Page 54 - Leather Blues

42 Jack Fritscher

“So give me fifty lashes.”
“Forget it,” Denny said. “You been around more than
me.”
“Nothing worse than pretending you know all about
stuff you’ve only felt,” Chuck said.
“You mean that, don’t you.” Denny felt a sudden easiness.
“Brothers?” Chuck laughed that goddamn easy laugh.
He caught Denny’s thumb.
“Yeah,” Denny said. “You said it.” He’d never seen
anybody in all his life he felt closer to. Except that faraway
memory of Sam. “Brothers.”
“My real brother started me out.” Chuck said. “What a
scene.”
“Let’s hear it,” Den said. They walked toward the cabin.
“Come on in,” Chuck said. “I’ll lay out some toys while
we talk. Beer?”
“Yeah.” He sat down on Chuck’s bunk and lit a joint.
“My brother was ten years older than me. He’d been
around a lot before our folks were killed in a car crash. I was
only fourteen and was a little crazy. I’d been in the back seat
of the car. Anyway this uncle took me in. He meant well, but
when I was sixteen and could legally tell the court where I
wanted to live, I picked my brother. So he drove down from
his farm, picked up me and one suitcase. That was early
June.” Chuck handed Den the beer and took the joint. He
hit it hard. “Nice.”
“Take a few more hits,” Den said. “I’m ahead of you.”
“I’d finished my sophomore high school, but I was big
for my age and we both figured he could use me that sum-
mer on the farm.” Den’s eyes roamed over the leather jackets
and a couple pairs of leather jeans. One pair had its crotch
fitted with a black-leather codpiece. “He used to go off on
weekends. On his bike. A run with some club. Late Friday
afternoons one or two guys would pull into our lane and pull
their bikes right on into the barn. He had an icebox for beer

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