Lying Straight

By Annie Campbell

Zander has been fighting the good fight for longer than he cares to remember, keeping Bostons streets clean. Faced with a new evil, a doctored strain of heroin causing overdose deaths across New England, Zander needs to go undercover to investigate his prime suspect, Sean Maloney. Sean has recently become attracted to Josie, whose best friend Jonnie knew and loved Zander through school. In desperation Zander approaches Jonnie to help him get close to Sean, and finds himself increasingly attracted to Josie. Being a loner, Zander has no intention of acting on that attraction, especially as it would complicate his case.
Josie is fed up, after her last boyfriend cheated on her. She is determined to have a little fun with the very charming Sean, and is disturbed to find herself becoming interested in Jonnies new man....

This is aimed at 18 and overs due to the language and sexual content

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annie Campbell
• Release date: Jun 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311320902

Annie Campbell

Annie Campbell is a pen name, I am not sure why I felt unable to put my own name to my work, part of it goes back to old personal issues. Now that I have completed my fifth book, I have greater belief in my work and my worth, but back when I first began the publishing process for Tomorrow Begins Today, I felt a little insecure. Also, because the main character I had created, Lou, was semi autobiographical, I wasn't at that time ready to own certain aspects of our similarities. Now, not only can I publicly own my historic over reliance on alcohol, but I am proud of my recovery and achievements in sobriety. I shy from calling myself an alcoholic, not because I am concerned about any stigma, but because having spent 3.5 years with others in recovery, I genuinely do not believe I fall into that category. Regardless of title, I had an unhealthy relationship with the bottle for 30 odd years and am happily, healthily sober nowadays. I live on the East Coast of Scotland with my tolerant husband and my impatient Labradoodle Molly. I work part time, which is necessary as I have an insular personality and writing is an isolating profession. If I didn't have to go to work, I would probably rarely leave the house or speak to others.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

ZANDER

The fact that it was becoming a regular occurrence did nothing to make it any easier to cope with. I walked out of the apartment and kicked the hallway drywall in frustration. I then winced and hoped the building Super wasn’t around to see the hole I just made. I wearily wiped my hand down my face, knowing my day would get worse. Joe followed behind me, catching my sigh.

Crap huh?

Seventeen Joe, fuckin’ seventeen. You know what man; I am getting so sick of all this shit. When I joined up, I thought I could make a difference, but it is just getting worse and worse. I feel like I am trying to wade uphill through molasses, and that’s on a good day. Joe slapped me on the back in sympathy. We had worked cases together before and I knew Joe was good people. He at least had managed to figure a balance between the job and a life.

Having been invited to a summer cook-out at Joes home, I would have been all shades of green over his bountiful wife and fresh faced kids - if it wasn’t for the fact that I was a committed loner. Family life wasn’t for me; the time or two I let my heart take over from my dick I had suffered the consequences. I’ve learned my lesson; never get beyond the first name, never take them to my bed in case they found their way back and never let them get close.

Come on Zan, let’s get the family told and we can start on the report. At least they live local.

Yeah great, I thought, we get to break their hearts so much sooner.

An hour later, and feeling like the biggest asswipe on the planet, I skulked down the driveway away from the suburban home. Joe waited patiently behind the wheel as I took another look at the cosy set up we had just irretrievably wrenched apart. Life would never again be the same for that family. Mom, keening in agony clutching her sides as if to hold her world from flying apart. Dad confused, raging in his denial; his little girl, his princess? Drugs? No, wasn’t her, couldn’t be. Little sister couldn’a been more than eight, bewildered at the emotional outpouring around her, staring, huge eyed, at me, looking to me to put things back to how they were before we walked through the door. I closed my notebook, nothing of any real value there. Sure we would interview her school friends, but I anticipated a city worth of dead ends.

In recent months there had been a big increase in fatal overdoses, several, like young Ayesha today, were not habitual users, just damned unlucky. Known small time dealers had been hauled in and confiscated drugs had been examined. Several batches of heroin were shown to contain fentanyl, an opioid 30 times stronger than heroin itself. Anyone taking it thinking it was normal strength wouldn’t stand a chance. Some adrenaline junkies even sought it out - the ultimate high - and the one with the greatest risk of the parachute not opening.

