I wake up very slowly this morning because I have a murderous headache. I lift my head from the soft confines of my pillow and can taste what feels like cotton in my mouth.
“Well, what should you expect?” I ask myself.
As always after a night of boozing, I get a horrible coating on my tongue. Mostly because alcohol drives my sinuses into a frenzy causing me to breathe from my mouth instead of my nose.
I sit up quickly, almost too quickly, for the pain in my head becomes almost unbearable. The pain, though, brings recollection of my escapades of the night before. A smile sneaks across my face as I remember my little night out at Club Fuchsia, a local night club. Then the smile washes away quickly as one memory stabs my brain with such fever that I quickly turn to the other side of my queen-size bed.
I thought I could have wished this away, but no luck. There he was, lying next to me.
“Damn!” I thought, cursing myself. “I really did not want this to happen.”
But every time I have too much to drink it seems I always regret it the next morning; this morning being no exception. Maybe it would not have been so bad if this was some nameless trade that I picked up, but my luck could not have been so good. This happens to be my ex-lover. I really, really did not want this to happen.
I was having a great time last night. After having dinner at one of my favorite restaurants with my best friend Marcus and a group of other friends, we arrived at Club Fuchsia around 1 :30 in the morning. Last night was a celebration. A celebration because I just opened my very own detective agency three weeks ago.
After long deliberation and many suggestions, I decided the name of my agency would be F.Y.I’s (For Your Eyes) Private Detective Agency. That alone was something to commemorate, but it was also the two year anniversary of my break-up with my ex. And
I was going to celebrate like there was no tomorrow.
I must admit I was looking pretty fierce. Marcus finally talked me into wearing this black bodysuit, which I wore with a pair of black jeans and black boots. I was kind of reluctant, but as Marcus insisted “Boy, you can’t keep a body like that wrapped under those tired preppy clothes. You better show it off.”
At 30 years of age, I guess I’m pretty attractive. I mean I’ve always been “cute, I’m quick to smile and I have a boyish charm about me. I’m average height, 5’ 10, and weigh a solid 185 pounds. I’ll admit I have a pretty decent body. I mean I should, I work out four times a week. I suppose after spending six years on the New York Police Department, it’s hard to get out of the habit of working out as often as I do. But I really just enjoy working out, especially running. I refuse to ever become one of those detectives who is just so out of shape that the only thing he can chase is a doughnut.
The club was packed, the music was ovah, and the “boys” were phine. I must have danced for what seemed liked hours.
I remember finally sitting down soaked to the bone from sweating and as I started to get up to head to the bathroom, there he was; looking like a chocolate Adonis. The boy did look good.
Mitchell, my ex-lover, stands 6’ 4,” weighs close to 220 and has a body built for sin. His skin is the color of maple syrup and his lips are so soft; and yet so strong. He always wears his hair in a close fade. Last night he was wearing a pair of baggy blue jeans and a muscle T-shirt that accentuated his physique to the fullest.
“What’s up Trev?” he finally says, licking his lips and looking me up and down as if I were on display.
“Not much.” I reply. “Long time no see.”
Then nothing but silence follows. I sit back down with my drink, not knowing whether it was the alcohol or Mitchell that was making me dizzy.
“Is it okay if I sit down?”
I nod and say “Hey, I don’t own this place. You can sit anywhere you want.” Again he looks me over, making me feel a little uncomfortable.
“What? What is it?” I ask feeling a little annoyed.
“Damn baby, you sure are looking good.” he says.
I hold up my hand to immediately stop him; already knowing what was on his mind. “Look, Mitchell, I’m having a great time tonight and I don’t need you spoiling it,” I remarked with a smile on my face.
“What? All I said was that you’re looking good.” he says with a smirk, trying to appear innocent.
“C’mon Mitchell, don’t play with me, we both know what you do to me.” I piped in.
Damn Freud and his “slips”. Instantly after the words flowed from my mouth I regretted it. “Why in the hell did I say that?” I ask myself; mentally beating my head against an imaginary wall. “It must be the liquor.”
“And what do I do to you that’s causing such a problem, baby?” He asks slyly.
I got up slowly and carefully, because I was feeling a little tipsier than I thought and said, “Let’s start with you calling me baby.” I then walked straight to the dance floor to see if I could find Marcus. I needed to put as much distance between Mitchell and me as possible. That man really makes me moist and he knows it.
