion of the previous few weeks, but more to do with the hangover I was now experiencing from the day before. It was the banging on the door that woke me. I stumbled out of bed and opened the door to find Mike standing there.

‘God, you look awful,’ he said. I stepped back and he came in. ‘Why don’t you take a shower, while I fix some coffee.’

I did as he suggested, and Mike had made some strong coffee by the time I got out.

‘How come you look so good?’ I asked.

‘Because I stopped drinking about three hours before you did.’

I wasn’t in a hospitable mood. I was still feeling sorry for myself and thinking about Billy locked away in his cell. Though every time I conjured up the image my dick started to twitch. Why did I find the misfortune of the guy I was in love with so horny? Clearly, I had some issues I needed to sort out.

‘I thought I might find out if I could get to see Billy in jail before they ship him to the pen.  Is that possible?’

‘Listen Paul, I saw Billy this morning and he told me to tell you that he doesn’t want you visiting him or spending any more time thinking about him. He wants you to start to live your life again, and he’s right. You need to move on.’

The thing was, I didn’t want to move on.

Over the next few days I managed to take the boxes Billy had packed down to the storage company, each clearly labelled in the organised way that Billy liked things. One was labelled ‘work gear.’ That piqued my interest, so I undid the box to find some of the cuffs that he had used on me so many times. There was also his duty belt, spare uniform shirt, and, right at the bottom, a pistol. I was surprised that the cops hadn’t seized this when the searched his house. Billy must have had it well hidden, somewhere. I thought it must be his own gun–surely he would have had to surrender his work gun. I started to put it back in the box, but for some reason I decided that I would take care of it, rather than putting it in storage.

In the weeks that followed, I gradually returned to a normal routine. Work became busier and some days it wasn’t until I got home that I started to think about Billy and what he was doing. Most nights I would put his handcuffs on and jerk off to the image of him in his prison cell like a caged animal. I didn’t think anyone could make me feel as horny as he did. Mike tried to set me up with other dates, but I just wasn’t interested. It was Billy in his cage that excited me. Nothing else would come close.

Then one November night I was driving home from the office. I was thinking about how I should be looking forward to spending Christmas with Billy, but once again I’d end up spending it on my own. Then up ahead I saw the flashing lights of several police cars. One lane was closed, and traffic had slowed to a crawl. As I drove past I could see that one car had plowed into another, which must have led to a chain reaction.  A guy was sitting on the side of the road in handcuffs. My mind went back to Jack Bevan, my cellmate when I was in the county jail. Hadn’t he driven into a bunch of cars? Expensive cars, he said. And he’d been in possession of a gun and more coke than he’d need for personal consumption. At this point a plan began to take shape in my head.

‘You’re fucking crazy,’ Mike shouted at me. ‘I won’t have any part of it.  I could get disbarred.’

‘I’m not asking you to do anything illegal,’ I said. ‘I’m just asking, hypothetically, whether it would work.’

‘Hypothetically, yes, I could probably make it work. But you need to get your head tested if you’re thinking of doing this. I know you had a good thing with Billy, but that’s over. You need to start thinking straight.’

‘Oh, I never think ‘straight,’ Mike. You should know that.’

Before I had spoken to Mike I had begun to frequent one of Carter’s clubs in a seedy downtown area. It wasn’t difficult to spot the dealer in there. He had his own booth and from time to time patrons of the club would go and sit with him.  Shortly after they would return to their table with a small package. It wasn’t even subtle. During my first two visits I watched closely what was going on.  On my third I plucked up the courage to go over to the booth and ask how much for some coke. The guy gestured for me to sit down, but before he did his gorilla discreetly patted me down. I’d been watching for this, but he seemed to do it only for some clients. I guess it depended on how well-known you were. I sat down and within less than a minute the transaction was done. I had my coke and the guy had his $200. I took the little plastic bag and slipped it into my jacket pocket and returned to my table.

I went back to the club regularly. Not every night, but a lot.  Most nights I was there I went to the guy in the booth and got my stuff. It was probably after my eighth visit to the booth that the gorilla stopped searching me and it was a few nights after that when I felt brave enough to record what was going on through my iPhone. I wondered if it would pick anything up, but it was actually pretty clear.

Back home I was putting the small bags of coke in a brown manila envelope.  By now I had more than $2000 worth of coke, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough for what I had planned. So on my next visit to the club I went up to the booth and sat down. I spent my usual $200, but now I said I had some good friends coming for the weekend and could he arrange for me to pick up a little extra on my next visit. He nodded approvingly and said it could be arranged, but for what I wanted it would be $5000. I said that wasn’t a problem and we agreed to the deal. Two days later I collected the merchandise, leaving my iPhone on to record the exchange. He even asked the gorilla to call me a cab and make sure I was safely away. He must have had an eye on future business.

My plan was working nicely and now I had to move to the next stage. I made an appointment to go and see Mike and sign a power of attorney giving him control over all my assets.

‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’ he said, looking pleadingly at me.

‘Yes, I’m sure.  You just weave your magic.’

He gave me a hug. ‘I’m gonna miss you.’

To be continued…