"I'll have a beer," Darien said.
"I'll have a Sex on the Beach," Bobby said.
Darien stared at Bobby until their drinks were up, then stared at him some more.
"What?"
"Gay," Darien said.
Bobby pointed at Darien with his little umbrella. "Not as gay as your hair."
"Women appreciate a guy who knows about product."
"And a guy who knows about grapefruit juice. Anyway--the hair is a *lifestyle* choice," Bobby said.
"They're both pretty gay," the bartender said, slipping Darien his phone number on a paper coaster.
"Hey! Mind your own business," Bobby snapped. He ripped the coaster into eighths and dropped it into the ashtray.
"Aw, crap." Darien elbowed Bobby; the suspect's car was moving again. He chugged as much of his beer as he could manage and they ran out to the van. Stealthily. They were professionals.
"By the way, that was an egregious violation of the Guy Code," Darien said a few minutes later. "Nice corner."
"Thank you. What are you talking about, my friend?" Bobby gunned it in front of a Porsche, looking smug.
"The dude gave me his phone number."
"Yes?"
"And you ripped it up."
"Yeah?"
"So section 1.1.a on cock-blocking--"
"Oh, so you *are* gay," Bobby said, easing back and watching their suspect's car. The Porsche swerved around them and gave Bobby the finger. Bobby and Darien returned it: double deuce in Porsche-guy's *face*. "I always knew it."
"It's got nothing to do with gayness, Hobbes. It's got to do with etiquette."
"*Etiquette*," Bobby snorted.
"Manners."
"*Manners*."
"I'm gonna have to charge you."
"I'm just looking out for you, my friend. I don't know what you'd do without Bobby Hobbes." The suspect parked again and Bobby idled casually next to a fire hydrant.
"Twenty bucks." Darien held out his hand.
"He was trouble."
Darien wiggled his fingers.
Bobby looked at Darien over his sunglasses. "He had crabs."
Darien had to laugh. "*Crabs*? Bobby, nobody has crabs any more."
"I'm saying. I'm telling you. I don't know what you'd do without me," Bobby said seriously.
"Twenty *bucks*, Hobbes," but then there was a tap at the passenger window. Darien rolled the window down to find a cop aiming her mirrored shades at them.
"This is a no-parking zone," she said.
"Oh, we're not parking, we're just a little lost," Darien said.
"We're on Fourth. Tell him," Bobby said.
"We're on *Sixth* and you take a corner and you're *there* so if you would just *go*," Darien said.
"You're on Twenty-fifth," the cop said without a single twitch.
"Really?"
"No way," Darien said.
"Really," she said.
"But the exit--and then you go--"
Bobby leaned over and smacked the back of his head. "Left, not right! Left!"
"I told you left!"
"You told me right!"
"No, you *went* right!"
"Vacate my fire hydrant, boys," the cop said.
"Okay, but to get to Sixth--"
"I know where I'm going," Bobby said, and pulled out.
They circled the block three times before the suspect moved again. On the third pass, they saw the cop shake her head and laugh with her partner, and Darien low-fived Bobby.
"So, about that twenty. I'll take it as two tens."
"I'm not giving in to your schemes, Fawkes."
"Four fives."
"Trying to reconnoiter the landscape here," Bobby said, raising his binoculars.
"Oh, I'll get in through the balcony. No big," Darien said. "And I'd take twenty ones, but only as shiny gold coins. No skanky disease vectors, thank you."
"Balcony? What, shinny up the drainpipe?"
"No--climb the tree to the roof and then drop down. Done it a million times."
"Better get going, then," Bobby said.
"Well, not *yet*."
"He's watching TV. It'll cover the noise."
"Yeah, but it won't cover the visual of papers flying around on his desk willy-nilly." Darien waved his hands to illustrate.
"Well." Bobby looked through the binoculars again. "If we wait, Ants in the Pants is going to move again."
"The old one-two?"
"The old one-two," Bobby agreed, and they both climbed out of the van.