I finally see Marcus standing next to the bar talking to the bartender.
“Marcus, you will not believe who’s here.” I yell over the loud, pulsating music. “Chile, I already know. Are you ok?” he yells back.
This yelling back and forth wasn’t doing any good so I grabbed his arm and we started to walk towards the restroom.
“What’d you say?” I asked more clearly.
“I said, are you ok? I know how you get around that dog.”
“No, no, I’m fine. I may need you to stay with me though, cause I had way too much to drink and I may end up doing something that we’ll all regret.”
“You mean something that you ’fl regret.”
“Oh no buddy, if I fuck up and wind up miserable, you can best believe I’ll make your life miserable as well.” I say laughing.
“Cool, it’s been a long time since I cock-blocked someone.” Marcus laughs. “I gotta go to the bathroom. Come with me.” I said.
“What for? Haven’t you mastered that trick yet?” “Go to hell Marcus. Go to hell.”
Marcus and I both went into the bathroom. I went into a stall to relieve myself and Marcus immediately starts to talk to someone he knew, which happens to be anyone and everyone at any given time.
I love that boy to death, but no matter where we go, whether it be in a “gay” or “straight” environment, he seems to know everyone, which at times gets on my last nerve, but that’s Marcus.
I come out the stall and go to the mirror to make sure everything is “in place”. With my head bent, I feel a hot presence at my back.
“You know, I’ve really missed being with you. You look sooo good. Damn” The heavy voice said, dripping with desire.
I knew exactly who it was. Though the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, (because the man still excites me) the alcohol level in my body went down and I was not about to give this negro the second chance of catching me off guard.
I turned around to face him, with my lips twisted in a smirk and one eyebrow arched, I say with feigned disappointment “Oh, I thought you were someone else.” I licked my lips, looked him up and down, then walked past him.
I couldn’t find Marcus anywhere after that. He’s famous for just leaving me in a club, after finding himself a piece. But, I’m a big boy, I didn’t need anyone to hold my hand.
One of my favorite songs started to blast over the speakers. I started to tap my foot to the pounding beat of the bass. Never having a problem with dancing by myself, I started towards the dance floor. Not to brag, but I am a fierce dancer. On more than one occasion, I was asked if I danced professionally.
I was in the middle of the dance floor when Mitchell walks up behind me, grabs my hand and says “Why don’t you dance with me?”
I look at him and start to laugh. “Sure why not. Since I’m already here.”
We danced for about thirty minutes. My throat was getting a bit dry, so I told Mitchell that I needed another drink. He followed behind me with his hands around my waist. This black man was getting too comfortable. I need to go ahead and nip this in the bud right now. I turn around and say to him “Listen, Mitchell, don’t get me wrong...”
Before I could get another word out he put his mouth on mine. And the damn man kissed me just like he used to; with so much passion it literally took my breath away. I pushed him away and said, “W-wait a damn minute, Mitchell. Shit, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Baby, you just don’t know, I’ve been miserable without you. I can’t eat, sleep or do anything.”
“Well you sure as hell don’t look like you’ve missed many meals.” I replied sarcastically. “C’mon, Trevor. Why you got to be so shady? I’m trying to tell you that I miss you and what do you do, but slap me in the face.” Mitchell said heatedly.
After two seconds of silence Mitchell’s tone softened. “Can’t we please go somewhere to just talk. I just want to catch up, see how’ve you been, you know.”
The look on his face showed hurt and disappointment.
Damn, damn, damn, I knew this was going to happen. I couldn’t say a word, though. I looked everywhere for Marcus for support, but of course his ass was nowhere to be found.
“Look, if its going to cause a problem with your boyfriend, then forget it,” Mitchell finally remarked with a smile.
This was Mitchell’s way of telling me that he knew I wasn’t seeing anyone seriously.
I looked at him wondering how in the hell he knew. It didn’t matter though, because I wasn’t going to let him get the best of me. We were just going to talk, right?
“Fine let’s go, but it’s just to talk and nothing else. And don’t call me baby. Cause I won’t be your baby tonight.”
Yeah right! Now look at this situation I’m in. Here he is sleeping silently next to me without a care in the world and with this big ass smile on his face.
