The Elegant Corpse

There were a few laugh lines around him, and then he put an arm around Roger and patted him on the back.

"I'm glad you came to see me."

"Me too, we haven't gotten along in a while, and I hear there's a new Cuban restaurant."

"Great! That's a good idea." Pete walked with him to the front door. "Barry?" he said to the boy at the reception desk. "Do I have an appointment tomorrow morning?"

Barry chewed gum and looked through a dirty notepad on his right hand, "No. Only after six o'clock."

"Great," said Pete, and turned to Roger. "Let's go."

Pete and Mr. C went out, and Barry spread the newspaper on the appointment book again, looking at the pictures of the girls in the nightclub advertisements.About 5 minutes later, the smoked glass pneumatic door leading to the foyer was opened again, and a tall, thin, red-haired man walked in.

"Hello?"

Barry glanced at the man and didn't put down the newspaper. "What's the matter?"

"Uh, what is this place?"

Barry's eyes darkened, his eyelids drooping. "Club. Membership."

The man looked around suspiciously.

Barry continued with a sullen face, quickly looked at the person in front of him, and decided that he was definitely not from the circle.At least not in terms of that long-lost "snap-cut" haircut and cheap Kmart shirts.

The man bit his thumb and asked, "What type of club?"

Barry chewed his gum and said, "Dude, this is an invitation-only men's club. You must be in the wrong door."

"Join by invitation only?" Damn, the way this guy is agitated almost makes Barry nervous too, like this guy might be an undercover undercover or something.

"Of course. You have to have an old member invite you, it's as simple as that. Just like Freemasonry."

The guy opened his mouth slightly, as if breathing through his mouth. "Freemasonry? Uh. What if, say, I know a member and want to join?"

"Then let him introduce you." Barry held up the newspaper as if the conversation was over.But he could still feel the guy standing there, so he lowered the paper again and stared at him impatiently.

"Then, then, do you have a business card? Or a brochure?" Hongmao stammered.

Barry sighed angrily, closed the newspaper and slammed it on the counter, loud enough to startle the guy in front of him.He opened the drawer and looked through it, pulling out a small black and blue card. "Here you are." He threw the business card on the counter, his movements and expression clearly said, "Get out immediately after you take it."

The man grabbed the business card, read Barry's expression, and fled in a panic.

God, Barry thought, picking up the newspaper.Where did these people come from?

***

The restaurant has just opened and has not yet been occupied by followers. Roger found a parking space easily at the door. "I've been working on a case recently that might involve acquaintances," he confessed uncomfortably to Pete as they stood at the bar waiting for a table.

"It's not the first time that kind of thing happened." The bartender filled Pete's glass with wine, and he gave her a tip with a smile.She responded with a smile, and brushed her hair before leaving.

"Yeah," said Roger.He shouldn't have discussed the case with Pete.Usually he wasn't interested in mentioning work to friends or family, preferring to keep the work part of his life in the office with the sad cases.But right now he was desperate to confide his fears to others. "This case, I feel it is against me personally." Roger said.

By this time the table was set and they sat down.Pete studied the menu, and Roger thought he forgot what he had just said. "Then why do you say it's about you personally?"

Roger thought about how to answer.Police rules and common sense clashed fiercely with his desperate desire to get rid of the haze in his heart. "Pete, do you want to live your old life?"

"A life of wine and roses? Oh, should I say, 'Guns and Roses'?" Pete looked at Roger, his eyes sparkling.

"It was a plague."

"Ah." Pete had that look on his face that people are used to, that look you get when death is mentioned.

However, as is customary, he changed the subject. "Mark hopes to move the club to a place a little farther from the city." Pete opened the tablecloth, spread it on his lap, and sighed as he looked at his companion.Although Roger was staring at the menu, his eyes were not in focus. "Is the murder you're dealing with AIDS related?" he speculated cautiously.

"No, it doesn't matter at all." Roger seemed to have finally read the menu under his arm, and waved to the waiter.

