Chapter One

His ex-wife had often told Viggo that he had some sweet moves and the man used all of them to impress his audience. With a swagger that said he owned every inch of ground under his boots, Viggo strutted across the nighttime city street to the Diesel Den.

His leather jeans fitted without a wrinkle, hugging his every nook and cranny, displaying his crotch in a blatant invitation to sin. A leather vest bared his broad, golden-furred chest, sculpted abs, and the half-moon tattoo to the left of his navel. With the bandanna hanging from his hip pocket and one pierced ear, Viggo was a walking mating call for a particular breed of male.

The exact species, in fact, that inhabited the Den. The bar near the Greyhound station was a notorious hangout for the gay leather crowd, men who liked their sex with a rougher edge, whose love life was spoken of in code: B/D, S&M, Dom/Sub, etc. It was here that Viggo knew he would find what he sought.

Wielding attitude like a sword and shield, Viggo sauntered through the door of the bar as if the bouncer wasn't there. Only tourists stopped in the foyer to gawk; Viggo kept moving as if he walked in here every night at the same time. He spotted a long bar to his left, a small dance floor directly in front of him and a smaller bar in the back right corner with a scattering of tables around it.

Viggo glanced to his left as he headed for the front bar and saw a short hallway. A public phone and two doors marked Men and Men preceded a larger door with an exit sign glowing red above it. Having memorized the topography and possible emergency exits, Viggo signaled the bartender.

The bald barman brought Viggo a beer and took the money without any fuss. Viggo turned his back on the bar and leaned against it. Now, he had a perfect view of the large space and it didn't take long to catch sight of his quarry. This was definitely the man Viggo wanted.

Viggo took surreptitious looks at the two big men flanking his prey. Heavy muscles, covered with tattoos strained the fabric of their plain white t-shirts and Levis. Their hair was cut close to the scalp and neither would've made it through a metal detector.

Deciding that they were no more intimidating than your average Rottweiler, Viggo pushed away from the bar and practically paraded across the floor. He stopped in front of the back booth, finished his beer in one long swallow and put it down on the table in front of his target. The two large men on either side of the man got to their feet and stood looming over Viggo. The man that remained seated met Viggo's eyes.

Viggo gazed calmly back and let the man study him. Viggo wasn't vain, but he'd been told that he was handsome often enough that he finally believed it. The spiked hairdo wasn't his normal style, he usually covered his tattoo and rarely wore an earring anymore, but he was dressed to attract the notice of a certain type of man, to challenge him.

It seemed to be working just fine.

Clive Owen, "Limey Clive" behind his back, stared back at the intruder in cold appraisal. Any moment, he might order his thugs to throw Viggo's ass out onto the street, but the brash golden stud intrigued Clive enough to stay his hand for now. The Englishman's chilly eyes flicked toward Crowe and Bana, silently signaling them to stay alert.

"What can I do for you?" Clive said in a voice like hot fudge. "Or maybe you want me to do something to you."

Viggo smiled easily. "You like to get right to the bottom of things, don't you?"

"Cute play on words," Clive said without a smile. "You're stalling, Blondie."

It was at about this point that Viggo had planned to piss Clive off and subsequently make hamburger out of his bodyguards, thus proving Viggo's worthiness to replace one of them in a very convincing manner. Things happened a little differently.

Viggo made sure he knew the relative positions of the thugs and took a steadying breath. Before he could crudely suggest that Crowe and Bana's duties included bending over for "Limey Clive", he was interrupted.

The prettiest boy Viggo had ever seen stormed up to the table and slid into the booth next to Clive. Clive blindly pulled the sulking young man closer with an arm around his shoulders.

"Maybe it's not a good time to talk business," Viggo said, as Clive's big hand settled on the boy's flat belly.

A good six inches of fawn skin showed between the hem of the boy's tight red t-shirt and low-cut black jeans. Clive's fingers spread across taut flesh, the dark treasure trail and the top of a sun tattoo. Viggo quickly dragged his eyes back up to meet Clive's.

Clive's lips drew back in something that was probably supposed to be a smile. Viggo saw it for what it was: an alpha male baring his fangs in warning at a rival. Viggo grinned back in his best aw-shucks manner.