A smile I put on him. I have to give myself credit, I am one fantastic lover. Not because I do anything outstanding in bed. I’m not an acrobat or a contortionist or anything like that. It’s just that I’m not a selfish lover. I take pleasure in giving pleasure, which is a rarity in men. They usually want to get their nut off and go to sleep.
Mitchell had better be glad I was a little weak and more than a little tipsy last night. Because, in any other normal circumstance, he would not have had a snowball’s chance in hell with me. But you can bet your sweet titties that that’s it! I mean it. He won’t see this black ass ever again. Not to say the sex wasn’t good, cause the brotha can throw down. It’s just that sleeping with him brought back too many memories. Some of them good, but the ones that hurt are the bad ones. And the bad ones I cannot forgive, let alone forget.
I was in love with Mitchell once upon a time and it took me a long while to get out of love with him. He was the first man who ever really treated me like I was supposed to be treated: with love, respect and trust. Well, at least in the beginning. Of course things changed later on in the relationship, but for the most part I was happy and content. Mitchell had two problems that tore us apart. The first one was he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
Now, being a man, I know that temptation can be a potent thing. I also know that every man is born with doggish instincts. I don’t care if you’re gay, straight or bent like an eight, if a juicy bone is wagged in a man’s face he’s gonna be tempted. But I’ll be damned if I’m wrong for feeling that you don’t have to follow up on those instincts. I mean I’ve had my share of temptations, more than I would like to admit, but I thought being in love meant that when you have the urge to merge, you take that shit home.
Even after finding out he was fucking around, I found it deep, deep, deep in my heart to forgive him. God knows he begged enough for my forgiveness. It was just that I couldn’t deal with how the whole ordeal made me feel: insecure, distrustful, paranoid -• three things I swore I would never feel again in any relationship. Like my grandmother used to say to me ‘Baby, if the shoe don’t feel right, then you gotta take it off.’ And that’s exactly what I did. And as much as I was willing to forgive him for his “infidelity”; I couldn’t cope with his other problem, drugs.
Crack changed him. He became a different person. He was secretive. He would leave in the middle of the day and not show up for three days and lie about where he was. On one occasion he became violent. Glasses were broken, he even smashed my stereo with a baseball bat. But he knew better than to put his hands on me. As big as he was, he knew I could stomp another hole in his ass.
It’s been two years since we broke up and we’ve seen each other every once in a blue moon. If it wasn’t for last night, we wouldn’t have slept with each other since our break• up either. Which leads me back to my current situation. I am curious as to what he thinks this means. Whether he feels that after one night of passion I would beg him to take me back. Yeah, imagine that. But that’s how cocky Mitchell is. To tell the truth, I don’t know what this means. I just had an itch and Mitchell was there to scratch it. Long and hard.
I get up slowly so I wouldn’t wake him. I walk past the bed and stub my toe on the bedpost. “Shit!” I scream. I cover my mouth quickly, but Mitchell doesn’t move an inch.
Boy, I forget just how much of a rock sleeper he is. I walk into the bathroom and open the door to my glass-enclosed tub and step in. I take my time in the shower; lathering myself very slowly, trying to wash away this deep feeling of disappointment with myself and trying to think of what to say to this man. As I debate on what I should say to dismiss last night, I realize that I haven’t heard one peep from the bedroom.
After my days on the force, I tend to be overly sensitive to noise or the lack of it. “It’s just your paranoia,” Marcus would always tease.
“I must have put suhin’ on him to put him in this coma.” I laugh, thinking to myself. As I turn the knob of the shower faucet off, I can’t help but laugh about the unusual predicament I’ve gotten myself into. If Marcus knew what I did, he would be all over me. I can just hear him now.
“Chile, I know the dick was good, but damn. How could you go back to sleeping with Rover?” Rover was Marcus’ nickname for Mitchell, Marcus always said; “Mitchell’s nothing more than a two-legged dog. “
I get out of the shower and look over my naked body in the floor length mirror behind the bathroom door. “I really need to work on my abs during my next workout.” I ponder rubbing my stomach. With a towel draped around my midriff, I walk into my bedroom to get dressed.
Even though it was Saturday, I figured I would go into the office to do some organizing and some leg work on my first case. My first assignment is pretty elementary and I will probably finish it quickly (that’s just how good I am).