I knew that we would go through the routine, dance the dance; but without finding the supplier, we didn’t stand a chance of stopping the spread. We knew it was coming into the country from Colombia via Mexico, that probably being where the fentanyl was being introduced to the heroin, but we had yet to figure who was behind bringing it from Mexico to New England; Boston being only one of the towns and cities suffering from the recent influx.

Two days later and acting on a word from my informant, I sat at a table hunched over a Guinness. In undercover mode I exuded serious loner vibes. Dirty jeans and aging leather jacket over a tatty, once white tee. I let my long greased locks, knuckle tats and vicious scar advise anyone against initiating a conversation. Hard blue eyes seared through anybody who caught my gaze, daring them to maintain contact.

The greasy locks and knuckle tats were wardrobe, I kept ready supplies in my car. The scar; courtesy of a gangbanger on his third strike and unsurprisingly anxious to maintain his freedom. Yeah I got the six inch scar and two nights in Mass General, but I also got my man. I’m a tenacious bugger, ask anyone in the precinct. It also explains why I am here, officially off duty, staking out a possible suspect.

The pub, a traditional Irish bar called the Dubh Linn, was owned by a Boston Irish family by the name of Maloney. They had all been suspected of involvement in small time shit in the past, nothing of any note, and nothing any of them had seen the inside of a jail over.

Mother Rosie and father Patrick, known to all as Paddy, had three sons; Pat Junior, Sean and Michael. Yup there is no one more Irish than a Bostonian of Irish descent. I was nursing a Guinness tonight in the hope of setting eyes on Sean. He had spent the last few years in The Land of his Fathers; in other words, he’d been off bothering the real Irish.

He was back now sporting a faux bog trotter accent and a shiteater grin. He drove a brand new top of the line Ford Platinum F150 and was buying rounds like prohibition was about to return. Problem was no one knew where his wealth was coming from. The man was no fool, but neither was he a business genius.

The pub brought in enough profit to keep the family afloat, though both Pat and Michael had outside jobs of the legal variety. In fact Pat was aiming for respectability, getting involved in council work and hoping to marry a Boston Old Money girl, Nancy Emerson. I’m sure he wasn’t up to her folk’s standards, but these days girls were allowed a say, and Nancy seemed genuinely keen. Who knew?

Michael, the quietest of the three looked most likely to take over the pub when his parent retired, he already ran a successful restaurant in the North End, taking on the Italians at their own game, but softening the blow by marrying Maria Di Nozze in a full Catholic ceremony which, with drunken Irish and Italians had been the talk of the precinct for months after.

Suddenly the door opened and the atmosphere in the pub shifted. I lifted my head from my pint. Punters were raising hands and smiles in greeting, seeking an acknowledgement. The guy they were idolising smiled beatifically around, spreading his blessing and false bonhomie. His exaggeratedly Irish accent grated on my tired nerves as I watched him work the room. None of the rest of the Maloneys were present for me to get any reaction from, but I doubted he was currently number one son for all his generosity and ‘Irish charm’.

I noticed that his smile never reached his eyes as his gaze took in the room. As it swept over me I slid my eyes back down to my pint and took a long draught. I wouldn’t be stopping now. I had needed only to get a look at him so as to be able to check him out over the next few days. I didn’t want him getting leery and, as everyone else in the pub was pushing each other aside to climb up his arse, he would notice the one guy who wasn’t. The door opened again, and I noticed immediately that Sean was looking someone up and down; his smile finally reaching his eyes. I hesitated curious, as the new arrivals came into my line of sight. Both blew me away.

First was the girl, arriving in swirl of blonde waves mussed by the wind that she swiped clear of a face to dream about. Intelligent eyes wide set over a firm straight nose sitting pretty over a kissable mouth. Moving down, a slim fit sweater revealed curves that have sadly gone out of fashion, dipping to a tiny waist and perfectly flared hips. I knew if she turned she would show an arse I would want to bite. A twitch in my shorts reminded me it had been a while. She was laughing at her companion, her arm tucked in his.

He was the shock. Jonnie. I hadn’t seen him for about 15 years, we had lost touch soon after he went to university and I went into the army. He may have changed some, but I very much doubt his sexual preferences had, which was why the angel on his arm was unexpected.

