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Author's Chapter Notes:

I'm on a roll! Enjoy! TAG


Chapter 19 - Stranger With My Face.



Regrettably, Tristan’s get away plans never fully materialized. 


Despite putting some serious thought into the matter, the best he could come up with was that he was going to have to call in some assistance. He figured he could arrange to have his friend, Hunter, pretend to be a delivery boy bringing in lunch. Then he could surreptitiously hand off the duffle bag full of loot to Hunter, along with whatever electronics they could easily liberate from the office, and his accomplice could go out by way of the back stairs while Tristan was standing guard to make sure Ms. Thang and Mr. Desperation didn’t catch on. After they were sure Hunter had got away clean, Tristan could just walk out the front door, sometime later in the day, pretending he was going for coffee or something. Nobody would suspect a thing until he didn’t come back and by then both Tristan and Hunter would be long gone. It wasn’t the most original plan of all time, but it would probably work. 


Unfortunately, Hunter didn’t pick up when he called so Tristan had to leave a message. Which left Tristan twisting in the wind and stressing out. He knew that he’d cut it way too close already and it was past time to get the hell out of Dodge but he didn’t think he could get away with just walking out the door, stash in hand, and not get nabbed. So it was either wait for Hunter to call him back or cut bait, leave the loot, and book it.


He’d thought about calling Hugo but, in the end, decided against it; while their Daddy was a big fan of boys with ingenuity, he didn’t like to get personally involved in the messier parts of their side projects. Hugo had told the boys about a hundred times that any extra-curricular activities they chose to engage in weren’t his problem and he didn’t want to know about any of it. If they were lucky enough to make a score, he would happily hook them up with a reliable fence, but that was the furthest he’d stick his neck out. That way, if one of his boys got nabbed, Hugo couldn’t be collared as an accessory. The boys, who were mostly underage, would probably get off with a stint in juvie or, at most, a misdemeanor theft charge. But Hugo had a record of his own and would likely do some hard time if he was fingered, so he made sure that the boys never involved him in any traceable way. And a call to Hugo from the mark’s phone was definitely traceable, so Tristan decided not to risk it.


While he was waiting for Hunter to call him back, though, Tristan got bored. Since he was planning on bugging out before the end of the day, there wasn’t any reason to pretend to do more of his double’s work. He was also pretty bushed after the late night at the club the evening before. That, coupled with the early morning call from Kinney, left him ready for a nap even though it was still mid-morning. So, since he didn’t have anything better to do until Hunter called him back, he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the edge of the desk. Ten minutes later he was snoring away.


Needless to say, he was a bit disconcerted when he was awakened, who knew how much later, by the slamming of the office door that he thought he’d locked. Tristan startled so much that the chair he’d been leaning back in fell over backwards. He ended up in a heap on the carpeting with the chair lying on its side next to him, its wheels spinning in the air. 


“Surprise, Sunshine! I came back early! Did you miss me?” a too-loud voice coming from somewhere behind him announced. 


Tristan groaned; only partly from the physical discomfort of falling on his ass.


“Justin? You okay down there?”


Tristan rolled over and looked up to find the absolute LAST person he wanted to see hovering over him. Shit! It was Kinney.


“What the fuck . . .” Tristan’s mouth voiced the complaint before he’d managed to rein in his scrambled brains. 


“You took the words right out of my mouth, Sunshine.” Kinney pronounced the nickname with a sarcastic exaggeration that instantly caused all the hairs on the back of Tristan’s neck to stand up. “So, I take it from your lack of enthusiasm, you’re not happy to see me?”


“Sorry, My Brian. I . . . Uh . . . You surprised me, is all, and . . . Uh . . . I didn’t think you were coming home until tomorrow . . .” Tristan’s mind was still reeling and the usually glib con artist was lost for words for once. 


Kinney didn’t say anything but he did offer a hand, as if to help the younger blond get up, and Tristan gratefully accepted the assist. While he was climbing to his feet and righting the chair, he mentally flailed around trying to grab hold of the pieces of his impersonation. The other morons had been one thing, but he didn’t think he could fool Kinney for long. Somehow, though, he had to come up with a way to salvage this con. He had to think, and fast. But with Kinney staring at him like that, he was finding it almost impossible. Think, Tristan, think!


“You’re right; I wasn’t planning to come home until tomorrow,” Kinney continued, chatting away with an amiable and relaxed air that was setting off Tristan’s internal alarm bells even more. “But I could tell from our phone calls how much you were missing me, Sunshine, so I just said ‘fuck it’ and blew off all my meetings so I could fly back here to you. You don’t seem happy about that, though. Don’t I get a kiss hello?” 