"You drew on my wall!"
Darien shuffled papers. Button, button, there *had* to be a goddamn button.
"Yes, but the magic eraser takes care of that, if you'll take a look, sir--"
"Get your goddamn crayons out of here! Fuck! What's wrong with you?"
"This is an excellent product, sir, if you'll just give it a chance--"
Paper. Paper. Paper paper paper PAPER! Awwww yeah. Who was the king? Darien did a celebratory hip-shimmy as he quicksilvered the paper and headed for the front door. He ducked Ants in the Pants's arm and poked Bobby in the butt on the way out.
Bobby jumped. "Are you sure you don't want to try our special trial offer, sir?"
"SCRAM!"
"No need to get testy, my good man. I'll be on my way." Bobby tipped his hat--where did he *get* his disguises, anyway?--as Antboy slammed the door in his face.
"Nice hat," Darien said, shaking off the quicksilver.
"Hat, hat, did you get the paper?"
Darien's jaw dropped. "Did you doubt me? Doubt? Me?"
"Come on, my friend, we get to go home."
"My feelings are hurt."
"Hot donuts at the Krispy Kreme."
"Like sugar is going to ease my pain," Darien said mournfully.
"Ooh, custard!" the Keeper cooed, diving for the donut box.
"Custard," Darien said to Bobby.
"Custard," Bobby replied.
"What? I like custard. It--" She sighed with disappointment in their masculinity. "*Really*."
"Custard," Bobby said, wiggling his eyebrows at Darien.
"She likes custard," Darien replied.
The Keeper rolled her eyes and turned her back.
"Nothing wrong with liking custard," Bobby said.
"Custard is good."
"I like custard."
"Custard is like pudding, right?"
"Same family," Bobby said.
They took the donuts and wandered upstairs to the fat man's office. Eberts, bent over the paper Darien had nabbed, perked up as soon as he spotted the box. He didn't say anything, but the primal donut longing shone in his big wet eyes.
"There had better be an eclair," the Official said.
Bobby offered the box, where there was, in fact, an eclair.
"You did good, boys," the Official said.
"Very good," Eberts said. "This is just what we needed."
"So shoo." The Official gestured with his eclair.
Darien and Bobby bumped crullers. Eberts made a tiny puppy-like noise.
Bobby rolled his eyes, then picked up a buttermilk glazed and flipped it neatly over Darien's shoulder. "Very kung fu," Darien said over Eberts's squeak of joy.
"Thank you."
Bobby turned his magazine sideways. "Oh--look at *that*," he said, turning it around to show Darien.
Darien had his ankles propped on Bobby's shoulder and was making a cat's cradle with a stray bootlace. "It's a gun," he said.
"It's a work of art, my friend." Bobby turned the magazine back around and stared at it happily. Eventually he stroked the page.
"Okay, that's just creepy. Enough with the porn." Darien flipped the shoelace off his fingers and uncrossed his legs, knocking the magazine out of Bobby's hands.
"Hey!" Bobby grabbed for it.
"No, no, no, enough with the Freudian phallic objects,"
"*Art*."
"Porn."
"Thing of beauty!" Bobby slid halfway off the bed chasing his magazine and Darien draped himself over his back and grabbed his ass. "Don't disrespect the gun, my friend, it saved your ass many times," Bobby said.
"Bobby."
"Darien."
"Do you want a blow job?"
"That would be an option, my good gay friend."
"Bi. *Bi*. Give me my *props*, man!" Darien squeezed Bobby's butt and they slid slowly but unstoppably onto the floor.
"Why do we always end up on the bedroom carpet?" Darien asked as he untangled his knees from his elbows.
"Because you're lanky."
"Ah."
"Got a lankiness about you." Bobby said, pulling Darien's leg straight upwards.
"I've been told."
"But I've grown used to your towering ways, my friend." And he unzipped Darien's jeans and Darien grinned upside-down.
THE END.
All comments are welcome.
bas@yosa.com
www.ravenswing.com/~bas/slash