I remember the first time we met; he was on his knees collecting up the contents of his school bag. I nearly trod on a pen so bent to pick it up and handed it to him. He looked up at me, black eyeliner smudged where a tear that he had been trying to hold back had escaped. I don’t know what drew me to the guy, I never questioned why I made the friendships I did, I just went with instinct. I smiled at him and bent to help collect the rest of his stuff.

This happen often?

Oh just every other class or so he waved his hands theatrically around, his natural chutzpah kicking back in.

"Some of these Neanderthals seem to be unable to control their big hairy feet, and graceful as I am even I can’t always avoid them. Still, I guess it’s an improvement on the toilet bowl ‘Wash'n Go’" His effete mannerisms and camp voice were a sure fire way of inviting a regular beating around here, this guy was in serious danger of permanent damage.

Alex I held my hand out.

Jonnie I tried not to flinch at his limp grip. I held firmer and tugged him upright.

Jonnie, you got a death wish? How long you been a pupil here?

I just arrived last week, we moved from the west coast. I must say I have had nicer welcomes

Well here’s the thing Jonnie, personally I don’t give a crap you’re a fag; I mean, all the more chicks for me right? But some of the less illuminated around here, those who you rightly noticed have not evolved beyond caveman status, are not so forthcoming in their tolerance. They are likely to kick seven shades of shit outta you over the next 3 years unless you do something about it.

Well what do you suggest?

Lose the fairy talk and arm waving for a start, and perhaps the eyeliner and the Shannen Doherty Tee? I mean what the fuck man? Shannen freakin Doherty?

No can do handsome. Me and Shannen go waay back, the girl stays

In which case I suggest a crash course in jujutsu or a body guard…hey, no… do not be looking at me like that. For one thing, I like my face on this side of my head.

Well who do you suggest?

If you have the dough? Pay one of the biggest Neanderthals to crack heads.

Alternatively sweetie, where would I get this crash course in self-defence?

Thus began the start of a beautiful friendship. And it truly was. I found Jonnie to be warm, funny, intelligent and with a heart the size of a small country. I taught him all the moves that I had learned, and as he progressed, he joined my dojo.

I stuck pretty close to him in school in the early days, more than capable of defending him if necessary, though my obvious acceptance of him was enough to stop most of the bullying. Thing was, I was a popular kid in school, cool enough to fit in with the guys, cute enough to appeal to the girls and fly enough to keep out of trouble. Initially Jonnie tried to tone down his campness; but once a few of my girl pals got chatting to him, his inner bitch let fly. Suddenly he was popular with a whole new crowd, as the girls vied to be the one seen arm in arm with him. Jonnie had ‘fag hags’ before it even became recognised.

We still hung out a lot, I was secure in my own sexuality and my upbringing had been such that I never judged a person on anything other than how they treated those around them, and Jonnie was the sweetest. I knew from the occasional glances, that Jonnie crushed on me a little, but that was okay too, we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

When he left to go back to Uni on the west coast, we tried keeping in touch, but later I joined up and was moving around a lot. And, truth to tell, I have kind of an out of sight, out of mind mentality. Time flew and other than the occasional comment from an old friend, tonight was the first time I had seen or heard from him for a long time. Looking at the body language between him and the girl now, it was obvious they were just friends and that Jonnie still batted for the other team.

She wasn’t the standard fag hag though; I got the feeling that this was a genuine friendship. As I watched, I wondered whether to wait a while longer to watch this new development. I didn’t want Jonnie to recognise me, though in my disguise I doubted he would, but with his artists’ eye, I couldn’t be sure.

I turned to look at Sean, who like me, was taken with the vision at Jonnie side. Unlike me, he was able to act on it. A murmured conversation with his barmaid seemed to give him the necessary information, and he turned to the pair with an easy grin.

It seems our local artist is gracing us with his presence! Can I buy youse both a drink?

Jonnie giggled to the girl at his side who giggled back, I would guess this would not be their first liquor of the evening

Oooh, just the one then, big boy,

Sean’s smile froze for a moment, then slid back to ‘charm’ mode as his desire to get to know the girl overrode his homophobia. I noticed it; it was my job to, but I wasn’t sure if Jonnie or the girl did.

Sure, and that’s grand his ‘Oirishness’ in danger of over exaggeration now. He waved his arm at his barmaid. Roisin, theirs are on me for the night luv. Turning back to Jonnie So is this your beautiful muse?

