Desperate Enemies 3 by Adam Carpenter (latest ebook reader .txt) 📕

a constricting fear had taken command of his mind and his body. Could he handle the sympathetic nods of his friends, their tender embraces? Did he really want to be involved with whatever plot was cooking over at Number Four? No doubt the tension in the room would be so high he wasn't sure he'd be able to look anyone in the eyes, not without revealing certain facts within his own brown eyes. How could he possibly face Marc and Parker and Rich, knowing what he knew, knowing what they knew and guessing who didn't know? When had life gotten so complicated?

Paolo finished off his second shot of tequila in an effort to settle his nerves, fortifying himself for a night expected to be filled with surprises. He contemplated a third shot, staring at the bottle on the counter, then decided wisely against it. Before he changed his mind, he then made his way outside and into the surprisingly cool night. A strong wind blew off the ocean, chilling him to the bone. He was still dressed in shorts and T-shirt, flip flops, like he refused to let go of summer, even as autumn made its determined way toward land. As he approached Number Four he saw that blazing lights inside and a heard the unusual sound of laughter; since when was this a happy occasion? Doubt again crept inside him and he nearly turned around.

The sound of his name being called out stopped him. “Don't leave, please.”

It was Marc, standing in the open doorway of Edgar and Jack's house and it wasn't just his words that had Paolo reversing his direction and walking up the stairs of the house, it was the soft tone behind them. He took the final step and found himself face to face with his friend, who just reached out and embraced him, not saying another word.

Paolo felt the fresh warmth of friendship wash over him.

Maybe he had been judging Marc unfairly this past week, given what he knew.

But we all have hidden pains; we all deal with them in one way or another.

Paolo had chosen to shut himself off from the world. Marc had chosen Parker to alleviate his stress.

As the two men parted, Marc said, “I've missed my friend.”

Paolo almost said, “But you've made a new one, haven't you,” but let it drop, this was not the time, not the place. There were other issues to settle first among them all, that's why they were here. So, with a quiet smile, he said, “Shall we go inside and find out what the hell is going on in this neighborhood?”

Marc led him inside the house, where he was instantly greeted by Edgar and Jack, their familiar presence bringing a strange level of comfort to Paolo, as though this sudden circle of old friends had magically brought Aaron back to life; a quick look to his side told him that was pure fantasy, wishful thinking. Both men expressed how glad they were he could join them, ushering him into the living room where he came face to face with Parker St. John, his strong arms crossed, standing in the corner almost like a sentry. Before him was the regal red-headed woman, situated in a high-backed chair, a Queen on her throne. Now that he saw her up close he felt his jaw drop.

“But wait, you're Rose Emerson. . .”

“Ah, yes, my late, lamented career,” she said with a casual wave of her well-manicured hand, “what would it be without the gays. They're the only ones who remember me.”

“But what do you have to do with. . .”

That's when Rich North emerged, seemingly out of the darkness, shadows upon his face, an enemy in Paolo's mind, the man behind Aaron's tragedy. He'd come from the kitchen, a tray of drinks at the ready, as though nothing had happened. “That's what we're all here to find out, Paolo. You're just in time—I've mixed up some Black Velvets. In honor of our guest.”

A mix of champagne and stout, it was a bubbly, frothy, yet hearty drink. Also the name of the last film Rose Emerson was ever to make, a low-budget thriller from two decades ago in which she wrapped her garroted male victims in swaths of black velvet before drinking down a glass of champagne in celebration of her conquest. It was camp at its best. Her infamous line, “Killing may be in my blood, but I'll take the bubbles any day,” had been uttered by many gay boys during celebratory toasts and assorted trivia-led drinking games at gay bars across the country. And to think, here was this glamorous icon from yesteryear in Wonderland... on Eldon Court, and seemingly with some kind of connection to this whole mess.

Rich passed around the drinks and they all toasted, “to having bubbles any day,” and they drank, Paolo doing so while noticing a slight hesitation on Parker's part, lips to the rim of his glass but not really partaking. Their eyes locked for a moment, with Parker uncharacteristically blinking first and looking away. Okay, there must be some story there about the toast and this woman and Parker's new role as wallflower. That's when Paolo raised his glass and said, “Also, to good friends who are always there for you, even when you don't want it.”

“And to Aaron,” Marc added, and they drank, all of them, the toast serving as reminder of why they were gathered here, and before long the pregnant pause led to a shift in the tone of the meeting.

It was Edgar who took the lead, starting with formal introductions.

“We found Rose just about the same time she arrived in Wonderland, and the connection was a surprising one,” Edgar said, “an old contact of mine from my days at the Chronicle was helping me in my research for my book, Fool's Gold, and I mentioned to him the trouble we were having with Converse, how desperately he wanted our land and how he was willing to