Kinney held his arms out wide as if inviting Tristan in for an embrace, however there was a sour note to the smile and all his words dripped with insincerity. Tristan was in full panic mode by that point. The only words going through his head were, ‘shit, shit, shit’. Instead of moving into his supposed boyfriend’s arms, he looked around the tiny little office trying to find a means of escape. But there was no way out; Kinney was between him and the only door. 


“That’s what I thought,” Kinney spoke again, his fake smile now turned into a most definite frown and his glance turning hard. Tristan made as if to get to his feet but Kinney reached out with one hard as granite hand and pushed him back into his seat. “I had to see it for myself . . . I guess I was just too distracted by the last minute trip and the new client and everything else to pick up on all the warning signs at first. I mean, everything was pointing to the fact that SOMETHING wasn’t right, but it didn’t click until this morning. When I heard that Gus wouldn’t go to you, I just knew . . . I just knew.” 


Kinney leaned forward, placing one of his hands over each of Tristan’s wrists so the younger man’s arms were pinned to the chair and leaned in until his face was mere inches away from his frightened prisoner. Tristan didn’t even try to struggle. Over Kinney’s shoulder he could see the door opening and now both Ms. Thang and Mr. Desperation were looking in. There was no way for him to escape. The jig was up. Tristan knew he was one hundred percent fucked. 


“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” Kinney screamed, little gobbets of spittal hitting Tristan in the face. Tristan turned his head to the side and bit his lip to try and quell the rising hysteria inside. “Look at me, damn it! LOOK AT ME!” Tristan obeyed and was shocked at the feral look on the usually urbane man’s countenance. “Start talking, damn it! What the fuck have you done with Justin? If you’ve hurt him in any way, I swear I’ll beat your ass so hard you’ll beg me to let you die. Now tell me: WHERE. IS. HE!”


“I don’t . . . I don’t know what . . . What you’re talking about, My Brian . . .” Tristan stuttered, still desperate to find a way to fix things.


Kinney let go of one wrist so he could pinch Tristan’s jaw, the grip so strong that the fingers dug into the muscles of his cheeks. “Don’t fuck with me! And don’t use his words. I know you’re not Justin, so just give it up already.” 


Tristan still didn’t say anything, mostly because he didn’t know what to say, but that seemed to infuriate Kinney even more. 


“You do look a lot like him - I can see how you would have fooled my friends - but you can’t fool me.” Kinney used the hand on his jaw to turn Tristan’s face to the side. “This dimple right here . . .” He turned the boy’s head the other direction. “Should be on the other cheek.” He let go of Tristan’s jaw and lifted up the blond’s left hand. “This scar on your wrist . . . Yeah, my Sunshine doesn’t have any scars; his skin is fucking perfect, except for the little break in his left eyebrow where he said his mother threw a ceramic mug at him when he was ten . . .” It was clear that Kinney was looking at Tristan’s brow where there wasn’t any such scar. “And, unless you found some magic tonic or something, there’s no way your hair could have grown a full inch in the two days I’ve been gone . . . Nope. You’re a close copy, but I want the fucking original. So, you better start talking. Because, if you don’t tell me where Justin is in the next ten seconds, I’m going to start channelling my abusive Irish father and, after that, all bets are off . . .”


“I don’t . . .” Tristan started, only to be immediately cut off.


“WHERE. IS. JUSTIN!” Kinney screamed again.


“I don’t know,” Tristan rushed to answer him before that threat in the hazel eyes fully materialized. “I really don’t. I swear!” Kinney lifted his hand as if to backhand the captive, causing Tristan to cringe. “I promise, I don’t know where he is! I really don’t. The last time I saw him was at that school he goes to; Allegheny Community College. As far as I know, he’s fine.” All three of the faces staring at him looked skeptical so he hurried on with his explanation. “I swear by everything that’s holy, I didn’t do anything to him. I don’t know where he is but I’m sure he’s fine . . .” 


Kinney actually growled at him then and Tristan knew it was hopeless to try and evade any longer. If he didn’t come clean, Kinney was going to beat the crap out of him. He’d seen that look enough times in the past - on the faces of his foster fathers or Hugo or a couple of the more violent tricks - and knew he was toast. His only hope was to try and talk himself out of the beating he knew was imminent.


