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Los Angeles sunlight drips over Goodnight's half of the blanket as he wakes up. He’s still not used to the time change from the east to west coast. Not that it matters if he sleeps in or not. He heaves himself out of bed, scratching his scalp on the way to the bathroom.
He looks in the mirror, wincing at the bags under his eyes, his hair in need of a trim. His momma would be appalled. Goodnight had once been a peacock, vain enough to think that good looks last forever. He practices a smile, but it falls thinking about the past.
For once, he’s clean shaven, if a little prickly. He takes a piss and showers quickly. He’s not fussed with what he wears, just jeans and a t- shirt. It’s too fucking hot in LA for anything else.
He pats around his clothes on the floor for his lighter and frowns when he can’t find his cigarettes. He loots through the discarded napkins and coffee grounds on the table until he finds his last pack. He surveys the mess of notebooks, all his poetic scribblings with a melancholic air. He writes a lot when he can’t sleep and he’s near insomniac. He lights up a cigarette and inhales, exhales slowly.
Sitting on the bed, he passes a hand down his face, wondering if this last bounty can tide him over until he finds Sam again.
He’s been tailing Billy Rocks for a few weeks. First out of anticipation for the reward but now, he finds himself genuinely interested in the man.
Billy has quite the reputation, well earned, Goodnight thinks. He’s wanted in quite a few states with a hefty bounty on his head.
Goodnight is, by nature, a curious man. What at first seemed like a simple hunt and delivery stalled into something else. He doesn’t rightly know what to call it. It’s not only because Billy is handsome but also smart, and dedicated.
Goodnight has tried to learn anything about his past to no avail. One moment, there was nothing and then there was Billy Rocks. He’s around the same age as Goodnight, Korean, with the fastest quick draw Goodnight has ever seen. And he has seen a lot of action in his thirty eight years.
“C'est tout,” he says to himself, finishing the cigarette.
His need for coffee is something fierce so he decides to forgo looking for Billy. He’s starting to wonder if he should just move on. At this point, he doesn’t want Billy to be caught, he wants him to succeed.
He takes the bus and gets off randomly, searching for caffeine. He’s aware that his reputation precedes him, although his pistol is hidden in the back of his jeans. He notes the attention he receives even in the small diner and keeps the exit to his right. He hasn’t survived on luck alone.
He orders coffee at the diner and stirs cream into the black liquid.
Perhaps he’s getting lax or he’s too appreciative of the coffee, but he fails to notice someone slipping into the seat next to him.
“What’s good here?” A voice, melodic and deep, asks much closer than Goodnight realizes. He almost spills coffee everywhere much to the amusement of one Billy Rocks. It would only be right to say that Goodnight gapes and then recovers slowly.
“Did you really think I hadn’t noticed you?” Billy says, calmly. “I know when I’m being tailed.”
“You should take it as a compliment,” Goodnight says, grinning. “ I usually bag my quarry.”
“What makes me so special?” Billy asks. He flags down the waitress for another cup of coffee. Goodnight has never been good at gambling, being the all or nothing man that he is. He debates whether to put it all on the line. Billy notices his hesitancy.
“What’s a man like Goodnight Robicheux doing in LA?” he asks.
Goodnight sits back in his chair, giving Billy an appraising look.
“You did your research.”
“As I’m sure you did as well.”
“Haven’t found much. Just your name.”
Billy smiles, all teeth.
Goodnight questions whether to lie or tell the truth. He takes a cigarette out, one of the last in his pack. Before he can ask for a light, Billy flicks his lighter. Goodnight bends to ignite, seeing the spark in Billy’s eyes.
“I’ve found myself at a crossroads in my life,” he says. “You intrigue me.”
Billy only raises a brow.
“Intrigue keeps you in LA when you hate it?”
“I don’t hate everything about it,” Goodnight says. “You had it right the first time, cher. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
Billy plucks the cigarette out of Goodnight’s hands and takes a drag. Goodnight feels a pulse of desire, unbidden. He can’t help himself, he wants Billy Rocks.
“Where would you be now if it wasn’t for all this?” Billy asks, letting the smoke linger in the air.
“You’re a dangerous man,” Billy continues and Goodnight snorts. “You could be anywhere, doing anything.” He doesn’t say “with anyone” but it's implied.