A very beautiful, yet aging, forty year old woman was going through an ugly divorce and her husband was trying his damnedest to leave her with nothing or close to it. The bastard had over a hundred and thirty million dollars in cash and assets, but he kept his finances so well hidden that he was claiming he was only worth $175,000, which basically meant that she wouldn’t get as much as she should. She helped him build his empire. Put her youth, blood and tears in his business and now he was trying to leave her high and dry. She also suspected that he had a little “bitch on the side”. Since the courts needed photos of them actually fucking, I needed more than her husband and his mistress just walking hand in hand. “I want to see the cheeks of their asses.” she so animatedly told me during our initial interview, when she forked over her five thousand dollar retainer. I thought this woman was handling the situation like a champ. It was only a small job, but it was my first case; so I was extremely excited.
I look at the clock and notice that it’s 11 :00 am. “Shit! I was planning to at least be out of here by ten.” I mutter to myself.
“Al right, c’mon Mitchell, I know I was all that to put you in a coma, but I really need to get ready.” I say rummaging through my dresser for a pair of underpants. He didn’t move. I put on a pair of black jockeys and walk over to the bed. “Come on Mitchell, wake up, rise-n-shine, get the lead out.” I jump on the bed. He still didn’t move. What the hell is going on here.
“He must be fucking with me.” I thought.
So, I pushed his arm and noticed how cold his arm felt, which was very strange. After living with the man for three years, I know cold was not what he feels like. I put my hand over his mouth to feel any warm air.
That’s when the panic started to set in. I start to shake him. Harder, then, even harder. No response.
“Mitchell, don’t do this to me. Come on, wake up.” I say out loud.
Everything I did was to no avail. Then I stopped. With the realization that he may be dead; tears start to run down my face as I vainly shake Mitchell with so much force that the bed starts to rock. I suddenly stopped shaking him, but then my body starts to shake uncontrollably.
And then I stop breathing.
“Breathe, Trevor, breathe.” I tell myself. After taking a few quick breaths, my stomach turns against me. I jump off the bed and run directly into the bathroom. As I try to make it to the bathroom in time, I slide on a floor rug and fall. Everything I ate from the night before came right on out and all over the floor.
I don’t believe this shit. I sit in a daze in my own vomit for what seems like hours. “Get a grip Trevor, c’mon you candeal with this. You’ve dealt with worse.” I said trying to psyche myself into getting up, but my body wouldn’t let me.
And I had dealt with worse. But, truth be told, I always had a problem dealing with death. You would think after the many dead bodies I’ve seen on my years on the force, I would get a little thick-skinned.
There were bodies in far worse condition than this. Bodies plastered all over the wall from drug deals gone bad. Bodies destroyed by their own hands. Bodies destroyed by vehicles. Bodies destroyed by drugs. Bodies destroyed by fire, acid, bullets, and knives. But, I guess nothing can compare to the lost bodies of the ones you know and love.
Love, hunh, I guess that’s what it is, love. I’ll be damn, I’m still in love with this man. I can’t believe this. How can this be? After all the shit he put me through and I’m still in love with him. But, what does it matter now? He’s gone.
I get up slowly to wash my face and rinse the film out from my mouth. I turn on the faucet. After splashing my face with the cool water, I decide to jump back into the shower to fully get the effect. I turn from the sink and slip and fall again in my regurgitation. “Fuck, Goddammit! I scream. As disgusting as it was to fall in my own vomit, it was just the thing to get me out of my daze. I get up immediately and wipe the excess vomit from my body with a towel. I run downstairs to the kitchen to get a mop and pail to clean up this mess.
When I get downstairs I notice that the living room windows were opened. “I didn’t remember leaving the windows opened.” I think to myself as I walk over to the windows and peer through the curtain. I stare out the floor to ceiling windows watching the ducks play in the pond in front of my condo complex. I just stand there in a daze letting the cool morning air wash over me. “This feels so good.” I say to myself.
A car door slams and I hear a baby start to cry. “Well enough of this.” I say out loud. I close all three windows and walk into the kitchen. As I walk past my kitchen divider I notice a crack pipe. I did a double take.
“Oh no he didn’t” I yell. That motherfucker knew how I felt about this shit. I look into the garbage pail next to the counter and see a vial, which I assumed contained some crack. I start to pick up the pipe, but then the “detective” in me thought better of it. I better leave everything like it is. No need to add my fingerprints to it.
