Tag spooned next to Brandon, his toned and ripped body pressing against Brandon’s softer one. Brandon closed his eyes and sighed contentedly, pulling Tag’s arm across his chest.
“Nice surprise,” said Tag, nuzzling against Brandon’s neck.
“You were driving me crazy all night. I wanted to take that tie off since the second I saw you.”
Tag chuckled, “Me? If I could have, I would have stripped you in that conference room and had my way with you there.”
Brandon chuckled also. “It’s good we waited.”
“Mhmm.” Tag pulled Brandon closer and entwined his legs among Brandon’s. “About your uncle. I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to bring him back to America.”
“I can take care of him. And I can hire someone to.”
“Someone in flame retardant clothing,” said Tag. “Someone who won’t get him angry.”
“I’m going to school in Phoenix, Arizona. I’m sure they have mutants there that are flame retardant.”
Tag said, “Why don’t you do this: Why don’t you meet him first, see if he’ll go with you. If so, then go back to Arizona, get things set up. I’ll bring him to you. How does that sound?”
Brandon frowned. Someone was trying to tell him what to do again. But he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. “When can I see him?”
“Let me tell him about you tomorrow. I’ll call you.” Tag squeezed him. “Or I’ll stop by.”
“Stop by,” said Brandon. “I want to go to another pub.”
Tag laughed, and his hands floated up and down Brandon.
~~~~~~~~~~
Brandon went back to the old address and got the name and phone number of the landlord from a little old lady who had live on the first floor since Barra had lived there. Brandon called him, and asked him what happened to Barra’s stuff. “Lots in storage,” the landlord said. “Can’t get rid of it since he’s still alive, even if he ain’ in his right mind.”
“Mind if I see what’s there?”
“If you’ll be taking it off my hands,” he said.
“Some things, probably. I’m his next of kin, so I can sign the rest away to you and you can do what you want with it.” Brandon didn’t know if that was legally true, but he wanted to see what was there.
“Fair enough,” said the landlord. “Meet you at Young Street garages in half an hour.”
The landlord was a barrel of a man, who had a yorkie in the truck with him. The yorkie jumped out and ran around excitedly between the man’s feet and Brandon’s. Brandon wiped his hands and shook hands. “Thanks for coming out here.”
“If it means I can get rid of this, that’s fine with me.” He unlocked a rusting padlock, and parted open the doors. It stank of must and mold, rust and gasoline. He took out a heavy-duty flashlight and handed it to Brandon.
Everything was well-packed in there. Unlabeled boxes held drapes, clothes, and dishes all packed haphazardly together. He tossed them out and away, and the man backed his truck closer to the garage, putting the items in his truck. The yorkie kept running into the garage, sniffing and sneezing at the dust. Brandon wondered if he was going to have asthma, due to all the dust in here. A mouse scurried away from under a box that had a cut-out hole in it – a box that once held food from the cabinet but had been eaten clean through. With a grunt, the old man kicked the box to the side.
Then toward the back, was everything in the warehouse. The sawhorses and the tools, copper piping and fuel tanks. He found the harness that had been thrown back there, and carefully undid it from a tangled mess of other gas tubing. Brandon stepped out into the light and tried it on. It was a little tight this time, the reservoirs had dried up, but it still fit in the places it should. It came out at his wrists, and the flip switch still worked which opened the reservoirs or closed them. The pilot would be lit at the base of his neck and the flame would hunt out and search the flammable liquid of Brandon – which was caked on the inside of the piping. It would follow it through to the open air at the base of Brandon’s wrists, and hit Brandon’s palm where he would throw the liquid that remained as a small ball, or could turn into buckshot and spread across a field. Also among the harness, in a filling cabinet drawer was the costume that a woman had made for them. Once Brandon was ready, they were going to pair up together and fight crime. Brandon smelled the spandex, still smelling of new material and dust. He took both costumes.
He grinned up at the landlord. “Is that what you were looking for?”
He nodded. “I should look for some pictures, too. In case he wants them.”
The landlord looked at the contraption and then watched Brandon paw through the boxes, looking for photo albums or pictures in frames. There weren’t too many of them, but he picked out a few just the same. He left behind furniture – a bed, a kitchen table, a TV and its rack, an older computer. He cared about the harness and the suits. “Everything else, you can sell.”
“Just sign this,” said the landlord. Brandon read the contract carefully. He wasn’t going to get billed, but it said he surrendered everything that was in the storage bin. Brandon signed it. “Good luck with your uncle,” he said, and shut the garage doors.
~~~~~~~~~~
Pub 151 was a gay pub, as Brandon found out by seeing two men sitting at the counter, one with his hand on another man’s thigh, and the two staring intently at each other. The bartenders were in tight shirts, the waiters in tight pants, and everyone was checking out everyone else. Tag had said nothing about his uncle when picking him up, saying he probably would need a shot of whiskey to take the news. Therefore, in Brandon’s mind, it wasn’t good.
They went toward the back where it was more quiet and less well lit, and sat in the booth across from each other. Tag ordered two beers and looked intently at the menu. “Good news is, your uncle wants to see you.”
“Bad news?”
“No bad news,” said Tag. “Not on that front.”
“What do you mean?”
“How long are you going to be here?”
“Until the money runs out. Another week?”
“If you stay with me, can you stay for the summer?”
Brandon smiled. “I’d love to.”