“I could say the same thing about you,” he replies.
Goodnight lets his hand dangle from Billy’s chair. He’s already shifted closer to Billy than he realized.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
“Where you go, I go,” Billy says, Mona Lisa smile on his face.
Goodnight shakes head and leaves a few bills for the waitress to collect.
Goodnight's motel room looks dour now that he’s in it with Billy. Sheepishly, he kicks the clothes under the bed and places a napkin over the ashtray. He needn’t have worried, because Billy doesn’t even bestow a cursory glance around. He walks closer to Goodnight, drawing him in by the nape of his neck. They stand there for a moment, foreheads touching. It’s more tender than Goodnight anticipated. The heat of another person after so long. Goodnight shudders.
“I have a confession to make,” Billy says
“Do you now?”
He slides his fingers across Billy’s prominent collarbones. Billy stills his hands and looks him full in the eye.
Goodnight's heart stops for a moment, realization settling in.
“You were gonna turn me in?” Goodnight asks, their lips inches apart.
“So were you,” Billy says, grabbing Goodnight by his necklace and kissing him.
“I knew as soon as you slipped in that seat, I wasn’t going to turn you in, sugar.”
“How do you want it?” Billy asks
“I don’t care as long as I have you,” Goodnight answers, too honest, but he doesn’t care. “Laisse-moi t’avoir. ”
Billy chuckles under his breath. “Am I going to have to learn French to fuck you?”
“No indeed, cher , you just gotta keep up.” Goodnight grins, a glimmer of the roguish charm he used to have in abundance.
“I think I can do that,” Billy answers dryly and flips Goodnight over. If Goodnight thought that Billy would only be stern, taciturn, or stoic, his perception was turned on its head.
Billy had every inch the same roguish appeal he himself had once upon a time.
For someone who only had one night stands, rushed blow jobs in back alleys, being with Billy was revelatory. He gives as good as he gets, kissing down Goodnight’s belly, taking Goodnight in his mouth. It’s like being in the center of a whirlwind and Goodnight never wants to be outside of it again.
“Fuck, Billy.”
He kisses him more than a one-night stand, deeper and harder. Soon, he has Billy underneath him, the condom hastily procured from underneath the Gideon Bible in the drawer. Billy smirks as Goodnight makes a show of throwing it.
“Beau,” Goodnight mumbles under his breath while Billy arches beneath him. He’s never seen someone so beautiful. He fucks him with vigor and an intensity he can’t quite believe of a one-night stand. It’s been too long and Goodnight finds himself coming in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
“You wore me out, cher ,” Goodnight says, sweat and cum cooling on his skin. His heart still racing. The ceiling fan gently stirs the sheets and Billy just smiles.
“Mmm, Goodnight. Your name certainly lives up to that.”
“Goody. You can call me Goody,” he says, quietly. Only one other person calls him that.
“Goody,” Billy says, like he’s testing the way it feels on his tongue.
Goodnight wakes to the sound of rain and the sight of an empty space next to him. Bleary eyed, he lifts his head only to let it fall back down. He hasn’t slept that well in months. The room feels empty and the sheets are cold when he passes a hand over them. He fights down a surprisingly bitter feeling of disappointment.
The motel door opens, Billy’s hair is in a haphazard bun and he has an annoyed look on his face.
“Ten dollars for two cups of coffee and two hash browns,” he says, throwing the Hardee’s bag onto the motel bed. Oil dents the bag, smelling like heaven. “America has a problem”. He frowns, looking for the first time at Goodnight.
“I thought you left,” he says. The left me goes unspoken. Goodnight doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or wonder why the thought of Billy leaving him had him contemplating things he would never, under normal circumstances, think of doing.
“You are such a dumb idiot,” Billy says and kisses Goodnight furiously.
Because that’s how Billy does things, Goodnight is finding out firsthand; furious, with intent. Goody is just so relieved. And tucks that feeling of relief in the corner of his mind to never think about anytime soon.
“You think I let anyone follow me around? I’m not going anywhere,” he says, pulling off Goodnight's shirt. He maps his collarbones with his fingers, the scars, and touches the dog tags around Goodnight’s neck.
“I go where you go,” Billy says.