"Sorry if I was staring," he said. "But, shit, that's the prettiest guy I've ever seen."

"Orly," Clive said. "That was a compliment."

"I hate Billy Zane," Orly said loudly.

Clive's eyebrows rose. "What has our bartender done to earn your wrath, my red angel?"

"He won't serve me. He says I've had enough to drink for tonight."

Viggo agreed with the bartender. Orly had definitely had enough to drink. The young man's dark eyes were slow to focus and his posture had the boneless quality peculiar to profound drunkenness and drowsing felines.

"I think Billy Zane is right, tiger kitten," Clive said. "Why don't you take a break?"

"Of course Billy Zane is right," Orly said, sitting up straight. "Billy Zane is never wrong. That's not the point. Don't you get it? He refused to serve me. I'm with you. Everyone knows I'm with you. You made such a point of it. Is a light coming on in your brain yet?"

Clive's gaze flicked up to his bodyguards again. "By refusing to serve you, Billy Zane is disrespecting me. Is that your point, my dulcet dove?"

"Well duh," the young man responded. "Are you going to kill him?"

"I'm not really sure Billy Zane deserves to die," Clive said. "Suppose I have him fired?"

"Fine," Orly said. "Whatever. If that's what your pride is worth, by al means have him fired."

"Baby," Clive said reasonably. "You love Billy Zane."

Orly sighed dramatically. "Again, you're missing the point."

Clive gestured to Crowe. "Tell Billy he's fired. Give him the usual bonus. And tell Karl to come up front and tend bar."

Crowe moved off after shooting a final glare at Viggo. Orly appeared to notice the stranger for the first time.

"Who's this guy?" the young man asked.

"Viggo Masterson," Viggo said. "I'm looking for work."

"Is that so? What do you do?"

"I keep bad things from happening to naughty little boys."

Orly turned to Clive. "I like him. You should hire him."

"So you'd say he's got good qualifications, would you?" Clive asked.

Orly gave Viggo a hot-eyed look from under his unruly bangs. "He's the shit," the boy said.

"Well, Viggo," Clive said. "If you're willing to pass an audition and a background check, I would say your prospects are good. I like your references."

"You shouldn't try to be clever, Clive," Orly said. "It doesn't suit you."

"Lambie," Clive said, taking Orly's chin in his hand. "Let's not get personal."

Orly sobered before Viggo's eyes, and fastened his earnest gaze on Clive.

"Sorry, Clive. That was thoughtless of me," Orly said contritely.

"You've got fire, Orly," Clive said. "And I love it, but I don't like getting my whiskers singed in public."

"Public?" Orly laughed, pulling away from Clive. "Viggo's practically family."

Clive caught the boy's wrist as Orly slid out of the booth. "Where are you going, butterfly?"

Orly laughed again and shook a finger in Clive's face. "I promised this dance to someone else," the young man said.

Clive let Orly go and watched the lithe figure sway onto the dance floor. Viggo was careful to be looking elsewhere when Clive's attention returned to him. Bana gave Viggo a noncommittal look that said Viggo still had an audition to pass before he accepted him.

"Viggo," Clive said. "Do you know where I live?"

"Of course I do. I've planned this meeting for weeks," Viggo said truthfully.

"I thought as much. Be at my house tomorrow at eleven. We'll have breakfast, talk and then you can show me what you've got."

"Breakfast at eleven?"

"Call it brunch if you like, but Orly doesn't like to wake up early and I like to do the waking, if you know what I mean."

"Can't say as I do, Mr. Owen," Viggo answered. "Maybe some day I'll have the pleasure."

"Orly likes your cheek," Clive said. "I don't. And don't call me Mr. Owen; call me Clive."

"Clive" Viggo repeated. "Got it. I'll see you tomorrow, Clive"

"Stay and enjoy yourself," Clive offered. "You'll never pay for another drink in here."

"Or you'll fire the bartender," Viggo couldn't help saying.

