These Men

Chapter 3: The Lawman

Chapter 3: The LawmanFuck, Buck’s here, that’s what I thought when I pulled my Nissan Frontier into the gravel drive at my residence and parked next to his green-and-white Templeton cruiser. I turned the truck’s engine off and scuttled inside.

As expected, snow fell from the March sky. Big flakes. A nuisance. Every resident of Templeton wanted springtime; we were emotionally done with the winter months. Each of us knew that March pretty much sucked like February along Lake Erie: bitter cold with lots of ice, a chilly wind, and very little sunshine, gray everywhere.

I walked into Chester House. All six-one of Officer Buck Fields sat in my recliner, watching a basketball game. He loved March Madness, even on the high school level. Who didn’t along the lake? He tilted a beer bottle to his lips. Off duty, I guessed. The lawman had his shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest: no T-shirt underneath, swelled chest, lots of black hair, one hard n****e that I could see. He looked relaxed with no shoes on, no gun, no baton, and no handcuffs. Nor did he have a walkie-talkie clipped to his left shoulder. The man looked pure sexy on the sofa, all the way: a stud, a model, or a Hollywood actor, chiseled and handsome. Not cute like a boy. Pure man—beef.

We’d been friends for the last eleven years. I met him while working on a mystery called Cop Kills at the time, struggling with the dos and don’ts of police procedures. Buck was a rookie on the Templeton Police Department. Honestly, we became a match made in heaven. He came out that year to his precinct, friends, and family with my help. In return, I learned from him what I needed to write my mystery. Cop Kills turned out to be my first gay mystery. Both of us won. My book sold a few copies, and he gained respect from Templeton and the community. He became the town’s first homosexual cop and people loved him. I was good with that, and with the semi-success of my novel. Life was good thereafter and we stayed friends. Somewhere along the line we turned into best friends. Still were. Good for us.

“What are you doing here, Buck?” I asked, always curt with him; it was just the way our relationship played out as good pals.

He turned to me and grinned. Buck had crow’s feet around his eyes, thick black hair, bright blue eyes that dropped civilian queers to their knees and caused their mouths to open for his big d**k, and a rugged jaw that could cut trees. He sported a deep dimple in his chin, liked to be clean-shaven, and didn’t look a day older than his physical age of thirty-two.

He told me, “You’re late for dinner. Remember we scheduled that?”

What dinner? I thought and scratched my head as confusion took over my thought. I smelled hot wings and sausage pizza nearby and saw the pair on the kitchen table to my left. Iced beer was in a plastic bucket on the counter next to the hot food. Then it hit me. The Templeton Tigers were playing the Macentaw Meteors. A local high school playoff basketball game. I promised him we could have dinner together and enjoy the game. s**t! His nephew played in the game. Shame on me for forgetting the gig.

“You missed the first period. The Tigers are up by three. My nephew, Jason, is killing it. He’s already scored fifteen points.”

“Sorry I’m late. I got tied up.” I took off my coat and kicked off boots.

“Who tied you up? Was it the journalist again? You and I both know he wants at your skin. He’s hungry for you. Be wise to that. That guy wants inside you so bad I can smell it all over him. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. All he can smell is Joel-meat.”

I laughed. Buck always caused me a good chuckle. “I think you’re right.” I grabbed a bottle of beer out of the ice-filled plastic bucket and joined him. I sat on the small sofa to his right. Finally relaxed. Then I took a swig of beer, enjoyed it as it rolled down the back of my throat, and started watching the game. The other team scored a point. “Zac asked me out for a beer. Tomorrow evening. We’re going to The Rift.”

He laughed and gave me a judging and twisting eye. “The Rift is for a young crowd. Boys. Not men. Sissies. But, if he wants to f**k you, that’s the place he can do it. Right there among all the other queers. I personally think the guy needs to take you to The Bear Den. It’s for older men. Mature guys. Serious guys. But who am I to tell him what to do or how to act?”

I knew what Buck was talking about. Young guys got naked and f****d in the dark corners at The Rift. The Bear Den was more my speed: Garth Brooks songs, slow dancing, smooth kisses, good conversation, big belt buckles, and chilled beer. Mature men. “Maybe Zac does want to make love to me.”

“You mean he wants to f**k you, not make love to you. Get that clear. Stop being foggy in the head,” he corrected me, shaking his head. “If you believe that he wants to make love to your ass, I’ll tell you I’m taking Maddie Jane Lincoln to Pound Town every night.”

Maddie Jane was the mayor’s daughter. Twenty-two. Beautiful. Miss Templeton for the last two years. She had a jock boyfriend named Brent Harvington who played in the NFL, a Chris Pratt look-alike.

“You’re not taking any woman to Pound Town. Especially Maddie Jane. You have a better chance making out with Chris Pratt on the set of one of his dino movies.”

“Wouldn’t mind that. No complaints here.” He chuckled. Then he sighed. “I do like the gents. Too bad they don’t like me.”

I knew he was talking about Chet Wood. The Iroquois Indian dumped Buck right before Christmas. During the quick breakup, Chet said something to Buck like, “I want to explore other men. I want a s****l adventure. Something wild.” He took it hard and became depressed. He barely got through Christmas, New Year’s, and Valentine’s Day. St. Patrick’s Day was coming up in a week and I had hoped he would finally be over Chet, but by the sounds of it, he wouldn’t be. s**t, again.

I told him, “You’ll find someone new. A better man than Chet. A man who will give you the world, and more. Just give it some more time. Someone out there in the world wants to get rough and tumbled by you. Men do like to get hog-tied. Don’t doubt that for a second. You’ve got to be a little more patient about your love life.”

“Send the journalist my way. Maybe he’ll fall for me like he’s falling for you,” he joked. “He seems nice. And he’s unbelievably good looking. I could get along with him quite well.”

Honestly, it wasn’t a bad idea. He liked brunettes, and Zac could become acquainted with a hot cop’s bare skin and other body parts. More serious than not, I said, “Maybe you should meet Zac tomorrow night at The Rift instead of me.”