They ordered, and after the waiter had left, Roger explained: "The victim was probably a slave. I spoke to his former master today, and I may have been a little surprised." So far, he has crossed the line a lot.

Pete nods. "Oh, those old days." He chuckled. "Sometimes I wonder how the old bears got on."

"Well."

"You know, Roger, the first time I saw you, you were standing there pompously against the wall, wearing high-waisted blue jeans and a brand new white T-shirt, looking pissed off. But even then , and I know you'll never be female to any man"

"Don't be so absolute, Pete. I've been crucified, too."

"That's not for you, never will be. The first time I saw you standing in front of Jay, I was really scared for you. I knew you didn't belong in that position."

Pete is right.For Roger, it was more of a test of his manhood, helping him see that he wasn't really a monster. "The active masochist is sacred," Roger said, citing circles. "I envy you, Pete."

"If I had to choose, I'd rather be a slave," Pete said frankly. "With a reliable partner, it feels like flying. Of course, if he is a scum, then life is worse than death."

It's true that some people just like to hurt people, which is one of the reasons why Roger became a cop.His thoughts went back to Marchant. It was hard to tell whether the man's latent irascibility was due to his dissatisfaction with his homosexuality or his natural tendency to violence.Roger thought of Gary, mentally seeing him as a younger, even naive Sean.The thought of such a Gary exposed to Marchant's angry fist made him sick.Driving on the highway, Roger could have imagined, for a 23-year-old young man, maintaining a dangerous and confrontational relationship, while still being masochistic and suicidal. What kind of feeling would it be to swing between depression.Not to mention that his partner suddenly turned his face and refused to recognize anyone.

"I can basically feel that there is a certain message in this case that is directed at me personally." He said.

"A hidden message?" Pete asked.

"No. A clear and factual message. The body was found in my home."

Pete leaned over, eyes wide. "Is it a threat?"

"No, no." Roger waved his hand. "Forget it. I shouldn't have brought it up. In fact, discussing details with outsiders is forbidden and would spoil the atmosphere of our meal."

Pete still looks puzzled, but picks up his glass nonetheless and drops the subject.

The garlic chicken tasted amazing, as did the risotto.Pete had a lot to drink, maybe a little high, but Roger was driving, so it didn't matter.In the parking lot, Pete leaned against him.As he spoke, his breath full of alcohol sprayed on Roger's face: "How about going to your house?"

Roger stared into Pete's eyes. "You don't have to force it."

"I know, Roger."

Roger's thumb stroked Pete's soft lower lip.He nodded.

***

Although CSI had come and cleaned it up, Roger still remembered the scene so vividly that when Pete went in and swayed towards the couch, he snapped, "No."

Pete stopped, and turned his head slowly, surprised. "What kind of 'no'? Or just a general 'do'?"

Roger laughed. "I... just finished cleaning the sofa. Come on, let's go to the kitchen."

When Roger went to open the refrigerator, Pete staggered and leaned on him.Roger grabbed his elbow to steady him. "Are you okay?"

Pete looked at Roger and bit his lower lip playfully.Roger held Pete's face, not so much a caress, it was more like a confinement, and after that, there were overwhelming tongue kisses.

As the kiss deepened, Pete found Roger's tie and buttons and tore them open, and the two stumbled from the kitchen to the bedroom.

Pete retreats to Roger's bed.The moonlight shines through the top window on the long and white limbs, faintly and vaguely.Like a cat, Roger climbed onto the bed and followed each other on all fours.Kneeling over Pete, the man watched Roger with jet-black eyes, his oval face sunk into the pillow, his dark hair loose around him.

Roger stroked the soft, cool cheek.He hadn't had sex with anyone for a long time.Simple sex is not entangled for him, but the courtship process and lover relationship that followed it bothers him terribly, and even ordinary indulging in one-night stands makes him feel uncomfortable from the bottom of his heart.Sleeping with an old acquaintance is actually almost beyond Roger's bottom line.

Pete writhed restlessly under him.He was tall and white, and as with all his work involving naked men, he maintained it with the same care.The dark top of the long, slender cock was hanging wetly over his soft belly.

