NYPD vice homicide cop Mike Kavanagh goes south on an exchange stint to help the New Orleans police department set up a Vice Homicide unit. He hits New Orleans during an All Fools’ Day street parade festival much like Mardi Gras and falls into two cases: a gruesome serial killing of young, blond rent-boys being brought out into the streets by the festival and the questionable death of a kinky Supreme Court justice nominee. Kavanagh has brought with him his own personal vice of hunting young, blond rent-boys for rough sex. There’s no surprise that all of this gets mixed into one steamy volatile cocktail of sex and death.
The place was practically deserted when Kavanagh got there. Potential patrons were either out on the street getting the most they could out of the last night of the All Fools’ Day festival or in their own homes, trying to avoid the raucous crowds that had taken over the streets of the French Quarter. Happily, Kyle was the only one on duty in the café. Kavanagh sat at the window, dividing his attention between the hedonist partying going on outside on the street, which had made him hard and was keeping him that way, and watching the small, blond Kyle moving about the shop, serving the few patrons present, cleaning off the tables, and tidying up behind the counter. Kyle’s movements were keeping Kavanagh hard too, and the furtive looks Kyle was giving him strongly suggested that the waiter was just as aroused.
At 9:30 closing, the two of them were the last ones in the place and Kyle had done everything but turn out the lights, leave, and lock the front door. He stood there, expectantly by the light switch at the back of the shop, beside the counter and the door into the back.
“Uh, it was nice of you to stay around and keep me company tonight,” Kyle said. “Guess it’s time for me to close up and us to go our separate ways.”
“I like it right here,” Kavanagh said, coming up close to Kyle and placing a possessive hand on the young man’s arm. He could feel Kyle trembling. “Why don’t you close up in a different order tonight? Lock up first and then come back and turn out the lights.”
“Umm. That would mean . . . I really can’t—”
“I think you can, Kyle.” Kavanagh reached up, cupped the back of Kyle’s head, and brought his him for a kiss. The other arm went around his waist. Kyle writhed a bit and resisted the kiss at first, but slowly he gave way, relaxed in Kavanagh’s embrace, and was giving as good as he was getting in the exchange of tongue swabbing in each other’s mouth cavities.
“Turn out the lights and drop your pants,” Kavanagh growled when they came out of the kiss.
“Please. I can’t. I’ve never—”
“Yes, you can. You’ve wanted to, haven’t you? You’re ripe for it, and you want it from me. Turn out the lights and drop your pants. You have to do that. You have to commit to it.”
“Not here. We can’t . . . here,” Kyle whispered. That he’d backed off from not doing it and not doing it with Kavanagh was not lost on the detective.
“Yes, here. Now. Turn off the lights and drop your pants. I’ll treat you right the first time.”
With a whimper, Kyle reached over and turned off the lights. Kavanagh smiled at the sound of Kyle’s belt buckle opening and his pants falling to the floor. Seconds later Kavanagh’s had done the same and Kyle was whimpering and moaning louder, as Kavanagh held him close.