“Look, it’s not my fault. I didn’t plan this or anything. I was just following him . . .” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, seeing as it raised another growl from his interrogator. “I saw you and Justin at Babylon the other night and I was curious. I mean, it’s not every day you meet your fucking double, right? So, I asked around about you guys and started following him to try and find out what the deal was. I thought . . . I don’t know . . . I guess I wanted to know more about him so I could figure out why we looked so much alike. So, then, I was waiting for him outside ACC on Tuesday - I’d decided to try and talk to him and, like, introduce myself and all - when your friend, the Brunet Guy, came up to me and practically dragged me into this honkin’ huge town car and carted me off to his store with him. He said he was taking me to his house and I was going to stay over for the night because you were out of town and . . . I don’t know . . . I guess I just thought it might be nice to have a safe place to stay for a couple nights, you know? So I didn’t say anything and I sorta just let him think I was Justin. But I didn’t mean anything bad by it; I just wanted a few days of good meals and a comfortable bed . . .”


Kinney huffed an aggravated breath, letting go of Tristan so he could run his hands through his hair. His expression had changed from furious anger to outright fear. Tristan thought it was a good sign that maybe the guy believed him. At least a little bit. 


But then it all fell apart when Kinney shook his head, looking away from Tristan for the first time, and his wandering eyes landed instead on the big black duffel bag that was only partially hidden, sitting on the floor, under the edge of the drafting table. Tristan had unzipped the bag earlier in order to rifle around inside and find his doppelgängers phone. Apparently, he’d neglected to close it back up afterwards, meaning that the contents were now fully visible. And, lying right there on top, were Kinney’s fancy gold watch and Brunet Guy’s tablet computer, with Kinney’s carved wooden stash box visible below the other items.


“It was all just a simple misunderstanding, huh?” Kinney hooked the toe of his fancy designer loafer through one of the handles of the duffle bag and pulled it out from under the table so that everyone could see. “A case of mistaken identity? And you’re just a poor innocent caught up in this mess against your will . . . So, I suppose, all this stuff you apparently stole out of my apartment, just magically ended up under your desk too? It walked out of the loft and got here on its own, perhaps? Or is that just another misunderstanding?”


Tristan wiped all expression off his face and clamped his mouth shut tight. He knew the drill. ‘You have the right to remain silent’, and all that shit. No sense incriminating himself any further.


“Fuck this! I don’t have time to waste on this piece of shit,” Kinney growled. Without looking away from Tristan, his arms crossed over his chest, the outraged man barked out an order to the two employees still hovering in the doorway. “Ted, call the police and tell them Justin’s been kidnapped. We’ll let them deal with this. And, Cynthia, alert building security that we need them up here to take custody of this asshole until the police arrive.”


“Kidnapping? I didn’t fucking kidnap anyone. That’s bullshit!” Tristan exclaimed, even more panicked than before when he realized they were going to try to pin a felony on him. His outburst caused both Ted and Cynthia to pause, waiting to hear more before they left to go carry out their boss’ directives. All three inquisitors turned to face Tristan as when he attempted again to explain himself. “I told you, I don’t know where your blond is and I didn’t do anything to hurt him.”


“Forgive me if I don’t believe a single fucking word out of the mouth of the guy who’s been impersonating my boyfriend for the past two days and who was also in the process of ripping me off,” Kinney spat. “I’m sure the cops can beat the truth out of you though.”


“I did not kidnap anyone!”


“Yeah, well then, where THE FUCK is he?” Kinney was back to yelling at him again.


“How the hell should I know?” Tristan yelled back, finally reaching his own boiling point. “For all I know he’s still back at that school. Or maybe he went home and is waiting for you in that fancy loft of yours.”


“No, he’s not. Nobody has seen Justin since Tuesday. I spent the entire flight back from Chicago calling and texting everyone I could think of and the real Justin is still MIA,” Kinney insisted adamantly. “Besides, what you’re saying makes no sense. If what you claim is true, and Justin is out there somewhere, just fine, then why hasn’t anyone heard a single word from him for two damn days? Why didn’t he call when he realized Simon wasn’t waiting for him after class? Why didn’t he call when I never showed up at home Tuesday night after work? Explain that, huh?” 


Tristan pulled his double’s phone out of his pocket and held it up as evidence. “He didn’t call because the stupid idiot left his phone in the fucking town car. Brunet Guy gave it to me when he mistook me for Justin. Which, if you thought about it, you already knew, because you’ve been calling me and texting me on it over and over and over again for the past two days. Duh!”


