"A Very Public Kiss"

This was written over the summer for Fiction ....hope you enjoy it

One sentence was all it took, one simple sentence to know who the man in the sunglasses is. As he pulled Chris and I back, the other bank robbers locked the door. The doors were plastered in bullet holes. There have to be at least three bank robbers. The man in the sunglasses lost his grip on me, and Chris picked me up from the floor into his muscular arms. As I was holding him, I looked at the man in the sunglasses. He looked directly at me. I was trying so hard to restrain my breathing.  He doesn’t move at all; he just stares at me. I wonder if  he really does recognize me.

My mind starts to stroll slowly back to the bank lobby where it all began.   I cannot take my eyes off of the man in the sunglasses as he walked into the bank that August day.  I close my eyes ever so slowly and lean into Chris. Tears start to come from my eyes; my breathing becomes more uneven.  The hostages in the office  look at us. I cry for about five minutes in silence. Good thing I don’t have to explain anything to anyone. “One Mississippi. I have to calm myself. Two Mississippi. It is him. I should avoid him as much as possible. Three Mississippi. I love Chris so much. Four Mississippi. I have to stay quiet. Five Mississippi.”

I open my eyes, realizing the carpet has blood stains that we are sitting on. I can’t take my mind off of the man in the sunglasses. “There has to be something to distract me from what I know to be the truth of the situation. Chris …Chris …. Chris.”

He and I had been living together for a year now.  But we are not affectionate in public.  He is a police officer. We can’t afford for anyone to know from the precinct about him being gay.  Chris being with me would be thrown off the force. I am their newly appointed District Attorney who also happens to be closeted.  It would be a huge scandal. The only person I wanted to tell was my sister; she was okay with us dating each other. Thomas, Chris’s partner on the police force, also knew about us. They have been precinct partners for about four years and have been through a lot together. Thomas once told me Chris was someone special and had gone through a traumatic event.

 I remember asking Thomas about it but he always said “You have to ask him.” When I asked him he changed the subject or just ignored me. I asked him about a hundred times a day for a week until he broke. We were in his apartment living room on the couch.

“I had been in the police force for two months” he started. “Thomas and I were on the freeway when a black SUV Range Rover went speeding by at ninety miles an hour. He turned on the sirens and we were on the chase. It didn’t last long. After about ten minutes on the high way, both of us thinking it was a drug dealer trying to run from a bad sell or somebody who was doing something really stupid, I remember telling him to hit the back of the SUV.  The driver would lose some control and the chase would end. He did what I told him. The driver lost complete control flipping over about ten times before landing on the roof in a gully. What we found truly shocked us.” He paused and took a couple of deep breathes, trying to hold back more tears.  Looking at me with his puffy red eyes, he continued, “It was a mother. Her name was Amelia Smith. She was running away from her abusive husband as we later found out. The crash killed her instantly.  Half of her body was twenty feet away on the freeway; the other half, still in the Range Rover. Her twelve-year-old daughter was thrown around so much that she looked like a human jigsaw puzzle.”  Tears were streaming down his face.  “The baby in the backseat couldn’t have been more than a couple months old.  Still strapped in his car seat, he had succumbed to  shards of glass,” he said in a shaky voice while hanging his head, unable to elaborate on any details. “The baby is what got to me the most. He reminded me of my mother having a miscarriage before the baby was born. That baby in the Range Rover reminded me so much of the horrible loss from when I was just a little boy, I just broke down.”  His dark brown eyes never left mine “Am I a monster for killing an innocent family who was running away from an abusive father and husband?” he asks me. Looking as if he’s afraid I’d say “yes” to his question.

Crying, I didn’t how tell him what he needed to hear me say. I then took a deep breath and shook my head. “What happened on the freeway was not your fault.  You couldn’t have known who was driving,” I said. Coming closer to him, I put my arms around him. “I know one thing,” I paused for a second. “You can never, ever be a monster, darling.” I say it almost in a whisper. I grab both of his watery cheeks and pull his lips to mine, kissing him deeply. He holds me and kisses me as passionately. We lay on the couch with him on top of me.  It’s hard to explain but we have this connection words can’t begin to describe. When we have sex he always leaves my knees shaking and my sensations swimming. Mostly, we hold each other for hours. We feel safe in each other’s arms. “Did you ever arrest the husband?” I ask him. His head is on my chest. “No,” he says after a while holding me tighter. “Why?” I caress his dark brown hair. “Because this guy is the Commander in Chief of the police department. I think he was even running for mayor if I remember right. Jonathan Smith”.