“Oh shit!” I say. The realization that Mitchell probably overdosed on this crap hit me like a ton of bricks. I had to sit down. I walk back into the living room and sit down on my sofa.
This was a major problem towards the end of our relationship; Mitchell dealing and using drugs. Needless to say I was enraged when I found out he was into the shit. I let him know immediately, it was either me or the drugs. I felt sorry for him in the beginning because he said he was hooked; he just couldn’t stop. I did love the man; so I told him I would be there for him if and only ifhe got help.
After spending six months in rehab, he swore up and down that drugs and alcohol would never be a part of his life again. And, I, like a fool, believed him. I’ 11 admit, as good as I am at being able to tell if someone is lying to me, he fooled me.
After seeing him cleaned for what seemed like months, I was totally caught off guard when I received a call from John, one of my old partners on the police force.
It seemed that the department just broke up a major crack ring in Queens and one of the suspects they gathered up happened to be Mitchell. My heart fell. I made it my business to keep my private life and my professional life separated. I never wanted either to interfere with the other. Up until then I was very successful, but this was bound to draw everything that I worked so hard for to an end. I felt my dreams were about to go up in smoke.
As soon as I walked into the station, John immediately drew me into the locker room. “Listen Trevor, we’ve got ourselves a sticky situation.” he said. “This guy’s saying he’s your roommate and he won’t talk to anyone except you.”
John just so happened to know my “business”; meaning he knew I was gay. Since we were partners in the very early stages of our careers; we spent a lot of time together. We became very close; discussing our dreams, fears and other personal things. When I came “out” to my family, I felt close enough to John that I told him too. When I did tell him; he handled it pretty well. His reaction to my confession? “Well I hope you don’t try to grab my ass, cause I’m kinda sensitive there and you may just turn me on.” We both burst into laughter.
I told him that I didn’t want anyone else on the force to know. Homophobia was running around the station like a bush fire and I wanted to keep my ’.’shit” discreet. He promised that no one would find out from him.
“The problem, Trev, is that the DA wants this guy bad. They say that they’ve been after him for at least 3 years.”
I couldn’t say a word.
After a couple of minutes of my silence go by John asks, “Hey Trevor, are you okay?” “What? Oh yeah, listen, um, thanks John.” I say. “And, uh, thanks a lot for keeping this under raps. Do me a favor. Could you bring his ass into the “grill” room?”
As John walks towards the door he turns and says, “No problem T. Look man, you’ve saved my ass more than once out there. And you know we got each other’s back. But, uh, Trev, just make the right decision here.”
“The right decision, huh?” I think to myself. “And what the hell is that?”
I sit on the bench in front of my locker with my head in my hands. I get up quickly and slam my fist against my locker. “This shit is totally ridiculous. How did I get myself in this?”
The dilemma was; I knew Mitchell was expecting me to use not mine but my father’s pull and influence in the judicial system of New York City.
My father, Stephen A. Morrows, is a Superior Court Judge for the borough of Manhattan. And like everyone else, Mitchell seems to think I always run to him when I needed to be pulled out of a jam.
About everyone on the force assumed that just because my father was a judge, he used his influence to make me one of the youngest detectives in New York history. Which is total bullshit. I busted my ass like the rest of them. But, I still got grief from the other detectives when I got promoted. But you know what, I was not going to let that or anything else for that matter stop me from becoming the best damn cop on the force. And I got plenty of awards to prove it.
Though, now it does look like I will have to run to good ol’ dad for this one. This was totally out of my hands. There was nothing I could do. I mean I couldn’t just let his ass rot in jail, could I.
But, how in hell do you tell your father that your gay lover is in jail for drug charges and you need his help? Especially my father, who never could understand how I became gay. As a matter of fact, it took him a good six months just to speak to me after I confessed my true sexual orientation. But that’s another story.
Mitchell had his head down on the table when I finally made it to the “grill” room. He looked up slowly with the most pitiful look on his face. All I could do was shake my head. I sat down across from him. When he didn’t say anything. I quietly said to him, “Well Mitchell, you realize that this is it. I might have been able to deal with you fucking around on me, but now you’re fucking with my job, my career and my life and that I will not tolerate. I just can’t.”
He looks at me with tears starting to form in his eyes. “Baby, I’m so sorry. You’ve got to forgive me, I really need you right now.”
