Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,24

He felt like he was going to faint.

He should pay for what he did. Say yes, and I’ll take care of it for you.

Crane heard Mary’s voice, garbled and far away, and barely made out that she was telling the officers he was ill.

Max, what have you done?

“I haven’t seen him in some time,” he said in a hoarse voice, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I was in bed all weekend. Sick. Très, très malade.”

The cops nodded at him, their expressions bland and professionally disinterested. Crane knew that Guillaume Bertrand wasn’t well-liked by the police, what with his constant complaints, and felt himself relax a touch. Yes… Yes, that would work in his favour. The cops were checking up on the neighbours because that’s what they did. He thought about Bertrand’s daughter-in-law. He’d only met her the once, but as far as he recalled, she wasn’t fond of the old man either. Maybe no one would look very hard for him.

Crane felt sick and weirdly elated. In a daze, he watched the big cop hand over a card to Mary and say a few more words that he didn’t catch. Deferential smile plastered across his face, he nodded to the police, and they turned away and walked back to their patrol car.

Mary closed the door, frowning at the card in her hand. Then she smirked and looked up at Crane.

“Maybe the ol’ bastard finally pissed off the wrong person,” she joked.

Oh, if only you knew. Crane laughed and it sounded shrill, but Mary didn’t seem to notice.

Friday, August 19th

“Crane?”

Crane blinked and turned to his boss. Dr. Julie Bélanger was leaning forward in her chair with her elbows on the big wooden desk, hands clasped loosely in front of her. Narrowing her olive-green eyes at him, she shook her head slowly.

“Earth to Dr. Crane,” she said, lightly teasing. Her long strawberry-blonde curls brushed her forearms, framing the generous cleavage that was barely contained by her white blouse.

You ever wonder what it’d be like to cum on those great big tits, Doc?

Crane blinked away the memory, but not before he saw an image of Max with semen running down his face, dripping on his flat chest, his fingers swirling patterns in it on his skin. Crane’s dick was getting hard. Everything gave him an erection these days. He was sick with lust and existed as a ghost of himself in the long hours between the blistering, gorgeous moments when Max took his cock deep into his greedy mouth or equally insatiable ass.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Crane rasped, shifting in his seat. “What were you saying, Julie?”

“I was saying that you’ve cancelled our weekly meeting two weeks in a row. Is it the day? Should I move it to Thursdays from now on?”

“No… No, the day’s fine,” he said and cleared his throat. He carefully kept his gaze away from the straining buttons down her chest. “I’ve just… well, Mary was sick, and I was just, you know.”

Julie quirked up a brow like she didn’t believe him. “Crane, is there anything going on with you I should know about?” She sat back, crossing her arms. She gazed at him shrewdly. “I wasn’t going to say anything—you know how I like to keep it casual here—but you look like shit.”

Grimacing, Crane rubbed the side of his jaw, his stubble coarse and patchy. Had he taken a shower that morning? He couldn’t remember. All he remembered was getting home late last night because he’d met Max in an underground parking lot where he’d bent him over the hood of a Corolla to fuck him. Then he’d gotten drunk by himself in a park and cried.

He saw a smudge of dirt on his knee. Had he even changed his clothes? “I’m sorry. No, I’m fine. It’s just… I’m just tired. I’ll shave and everything next week.”

“Have you been seeing your therapist?” Julie opened up her moleskin notebook and scanned a page. “Hmm… Dr. Allonce, right?”

“I… no,” he confessed, paranoid that she’d check up on him if he lied. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I don’t think we’re a good fit, is all. I’m currently looking for another therapist.”

Seeing a therapist on a regular basis was a requirement for every psychologist who worked at the clinic—Julie was a stickler for it. She pulled the old-fashioned rolodex towards her and flipped through a few cards.

“Let me give you another name. Dr. Durant. Here.” She jotted down the information on a scrap of paper and passed it