Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,60
a fury of lights and chrome.
Max sucked his teeth and shook his head. “God, what’s the bloody hurry? Stupid and dangerous…” he muttered under his breath.
They drove in silence for a few kilometres—they were the only ones on the lonely stretch of highway.
“Hey… Doc… Why didn’t you run when I gave you the chance?” Max asked quietly, his eyes on the road.
“You mean the video?”
“Yeah.”
“So… You’re actually the one who left that? Not some dissociative identity…”
“Yeah.”
Crane thought about that night, about the fear and confusion, the disappointment and the feeling of loss. “I don’t know why I didn’t run,” he admitted.
“Okay,” Max replied, accepting his answer.
“Why did you leave the video?”
“I dunno.”
Another long silence.
“What am I supposed to call you, then?” asked Crane. “Eddie? Édouard?”
“No! No… God, no. I’m Max to you. Always Max.” They pulled off onto a side road, a smaller rural highway judging by the sign. “I fucking hate the name Eddie.” He flashed a smile at Crane.
“You killed Bertrand.”
“I did.”
“Who else have you killed?”
Max frowned and looked over. “Do you really want to know that?”
Crane had the impression that if he said yes, Max would tell him. He decided he didn’t really want to know after all, simply knowing he had done it before was enough. He shook his head. “So, there was no ten grand owed to ‘Vinny’?”
Laughing, Max checked his mirrors and turned onto the onramp for a four-lane highway, merging with the scant traffic. The signs above showed they were heading south towards Ontario.
“Well, his name’s not really Vinny, but yeah that guy’s a client of mine. I’m not even going to tell you what he’s into because, well… Oof, it’s out there. He actually owed me forty grand, but we’re even-steven now because he got his family connections to organize your escape from the big house.” From the way he said ‘family’, it was obvious he didn’t necessarily mean blood relations—he wondered if Max had connections with all the city’s crime syndicates.
Crane frowned out the window. “Well, he and his two thugs should get an Oscar for their performance.”
“Oh… I don’t think the two others were acting,” Max said lightly, passing an overloaded minivan.
Crane gaped at him, horrified.
Max noticed and shrugged. “Hey, I knew what I was getting into. It worked, didn’t it?”
“Did it?” Crane said, sounding a touch unhinged.
“I’d say so.” Max smiled at Crane. “Did you mean what you said?”
“What?”
“That you loved me?”
“I… It was a reaction. I thought I did. At the time,” stammered Crane, startled by the question.
“Do you still love me?” Max kept his eyes on the blacktop. The sky was starting to lighten and the traffic was getting heavier. When Crane hadn’t answered after a few seconds, the muscles rolled in Max’s jaw, and he lifted his shoulder. “That’s fine,” he said in a soft voice.
The silence was agonizing for the next twenty minutes or so. Max turned on the radio and Crane recognized the track as “Générique” by Miles Davis. The moody trumpet drifted like slow smoke from the Mustang’s speakers and swirled around them—a gentle, melancholy soundtrack.
“What now?” Crane asked a while later when they’d crossed the border into Ontario.
“I was thinking Mexico,” Max said with the ghost of a smile.
“Mexico?”
“Beaches. Tequila. Aztec and Mayan ruins. You know the one?”
“Of course.”
“You ever been?”
“Once.”
“Okay.”
Crane took a deep breath. “Don’t think that I forgive you.”
“Okay.”
Unprepared for how serious and strange Max was acting, Crane floundered in confusion. “So, um… What’s with the dress and the wig?” he asked, forcing a grin. I’m trying to cheer up the man who wrecked my life. God help me.
Smirking, Max shrugged. “My face’s been plastered in every newspaper… I needed a disguise.” He gave Crane a coy look out of the corner of his eye, his high spirits slowly making a comeback. “ ’Sides, I thought you might like it.” He lifted his chin and wiggled in his seat a bit. “You’ve been surrounded by only men for the last six months… I figured this would be fun.”
“Hm,” Crane replied. Max did look great in the dress, there was no arguing that.
“I’m not wearing any panties.”
“No?”
Reaching down, Max slid the dress up his thighs as far as it would go and uncovered part of his cock. “And I got everything waxed, just for kicks.”
Crane watched Max tuck his hand up under the hem of the dress and fondle himself. Letting out a slow breath, Crane mentally chastised himself for getting aroused at the sight.
“Mmm… My balls are soft and silky