Roger covered his body.

Pete tasted like honey, with some garlic for supper reasons.He responded cheerfully, but not overly enthusiastically.Enthusiasm was a little too much for Roger.Roger moaned as he entered Pete's body, and he began to thrust, letting out a low, helpless cry.

Release is a relief, but the relief is not complete.In fact, it was never complete.

Roger fell on Pete and caught his breath.

"Roger, you're a bit heavy," Pete said from beneath him.Roger grunted and turned quickly out of the way.

"Feel sorry."

Pete propped himself up on one elbow and looked at Roger, who lay stiff with his arms hanging at his sides, staring straight at the ceiling.

"You're too hard on yourself in every way, Roger."

Roger sighed. "yes."

Pete sat up and went to the bathroom.When he came back, he toweled his hands and the inside of his thighs and said, "Shall I call a taxi? To save the embarrassment tomorrow morning?"

Roger sat up in bed. "I'll drive you back."

They didn't talk much on the way back, but the silence was comfortable and relaxed, not awkward.

"Pete," Roger said as the friend tried to get out of the car, and Pete looked back at him.That pure vanilla skin, and eyes full of tenderness. "It's a joy to be with a friend like you."

Pete leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Try to get some sleep tonight, baby."

***

Father Adam Marchant kept the door of the parlor hall of the Church of the Word open to visitors at all times but locked at night.Marchant stood in front of the hall and turned off the overhead lights one by one. At this moment, he saw a figure flash in from a door leading to the front hall.

"Hello?" he greeted as he walked up the aisle leading to the front of the church.

The front table was covered with pamphlets and church bulletins, and the visitor moved in the shadows and light from the tall transept windows. "I didn't know you were closed," he said, turning around.

Marchant felt that maybe the inspector who came here today made him panic more than usual.His memory, too, began to fool himself, causing ghosts to leap out of the shadows, and to make faces in the parish strangers bear faces so resembling those of their dead lovers.

Because the moment the young man turned around, Marchant felt Gary standing in front of him.The moment he turned his head, dark eyes were embedded in the fair face.In the dimmed sanctuary, a voice rang out from a corner of memory.

"What's the matter with you?" Marchant asked, his tone a little unsteady.

"I've heard of you, and I'm curious." His voice was hoarse than Gary's, and his raised chin made him seem provocative.He stepped into the light, and Marchant could see clearly that it was someone else.Of course it couldn't be Gary.

"We warmly welcome all visitors," he said as he collected his emotions, and held out his hand. "I am Father Adam Marchant."

"Sean," the man said, and took Marchant's long, callused hand with his, "is this your church?"

"It's not mine, it's the property of the 'Christian Community⑥'. I'm just a pastor."

⑥The Community of Christ belongs to the Protestant conservative sect.

"Ha." Sean looked at Marchant's face, "Are you a priest?"

Marchant spent his life identifying and walking among those who were looking for answers.After so many years, he has found the answer himself, and he is already familiar with those unconvinced curious expressions and those searching eyes.

"We're an Orthodox Christian church in the Presbyterian Church of America," he said, "but the only people who care about names are people who write checks to give." He chuckled.

"Ah, I see. It means that you're not actually a priest⑦ or something." Sean turned to the reception table, flipping through a booklet with his long, nimble fingers.

⑦The original text is written as priest, referring to Catholic priests, and Catholic priests cannot marry.Father Marchant here is a Protestant priest.

"No. I have a wife and children, and our church is very committed to the traditional view of the family."

"Really?" Sean seemed to be scanning the bulletin board hanging on the wall, and Marchant followed his gaze.

"Our men's group has a party tonight," he said. "If you want to get to know us, come tonight."

"Okay? I might go." Sean raised his arm and gently grabbed his wrist.Marchant noticed a lot of nervous, knee-jerk movements in the man.Now he could see it more clearly, and it seemed that the other person's striking resemblance to Gary had disappeared, and he was just a big living person with tall, red hair and blue eyes.

"The party starts at 06:30, and you are welcome to come anytime. If you don't mind, I have to close the door now."