Clive sat back, laying his arms along the top of the booth. "In a couple of days, Billy Zane will be behind the bar again and Orly will pretend it never happened. Meanwhile, I've had to shell out a thousand dollar bribe so my best bartender can enjoy some unexpected days off and my boyfriend will be sweet to me."

"Is it worth it?" Viggo asked curiously as Crowe returned.

Clive considered for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "It is."

"Then you're not a fool," Viggo said. "Good night, Clive; I'll need my rest for tomorrow."

Viggo walked out of the Den without looking back at the booth. He caught a glimpse of Orly dancing with another supple young thing almost as pretty as he was. Viggo ignored the hot pulse of lust that turned his groin to lava. Nothing could come of it.

And it was just two boys dancing. Just two beautiful, graceful, aroused boys sliding and bumping against one another to the driving beat. Viggo pushed the image from his head and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Turning right, Viggo had walked several blocks when he noticed the car following him. Turning down the next side street, he slowed his pace. The car that was tailing Viggo drew alongside and stopped. Viggo opened the passenger door and got in. Buckling his seat belt, he turned to the driver.

"Howdy, partner," he said. "Shake the hand of a man that is *in*."

Viggo's partner squealed and then caught herself, turning it into an awkward cough.

"That's fantastic, hermano. I never doubted you of course. In fact, I defended you to…"

"Save it, Rosie," Viggo said. "Once Banderas vouches for us, we're in up to the elbow."

Sergeant Rosario Dawson grinned at her partner in unbridled glee. "I can't believe you knew High-Tone Banderas when he was in juvie, but it sure comes in handy now. Tonio must owe you big to do you this kind of favor. If his fellow dealers found out, ay, eso chingado, he'd be pretty fucked, hombre."

"Then we'll make sure they don't find out. Anyway, Tonio wouldn't mind if Owen went away on a more or less permanent basis."

"No es mierda! We'll show that Limey cabron he can't just set up shop on our side of the Atlantic. We'll take him down proper. Then they'll stop laughing at us."

"They laugh at us?" Viggo asked with exaggerated innocence. "Who?"

"Stop playin' with me, Mortensen," Rosario said. "The whole precinct laughs at us. A Latina and a homo? Are you kidding? They call us Beanie and Weinie, for Chrissakes."

"I can't see how that could be construed as offensive, Officer Dawson," Viggo began, before she put a hand over his mouth.

"Just tell me how it went," she said. "Man, I still can't believe you went in there without a wire and only me for backup."

"We've discussed all that, Rosie. We need to keep this simple, and it's over now anyway."

"No way, hombre," Rosario said. "It's just starting. So is the Limey as sexy close up as he is through a long lens?"

"He's sexy as all hell," Viggo said. "And mean as a snake."

"Yummy," Rosario said. "My favorite flavor, but go on."

"Everything went almost exactly the way we thought it would," Viggo said. "Okay, the way you thought it would. It was a good plan, Rosie."

"Thank you," she took an awkward bow from behind the steering wheel.

"There was just one thing we hadn't counted on. Somehow we missed the fact that Mr. Clive Owen has a boyfriend."

"Shut up!"

Viggo shook his head. "I met him. He ruined my pitch, and then told Owen to hire me."

"Shut! Up!"

"I'm crapping you negative, chica," Viggo said. "That's how it went down. This is going to work, Rosie; the angels are on our side. We'll find out when the next shipment is and we'll catch Owen red-handed."

"And then we call the D.E.A." Rosario said.

"You got that right," Viggo said, high-fiving her. "Then and only then do we call the Feds. They had their chance at this asshole in New York; now it's our turn."

"The nerve of this tea-swillin', left-side drivin', metric-system usin' Monty comin' over here with his big stiff upper lip tryin' to muscle in on our local drug dealers. What's the world comin' to?" Rosario said.

"You and me, Rosie," Viggo said. "We'll make a better world, one scumbag at a time."

"You got that right," Rosario drawled in imitation of Viggo's accent. "Let's go get a beer. Whatta ya say? Cervezas frio?"

"Sure. Just let me change first," Viggo said.

Rosario snorted. "You take all the fun out of the job, pendejo."

Read Chapter Two of Twenty of Bailey's And Miles To Go Before I Sleep