I had heard rumors he was a real bastard, but it caught me by surprise Jonathan Smith abused his wife to the point that she ran away.  “Are you sure?”

“Yeah I was the one who pressed charges, but they never went through.” He says. “Rumor has it that he has an illegitimate son,” he continues and my eyes widen in sheer horror. I try to remain calm seeing that his head is on my chest. I hug him even tighter, One Mississippi…

My thoughts are interrupted by a very loud argument going on in front of the teller booth right outside our door.

 “Let’s kill some of them.  How about one or both of those pansy faggots,” one of the bank robbers screams. My best guess is the robber screaming was close to the one robber who was shot before we were thrown into our office prison.

“Calm down I have some other plans, including what to do with those vile pussies in their Brook Brothers suits,” the man in the sunglasses says, his voice echoing through the lobby and in my head. It was then I noticed his Gucci shoes, the label on his sunglasses was Prada and those pants were Armani.  It is him, I am almost positive of it.

 “No,” the bank robber screams and starts shooting at the windows of the offices.

Everyone screams and lays as flat as they can on the floor while bullets pass over our heads. Some of the bullets I hear flying close to my ears while others hit all over the office, knocking the debris onto all of us. Chris is lying on top, of me shielding me with his entire body. He is trembling while holding me. I think he is afraid we are going to die.  I wish he carried his gun when he wasn’t working, but where does that wish get us now?  The bullets stop coming from the lobby, and you can hear the rest of the bank robbers trying to take control of the situation. I am holding onto him for dear life, trying to hold back my tears at this near death experience, trying to remember six weeks ago.

Chris had invited me out to dinner at Spiaggia’s, Chicago’s premiere Italian restaurant, and, without a doubt the most romantic place on the planet, but where the tab could easily run into a few hundred dollars just for two. The frescoed dining room was just perfect and our table sat in a window alcove overlooking the twinkling moonlight cityscape.  He had the cipolinni and potatoes and I had the steak with shishito peppers.  Violins were playing and candles twinkled like stardust on our table; it was breath taking. He looks deeply into my eyes, his hand nearly touching mine on the table.

 “My darling, you know how very much I love you.  I have from the minute I saw you in your dark blue Brooks Brothers suit at the precinct right after applying to be the new D.A.  I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to fulfill, to cherish and to grow old with you.” 

He reaches into his suit coat pocket pulls out the classic Tiffany’s blue box tied with a white satin ribbon.  Tears flood my eyes.  He takes my hand.

 “Sweetheart, will you marry me?”

  I answered yes. 

At that very moment, his hand still in mine, the Commander in Chief Jonathon Smith, whom I had only met twice, walks directly up to the table. 

“Chris, never expected to see you here,” he said callously” his sapphire pinkie ring catching the candlelight. “This, by the way, is Bridgette”, he added with a disgusted snort and a flip of his hand.  She was dressed like some common street whore who did coke in her free time and we assumed she was.

“Pleasure to meet you Bridgette.”

  “Chris, uh, who exactly is this nice gentleman in this lovely faggot melodrama,” sneers Commander Jonathon Smith. 

My mind went completely blank. I could feel the sheer hate in his voice for the two of us.  As now he had something on both of us, his prized officer and new District Attorney, and we, I had the feeling, were going to be blackmailed from here on out. I don’t remember how that conversation ended, I just knew I wanted to desperately kiss Chris and couldn’t.

After dinner at Spiaggia’s, we went to our Halstead loft apartment. As soon as he opened the door, he started kissing me. We lost all of our clothes on the way to the bedroom. He throws me on my back onto the bed. He handcuffs me to the headboard.

 “I’m the sexy cop and you’re the very naughty but ever so hot robber I can’t resist” he smiles his one eyebrow arching wickedly. He gets on top of me and we start kissing again. He  undoes one of my handcuffs long enough to turn me over never breaking our hot-blooded kiss.  Clicking the handcuff back in place on the headboard around my wrist, my back connected to his stomach. He starts to kiss my neck, my back and…..I whimper and moan in delight, as quietly as possible but fail miserably many times…..

