Unjustly sent to rehab by his father, Dean is now out and he begins his search for the brother he left behind, the brother he tried to protect. A silver key holds the truth and a tattoo is the calling card of the unjust, but both will lead him back to his brother. Facing his fears along the way, as well as facing those he knows he cannot trust, Dean wonders if he will ever find the way back to his past and to the brother he tried hard to protect from the same man who sent him away. If only he knew what happened to his brother. He will find him and make things right, one way or another.
Night descends on the Montrose. It is steamy and humid from the afternoon rain and sun. The streets change as different denizens come out of the woodwork. Rounding off Taft to turn left on Westheimer, Dean hesitantly passes a transsexual prostitute.
The imploring comment gives him the creeps. Ignoring it, he picks up his pace trying not to notice her manly self that is stuffed into a size six faux leather tube dress. A car pulls up to the curb and the heels click over to the driver’s side. At that moment a truck drives by with a couple of drunken rednecks. One of them yells, “Count your money and get in the car!” Dean is unsure whether to laugh or walk faster.
The parking lot is littered and grimy. Moisture glistens with a dull sheen off of the cement walls of the structure. Bulbs slowly chase around a marquee of upcoming shows. Seeing the short line to get in, Dean checks himself out. Pants dryer but passable, he runs his hand through his hair in an attempt to fix. Silently he stands at the end while Goth kids in front whisper. Nerves feeling jangled, the line inches closer. Long plastic flaps hang down in the doorway like a meat locker. The pale black clad teens disappear inside. Dean reaches out parting a way and the black interior engulfs him. A counter is walled in to the left with a black velvet rope and stanchions cutting a path.
“Six dollars,” an older once bleached blonde door guy demands monotone.
Dean digs out a five and a one and is banded by a long hair goateed hippy type. Dean pulls his arm away and follows the bendy wall into the club. Lasers and flashing strobes go with the beat of the 80’s retro new wave blaring over the crowd. Punks, Goths, skinheads of all sorts commingle in a straight / gay whatever type environment. Scanning for Mark almost makes him feel epileptic and he averts his eyes from others that seek him out.
“Look, I just want to find Mark.”
“He left because of you.”
“No…he left because of our father.”
Matt introspects, “He didn’t mention him much.”
“I suppose he wouldn’t.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to see you.”
Dean is angry but a realization hits him and he looks Matt in the eye seeing the hurt for the first time. “You don’t know where he is.”
Matt’s eyes harden. “Not lately.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“To see what you know ‘cause he owes us.”
Dean reluctantly takes a twenty, walks to the stage and raises it. Brim gives him an odd look and smiles, lowering down on his haunches.
“How you doing, baby?”
Dean smells the baby oil and looks into his green eyes. “I need to talk to you, later.”
“Oh yeah,” Brim smiles wider, getting ‘it’.
Dean adds, “About Mark.”
Brim’s demeanor changes and he reaches over, lightly touching Dean’s neck causing him to flinch. “Turn around.”
Dean looks at him and half turns. “I’m not one of them. I’m his brother.”
Brim, satisfied, stands back part way, thumbs in the front of his t-back, and motions with his head. Dean bends the bill the way the other did when he observed. Brim pulls the Lycra material forward, giving a good view of what he knows Dean wants. Dean gulps and puts the twenty in. Brim grabs his hand, pushing it against his sex for a moment. Dean slowly pulls away, sweat on his palm. The t-back snaps back into place.
Brim mouths the words, “Wait for me.”
Dean slightly dazed and feeling more self conscious in the tight fitting jeans goes back to the bar. Another Jack and Coke in a tall glass slides across the bar to him free of charge.
“So…are you going to get a ‘Brim-job’ later?”