“Shit!” Kinney was forced to concede that point. “Fine. But, still, that doesn’t explain where he is. After Mikey called me this morning, I sent him over to the loft to check and see if the real Justin was there but there’s no sign he ever made it home. Mikey said he didn’t think anyone had been in there since you guys stopped by on Tuesday.” Kinney viciously kicked at the duffle bag full of the evidence of what Tristan had ‘picked up’ at the loft. “Besides, even if he lost his phone, wouldn’t he have found some other way to call me? He had to have been freaked out when Simon wasn’t there to pick him up; he could’ve asked someone at the school to call me. Or, assuming he made it home some other way, when I didn’t show up that night he could’ve reached me using the landline. If he was able to, he would’ve called me, damn it! He would have come home if he could . . .”


It looked like Kinney was about to continue castigating Tristan some more when the phone the sneak thief was still holding in his hand began to ring. Tristan immediately recognized the unidentified number that popped up on the screen but, before he could hit the button to decline the call, Kinney grabbed the device away from him. Placing a finger over his lips, warning the young blond not to say anything, the angry brunet tapped the green ‘accept’ button.


“Hello?” Kinney said, keeping his voice neutral.


“Uh, hey . . .” The caller was hesitant, obviously not recognizing the voice that had answered. “Is ‘Stan around? He left this number and said to call him back . . .”


Kinney looked at the blond, who hadn’t yet confessed his real identity and smirked. “Sure. He’s right here. Can I tell him who’s calling?”


“Yeah. Tell him it’s Hunter.”


Kinney held the device out in front of him, so that everyone would be able to hear, and hit the speaker button. “Your friend Hunter is returning your call . . . Stan.”


“Shit . . .” Tristan moaned, because the very last thing he needed right then was for his potential accomplice to call and blab about their planned thievery.


“Yeah, you can say that again,” Hunter replied with an unamused laugh. “Shit is exactly what you’re in, dude. Deep shit, to be precise. What the fuck has gotten into you lately, man? You’re screwing up so bad it would be comical if I didn’t know how serious the beat down coming your way was gonna be.”


“Yeah, well, right now I have even more shit to take care of and I don’t have time to explain . . .” Tristan replied, trying to be as vague as possible and hoping to end the conversation more quickly that way. Unfortunately, Hunter seemed to be in a chatty mood. 

 

“Well you better find the time, Bro, because Hugo went fucking ballistic when you didn’t show up last night. I tried to warn you when I saw you at the club but you just blew me off. Hugo’s dead serious about putting you on skank rotation this time, Stan. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this pissed off. And that was even before Demarcus called up this morning and laid into him about whatever new stunt you pulled with this dog.”


“What the hell are you talking about, Hunter?” On top of worrying over Hugo’s threats, Tristan was now confused as well. “I haven’t crossed paths with Demarcus in, like, weeks. Remember, I told you how he was making moves on me and hinting he wanted me to leave Hugo and join his family? I’ve been avoiding him like the fucking plague ever since. Besides, I hate that fucking dog of his. It’s got a screw loose or something. No way would I have gone near that monster.”


“Uh, dude, what kinda drugs are you on and why aren’t you sharing?” Hunter laughed as if he thought his buddy’s troubles were some big joke. “We all went over to Demarcus’ place together on Tuesday night and I saw you petting that dog with my own two eyes, man.”


“I think you’re the one who’s stoned, Hunt. I’ve been working on this other project all week; that’s why I haven’t been home and, I assume, why Hugo’s so pissed off at me,” Tristan insisted. “And I didn’t touch Demarcus’ dog last night either. I was hanging with those guys you saw me with at Babylon until late and then we all went straight back to their place. So, if somebody’s been messing with that monster dog of Demarcus’ it sure as fuck hasn’t been me.”


“I don’t know what to say, Stan. If that wasn’t you, then there’s got to be some other little blond hottie that looks just like you wandering around the city messing with Hugo’s circuit . . .” Hunter replied, still sounding amused, as if he was used to his friend pulling similar stunts.


Of course, the words ‘some other little blond’ immediately got Brian’s attention and he butted into the conversation. “You saw another blond? Where? When?”


“Stan? Who’s that with you?” Hunter was immediately wary. 


“Hang on a sec, Hunter. I’ll be right back.” Tristan reached over and hit the mute button on the phone that Brian was holding. “I think, maybe, your blond has been playing in my sandbox while I was here in yours, Kinney. But I think I can help you find him, if you promise not to call the cops on me . . .”

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

4/12/21 - Yay! Brian’s back and he’s off to find HIS blond! Now to wrap up this story, which shouldn’t have taken nearly this long to write (damn COVID pandemic distracting me...) I think there’s only one more chapter left, but don’t hold me to that in case I get caught up in the reunion scene and can’t fit it all in... TAG

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