Oh I wish! But no, Sweet Josephine refuses point blank to sit for me

It’s Josie she introduced herself to Sean with a smile, her husky voice doing things to my stomach, and places further south. Hell I really needed to get laid, it must have been too long.

And Jonnie, you know why I won’t sit for you, so don’t let’s go there.

They moved closer to the bar, out of my hearing range, and over the next hour, I watched Sean work the pair of them. If you didn’t know better, if you weren’t watching for the coldness in his eyes, the occasional telling glance away, you would believe that he was as charmed as they were. The girl Josie was falling for the blarney, and when she and Jonnie made moves to head off, she allowed herself to be talked into tapping her number into Sean’s phone. His charming smile and noises of regret followed them as the door closed, but his face closed down immediately as he turned.

He caught me watching him, but I gave an easy smile of my own, tilted my glass to him in salute of his performance, and downed the last now warm, flat drops. I walked to the other end of the bar to leave my glass and a ten spot to cover my tab and left without looking his way again.

I doubted that I would manage to see which direction they had left, but just as the noise of the pub faded behind the closing door, I heard two snorting giggles and followed the sound. The pair were holding on to each other a bit firmer now, the fresh air maybe increasing their intoxication. I followed quietly, and close enough to catch snatches of their conversation, which seemed to swirl around suggestions that Josie get herself good and horizontal with Irish, and put that prick Stephen right out of her mind. For some reason the thought of the girl getting cosy with Sean left a bitter taste in my mouth as I allowed myself the luxury of enjoying her swaying curves.

They headed toward Commonwealth Avenue, so I continued to follow until they reached one of the Victorian townhouses just past Exeter. Waiting until they had entered, I looked for lights, and watched as one set came on in the third floor front apartment. Moving forward I used my key light to look up the names, the third floor showed the surnames Clancy and Williams. Jonnies last name I knew was Lowell and his surname was the only one on the fourth floor.

So, I had two potential surnames for Josie to check out tomorrow. I had done enough for one day, I was too tired and fed up to do more than head back to my own cluttered apartment and crash for the next few hours.

CHAPTER 2

JOSIE

My head was spinning and my mouth tasted like a hamster was nesting in it. Bloody Jonnie, I should know better than to let him cheer me up. Last time we darn near got arrested! At least this time I met a cute Irish guy! And what an accent, and those gorgeous brown eyes. Yup, he would definitely help me forget Stephen… Stephen who? Yeah, if only it was that simple.

What was it about me that drew the bastards out of the woodwork? All I wanted was to meet a nice guy, then a few years dating followed by an engagement, a wedding and babies; two, one of each, if I was thinking in fairy tales. Which I was, if I believed for a moment that my life would go the way I wanted it to. Why was it so difficult to meet an honest to god decent guy?

I thought of Irish at the bar last night, Sean. Seems nice enough, but maybe a little too much of a charmer. That had been Stephens’ problem too. I had found out that I wasn’t the only girl he had under his spell, even though we had supposedly been dating exclusively for two years. Two wasted years. I thought we had something special, I thought I was in love with him. Then I opened an email intended for her. I think that what really pissed me off, on top of the infidelity was that she seemed to be getting a way better sex life from him.

In the cold light of day I had begun to realise that I had been in love with the idea of love, that and the fact and my biological clock was ticking - quietly, but ticking nonetheless.

So it was mostly my pride that was hurt, my bruised heart would recover. The fact I wasn’t as heartbroken as I ought to have been, told me that Stephen hadn’t been the man for me. That said I was not ready to get involved again anytime soon. For now I would be taking charge of my relationships, and perhaps having a little fun with Sean - if he called me- was just what the heart doctor ordered.

I groaned again and reached for the glass of water and Advil I had left by the bed; a lesson learned from previous nights out with Jonnie. I smiled and wondered how he was faring, no way was I going to check on him; he channelled some kind of über- bitch demon when he was hung over and I was in no state to be on the receiving end. A scrabbling at the door reminded me Tilly would need out.

At least living where I did I could be ultra-lazy on a day like today. Throwing a long coat over my pjs and slipping on some old trainers and with coffee mug in hand, I called her across to the grassed