I get up quickly and let the chair fall. “Don’t baby me.” I yell. I inhale deeply and let the air exhale slowly. I place my hands on the table and look at him intently. I grow quiet and say with as much professionalism as I can muster. “Listen Mr. Urbans, I will see what my father cando for you, but I’m not making any promises. Furthermore, as far as we are concerned, it’s over.” With that I walk out of the room and slam the door.
Fortunately for Mitchell, my father was able to pull a few strings with one of his judge friends. Mitchell was let off with a suspended sentence, down from 15 years in the state pen to five years probation, if he came forward with names of his drug contacts. What happened after that I have no clue. I washed my hands of the whole thing.
But things at the force weren’t the same for me after that. I could sense a change in attitude towards me. And since, it got out that Mitchell was my lover, everyone knew I was gay. I had my suspicions as to who leaked out that piece of juicy gossip. I started to get dirty looks whenever I would go into the locker room to shower. As if I would want any of those tired-ass dicks in there.
I then proceeded to get hate letters on my locker, like, “Faggots are not wanted on the force” and “Queers don’t belong in the NYPD”. Even Captain Jamesway, who I was actually pretty close to, made it very clear to me that the predicament with Mitchell may have its repercussions.
Which basically meant that, though they couldn’t force me out legally, my stay at the “Hotel NYPD Blue” would not be a pleasant one. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one to run away from anything. But good ol’ dad had plans on running for mayor and the last thing he needed was to see on the front page of The Post or The Time’s “Supreme Court Judge’s Son in Drug and Sex ScandaI’’. So I felt the best way to handle this was to get out while the getting was good.
But not only did I let that asshole back in my life and bed, here he was dead from what I assumed to be an overdose in my home and now I needed to figure out what to do next. The phone rings and jolts me back to reality. “Hello.” I grumble into the phone.
“Hey chile, what happened to you last night? I couldn’t find you anywhere.” It was Marcus.
“Marcus, I can’t talk right now, let me call you later.”
“Oooh, who you got in your bed?” he laughs. “Wait, Ms. Thing don’t tell me Mitchell’s there. After all the shit he put you through.”
I breathe in deeply. “Marcus, I neither have the time or the energy this morning to deal with your shit.”
Marcus immediately fires at me with his trademark rapid tirade “Damn Trevor, what the fuck’s wrong with you, there’s no need to get nasty with me, shit, the only reason why I called your ass in the first place was to find out if you were OK. That’s what’s wrong with you black people today, you never appreciate when anyone shows a genuine concern.” And he says this all in one breath.
“Okay, okay, okay, I’m sorry, really.” I said apologetically. I could tell he was really hurt.
But Marcus being Marcus, let his attitude change from one extreme to the next. “OK, OK, you’re sorry, so what’s the dish bitch?”
Again, I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly. “Marcus, my love.” I say very carefully. “This is deeper than anything we’ve ever been through together and I would appreciate it if you would let me handle it and we’ll speak at another time, preferably tomorrow.”
Marcus grows very quiet and I almost think that maybe we were disconnected or something.
“Alright Trevor, if that’s what you want, then call me tomorrow, but if you need me, just let me know. Ok?”
“Ok. I respond. “I promise to call you first thing tomorrow.”
I hang up the phone. But I am totally surprised that Marcus let it go so easily. Usually he will try anything short of a crowbar to pry information from me.
Wondering what to do next, I suddenly came up with a brainstorm. Since the last thing I needed was attention or publicity, I decide to call John, my old partner on the police force.
Though I left the force two years ago, John and I still kept in touch. Since the last time we talked, John was promoted to Senior. Detective in homicide, so I knew he would be able to help me with this little problem I’d gotten myself into and I also knew he would keep it quiet.
I pick up the phone to dial the station’s number.
“Homicide, this is John.” I hesitate a little, wondering how he would take the news. “Hello, is there anyone there?” John queries.
“Hey John, what’s up? It’s Trevor.”
“Trev, what’s going on man? It’s been, what six weeks since I heard from you? How you feel.”
“Oh I guess I’m doing OK, but, uh, listen John, I need a huge favor from you, man.” “Anything for you, big guy. What you got?”
I sit back down on the stool in front of my kitchen divider. “Well John, I think it may be best if you come over here so we can talk face-to-face. Do you have time to come over now?”