The other party cast a scrutinizing gaze again. "certainly."

***

Sean learns that Marchant has work and family to attend to before the party, so they shake hands and say goodbye.Then Sean drove around town and drove around, and came back in time for the party to start.Marchant hadn't shown up yet, so Sean introduced himself to the parishioners who had begun to gather.The discussion in this group revolved around what they called a "model Christian husband."

In the church basement, Sean sat in a folding chair in a circle with other chairs.He clasped his hands between his knees and listened to their discussion.

"Then what kind of person is Father Marchant?" After a while, he asked.

The man sitting next to him was a fat blond man. Because of his short stature, he looked like a big pink leather ball. "He is an amazing leader."

“He’s the kind of guy who does what the sermon says,” another man said, laughing again. “Accidental pun.”

"He said he was married?"

"Yes. Are you married? Your last name..."

"Sean," said Sean, "no, I don't have a knot."

Another man volunteered: "If you're looking for girls, Holy Word is a great place to be."

"I haven't had that idea yet," Sean said.

"Yes, I see what you mean," said an older-looking man next to him.The "Greek Formula" hair dye he used not only darkened his hair, but also stained his acne-ridden skin. "Feminism has changed women. But the girls here are different."

"Girls in our church still stick to the traditional family values ​​that men are superior to women," a man nodded.He pointed, the gold ring on his hand was shining brightly. "It also includes corporal punishment if necessary."

"As long as it's within reason," the man sitting on Sean's other side said softly.His long light brown hair fell over his eyes as he smiled sideways at Sean. "Love's punishment is a duty, not a privilege."

"Bobby's just getting married," said another man, and they teased Bobby, who blushed and looked away from the door.

"He's right," said Adam Marchant, who showed up at the door and was about to enter the room. "Wife spanking is there for a reason."

"Spanking, spanking?" Sean said.

"You can find information on the Internet about Christian family discipline," Marchant said, putting a small stack of folders, books, and letters on the floor next to his seat. common sense. If a man shows weakness in front of a woman or allows a woman to bully him at will, then a woman will not respect her husband, as feminists instigate. Such disrespect can lead to a broken marriage. Wife beating is much more important than A divorce or a long quarrel would be much more appropriate."

"Outsiders don't understand." The man with bad skin said.

"Yes," said Marchant, "what happened last week with Tom was a prime example."

The men's conversations began to revolve around Tom, who, in Sean's view, was good enough to be arrested by the police for abusing his wife.

"Sally's friend, the woman who lives next door reported it," a man said. "Now the police are all atheistic power brokers and intellectuals. They don't understand the biblical law that men are superior to women."

"Oh." Sean said.

They then briefly discussed the need to spank your wife until she screamed, and while it was at it, Sean noticed that some members of the group were avoiding each other's eyes.

***

"Come over next door and I'll give you some brochures to take home." After the meeting, Marchant said.

He introduced Sean to a mouse-like woman and two scruffy-looking children, and then went into the house to look for brochures.

"What a beautiful day," Sean said nervously to the woman.She was looking down at the floor, resting on her elbow with just the fingertips of one hand, and Sean noticed that she had blue bruises running from top to bottom on one arm.

"Here," Marchant said, coming out of another room.

"We hold services every Sunday morning at 09:30 and [-] o'clock," Adam Marchant said as he walked Sean to his car. "I hope you will come by then."

"No," Sean said.

Marchant looked a little hurt.

"You see, I like men," Sean said.

Marchant instantly turned black with anger. "Do you think it's funny to joke like that?"

"No," Sean said. "I don't think so. I don't know what I think about myself, but I don't think I'm joking." He opened the car door. "I'm curious about you. I want to know what makes you such a piece of shit."

Marchant thinks he finally understands now: Those were revelations. "That's a bad habit."

Sean's eyes studied him, kindly and candidly, but still bewildered. "My brother, Gary," he said, "do you think he's a vice, too?"

Marchant's already sallow face turned ashen. "Gary? My God..."

"Did you kill him for that reason?"