Chapter 14

The room glowed faintly from the moonlight. Brendan listened to the rhythmic breathing of his new girlfriend lying next to him, taking comfort from her warm presence. The room wasn't as chilly as last night because he had convinced the two siblings that keeping the apartment that cold wasn't worth the money they were saving on heat. Sometimes people could be too cheap.

He had lost his bed on his brother's couch but he had gained a new family. He wasn't sure what angle Rodrigo was playing, but Brendan had an intuition that he wasn't innocent. During the late afternoon at Rodrigo's apartment, several men and women had come to the door. They had been escorted to the room where Rodrigo sat and then had left. A cell phone rang constantly as well.

At one point a police siren had sounded a "woop-woop" close by and everyone in the room was immediately apprehensive. A car horn blew and the tension dissipated.

Echoes of his overwhelming day bounced through his head. When they had fallen into bed exhausted, both of them had dropped off into sleep. Yet only a few hours later, Brendan awoke. The anger wasn't there or, at least, he couldn't feel it, but anxiety was ever present

He took in Jacinta's sleeping form and realized again that she was shapely and beautiful. He wondered if she or her uncle had been a part of the bomb plot. He had blood on his hands. Would they be equals if she had blood on her hands as well?

His quiescent cock was lying between his thighs. He should have a raging erection for this exquisite creature of whom he had certainly not had his fill. She was naked and lying next to him; yet, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

He wondered where protesters went at the end of the day. Did they go back to their homes and their beds? Did they camp out on the apartment floors of friendly strangers? Or, duh, did they stay where they were and huddle together for warmth? Were they members of La Revolution too?

Was Paul okay? What had happened when his dad finally went home late Saturday night? He should have called them, but he hadn't, thank God. Would Eddie have turned him in if he had showed up? No, that would have required energy to press the buttons and unless Eddie knew something that Brendan didn't, there was no reward for turning him over to the cops. Then again, his mother would have.

Why was his family so screwed up and Jacinta's family so tight knit?

Jacinta shifted in her sleep and the sole of her foot pressed against his calf. His cock stirred at the contact and Brendan felt a wash of satisfying sensation rush through his limbs. He rolled on his side and spooned her.

The next moment some infernal alarm clock was sounding and the sunlight was illuminating the wall above his head.

"Is it time to go to work already? I'm so tired," Brendan said.

"At least you slept," Jacinta said. "I had something hard between my butt cheeks half the night."

"That could explain the smile on my face this morning," Brendan said, rubbing his eyes. With a yawn and stretch, he brought his arms up to match Jacinta's own stretching. Her breasts looked so inviting that he couldn't help himself from rubbing them from base to nipple with his fingertips. Jacinta yelped and grabbed his cock with a hard squeeze.

"Ah," Brendan moaned with appreciation.

"That was supposed to hurt," Jacinta said.

"It does. It does," Brendan said. "It hurts so good."

"Smartass. If you wash my hair in the shower, then I'll make you happy before we have to leave."

"You're making a deal! I love making deals," Brendan said.

A little bit later, Brendan and Jacinta were standing in the kitchen drinking strong coffee. The curtains hanging over the window were white with a lacy pattern accented in yellow, which was repeated in the doily that spread over the middle of the kitchen table with its vase of dried flowers. The domesticity of the scene comforted Brendan. He didn't feel out of place.

"What does your uncle do for a living, Jacinta?"

"He owns an import/export business, mostly out of South America. He has a couple of warehouses and an office. He also dabbles in currency speculation."

Brendan's curiosity was less than satisfied. Trading currencies on the small fluctuations of national economies was something that Wall Street suit types did, not men living in Secaucus. Besides, cocaine smugglers were in the "import-export" business too.

"That's kind of vague," Brendan said.

"When you are family, you can know more of the family business. Until then, you will just have to wait," Jacinta replied as placed her cup in the sink.

"When I'm family?"

"Now that I've tried you out and given my approval, you and Hugo can be lifetime lovers," she said.

"And you said that I'm a smartass?" Brendan called after her as she charged through the front room to her coat hanging on a coat rack. Brendan wanted to give her a raspberry on the neck, but she was too quick and out the door before he could grab her. Reluctantly he followed her to the bus stop.

A police cruiser drove slowly down the other side of the street. Brendan leaned in as if he were cuddling Jacinta, which he actually was since he used the opportunity to nibble on the side of her neck. The cop turned at the traffic light and Brendan's fun was cut off. Apparently Jacinta wasn't into public displays of affections.

The bus was warm. The papers were full of photos again of the various riots and protests that were in progress around the country. The people of Racine, Wisconsin, a pit of rabid progressivism, had torched their Social Security Office. Police in Newark were still searching for the Caucasian or Hispanic male of medium build who had shot dead a Homeland Security agent from the third level of a parking garage. The picture was graphic for a newspaper: the brainpan had separated from the rest of the skull, leaving a big pool of blood and maybe some bits of brains floating in the liquid. His limbs were all akimbo and the acne scars were highlighted in the flash of the camera — a really unflattering picture.