He …... thrusts…… I moan so does he. He turns my head.  Kisses me hard. My hands holding the bars of the headboard. The handcuffs singing loudly to Chris’s impassioned thrusts. Chris puts his arms around me. I groan lovingly in pleasure even louder. So does he. It seems like hours. He never slowed down. He then collapses on top of me. We are both out of breath. I spent the whole night handcuffed to the headboard an engaged man.

The image of those six weeks ago brings a smile to my face, even now, surrounded by the scattered new gunshots outside the office we are locked into.  A few loud screams of terror inside our office and outside as well.  Suddenly, there’s a huge splatter of blood on the window of the door to our office.  Blood oozing, filling the window pane to the door.  We can see nothing.  The window is frosted to begin with. Now, it’s just blood covered.

I knew I couldn’t let that bastard Jonathon have the upper hand and even begin to try to blackmail Chris and I.  But I also knew I had to find the reason Amelia fled that night she was killed in the automobile accident and especially after that night at Spiaggia’s.  What I needed to do was talk with Amelia’s younger sister Melanie.  Sitting at my oak desk at the precinct, I dialed the number [phone ringing] “Hello Ms. Rytledge you might remember me, Aiden Foster.  I was a good friend of your sisters in high school and now I am the new District Attorney.  We here at the precinct are trying to put to rest your sister’s case.  I was wondering if you could spare some time to talk with me about her relationship with Jonathon.”

“Oh sure I remember you Aiden, always so tall, handsome and well dressed.  Things for Amelia were really bad at home.  There were as I am sure you are aware of quiet a few emergency room visits and some broken bones.”

“No Melanie, I had no idea but will have try to get those records if I can.”

“You should Aiden.  There were also a few hushed up police reports of domestic violence that I believe were made quite by bribes and what not that go into full detail about the severe abuse my sister suffered at the hands of that prick Jonathon.  There should also be some Children Service reports because the oldest daughter Celia had mentioned her mother being beat up by her father at school.

“Good grief I can’t believe this paper trail you are talking about.  I mean he is trying to run for mayor.”

“Yeah I know Aiden, it is crazy because if half of what he did became public my God it would be a huge scandal.  Anyway the night Amelia left it was because she couldn’t face the reality she might lose her children even though those children were never hit, they were investigating how violent Jonathon really is.  Amelia couldn’t deal with the idea of losing her children.  Personally I hope you nail the bastard to the wall, because I also hear that he may be involved with money laundering, taking bribes, altering police evidence and a mountain of crap you wouldn’t believe.  Plus there is this whole illegitimate child rumor too.”

“Melanie thanks so much for everything.  I will try to keep you posted on what happens with the case you’re a god send.  I’ll talk to you soon.  Thanks again.  Bye.

“Bye Aiden, you get that bastard good.

 I can hear the screaming sirens, the bull horn squawks, the door to our office prison is opened.

By the time I gathered all of my information on Jonathon and turned it all in to the mayor as well as our state senator four and a half weeks had passed.  Boy did it create the scandal.  Jonathon was fired and facing criminal charges.  The house, the car, the boat all repossessed. His dead wife and children had been exhumed.  His private records were made front page news and the jury selection process was beginning.  So was the hunt for this alleged illegitimate child.

It is Thomas and seven other officers from his force outside of the bank trying to get control of the situation I walk directly into the bank right up to those Prada sunglasses and rip them off that strong masculine face.   “I knew it, you fucking bastard.”  It was Jonathon Smith. “It’s come to this, huh, robbing banks.”  “No Aiden you stupid faggot it has come to this” as he pulls out his Smith and Wesson revolver.  I grab his arm wrench it behind his back as one of the other robbers lays already dead on the floor in the bank.

We wrestle, struggling each other to gain control of the gun.  First standing, then rolling on the floor as Thomas comes charging in.  I finally kick Jonathon in the head, get the gun full in my hands and stand to my feet. I cock the hammer

“Good lord Aiden what the hell are you doing” Chris says.  I am paying back a debt for my Aunt Amelia and my mother.  I pull the trigger and shoot him right in between the eyes.  “You fucking bastard, were never were a father to me.”  I grab Chris by the shirt front, pull him into my arms, him and I intertwined, kissing, not caring who sees us.

While my father Jonathon Smith lies dead on the bank floor, his sunglasses lay a feet away, his face coated in his blood. 

“Just remember both of you sissy faggots, your time is limited, don’t plan on leaving alive today.”    I look at a stunned Chris, “I have wanted to kiss like that from the minute I met you all those years ago” and kiss him again in the middle of the bank.