My eyelids were exhausted by late afternoon. I had gotten home early morning, but unfortunately Fran was already gone. I tried to sleep but my eyes wouldn’t shut because I simply couldn’t stop thinking about Paul. Not that I’m Mr. Clean, but the last thing I thought down-to-earth Paul would ever be was a prostitute. Or maybe he wasn’t? I mean, I saw him come home with someone, which he is totally allowed to do, the guy took off his pants, and that was it-- he gave him a massage, no big deal.

However, what stopped my heart each time I thought about it was that it wasn’t just a single night. That was the second time it had happened and judging by his reaction at the door, clearly he was a bit tortured. I wondered if he thought about his sister Anita? I’m sure she had no idea and as sensitive as she is and as much as she loves and respects Paul, finding out her brother is a whore is something that could change her life. Without question, I would not be the one to tell her.

Finally, I dragged myself out of bed and made some coffee. It was now one in the afternoon and I was supposed to meet Mike down at Mocha Daze by two. I didn’t want to be late because the cafe is supposed to be open by noon and I wasn’t eager to lose this job, particularly since a friend employed me.

As I turned the corner to Mocha Daze, I could see that I had beat Mike. I quickly unlocked the glass doors, got the books organized on a table, and made a couple of capps for Mike and I.

After drinking both capps, I was wired enough to clean behind the entire counter. As I scrubbed the brown scum from behind our cappuccino machine, I thought about the scum that Paul had been fooling around with. Perhaps this was the wrong thought, but I wanted to save him from that. He was better than a fifty-dollar lay. He was full of love and I wanted to....ah, screw it. I picked up the phone and called him.

“Paul, it’s Greg.”

“I can’t talk right now, I’m sleeping.”

“When can you talk?”

“Come by tonight, I don’t have plans.”

Eagerly I said, “Great!” And hoping to get the same response I added, “I can’t wait to see you.”

Unfortunately, he said nothing but, “Bye.”

Seeing it was now four in the afternoon, I called Mike and got his answering machine, saying he was recuperating from the flu and to leave a message. Strange I thought, definitely not like him to declare an illness on his outgoing message. Something didn’t seem right. I figured I should go to his house just to make sure. I called for a cab and requested my greasy haired taxi driver friend. I found out later that when I had him pick me up, his name was Frank.

“How your day go buddy?” He asked, genuinely interested.

“Not so good, Frank.” I declared. We were both quiet until he dropped me off.

“Bad days, good nights, my papa used to say that.”

“That’s nice,” I said, “Thank you.”

Mike’s car was in the driveway so I knew he had to be home. Suddenly, I had a queer feeling and I knew something was very wrong. I couldn’t see anything through the windows as all the curtains were drawn. I feared Mike was sick and couldn’t get to the door. I continued KNOCKING, saying “Mike, I know you’re in there. I can see your car. You okay?”

Footsteps approached the front door and the door unlocked.

“Mike?” I said, stepping inside the doorway. I shut the door behind me, “Mike?”

I heard mumbling and when I looked over to the living room, I saw Mike tied to a chair in front of the burning fireplace with his mouth gagged. He was trying to say something, but before I could move or say anything, the room suddenly went black.