New Infected: Holden chapter!

So The Infected Holiday Special isn’t out until May 17th, and Infected: Holden isn’t out until fall. But I did start writing the next Holden book, and this is the first chapter of it. It’s not edited, but there are no spoilers for Infected: Holden. It’s just Holden acting as a P.I. on a case that just irritates him. Grumpy Holden is fun Holden.


1- A Guide To Men

Holden had always been very proud of the fact that he didn’t give a shit about fashion. He was happy whenever he could subvert a shitty stereotype. Which was why it was annoying him that he was so bothered by his wardrobe.

He prided himself on dressing to fit the role, whatever the role was, from cheap ass street hooker to classy, expensive dom. But dressing down to blend into a straight crowd apparently offended all his sensibilities. It didn’t help that this job was kind of boring, and making him focus on all this shit.

Currently he was following Seth Little, the husband of an old client of his, Jeremy Anderson. Holden really didn’t like the idea of doing a cheating husband case, but the cheat was the twist. He didn’t think he was cheating on him with another person. He thought he was back on drugs.

Seth had been in and out of recovery programs, and because of a violent incident the last time he fell off the wagon, Seth had promised he wouldn’t go back on drugs again. Jeremy made it clear he was leaving him if he did. But he was afraid that Seth was using again. He hadn’t found any paraphernalia, and Seth denied it, but Jeremy was currently working the night shift, and Seth had ample time to use and sleep much of it off before Jeremy came home. Seth claimed any erratic behavior he displayed was due to him being on a new anti-depressant. Jeremy claimed he wanted to trust him, but after being down this road before with him, he didn’t.

So Holden was in jeans and a sweatshirt, sneakers and a hoodie, blending in with the downtown crowds as Seth made his way to a Starbucks on Eighth, which was a bad sign. The stereotype held that if you wanted drugs you had to go to certain street corners or back alleys, or sleazy bars like Burn used to inhabit. And while it was true you could get drugs in all those places, it was the type of drug, and the audience for them, that dictated where they were sold. In a pseudo-suburban Starbucks like this, the type of drugs sold were the middle class poisons. Mostly prescription painkillers, with oxy and Vicodin being the big ones – otherwise known as the Roan specials – although college kids could also pick up prescription uppers like Adderall, and you could even pick up black market Viagra if you were desperate. Holden would never buy here, and knew Roan hadn’t as well, because these guys were overpriced. If you went to lower places, you could get cheaper pills. You paid for the ambiance here, the sheen of respectability. You paid to pretend you weren’t just another addict like all the so called gutter trash you frowned upon. It was the middle class version of the stupidity tax, although Holden liked to think of it as the arrogance tax.

He was just another customer in the Starbucks, and so was Seth. It was still possible he wasn’t buying. He waited in a small line, Holden separated from him by one guy who was texting so much Holden wanted to slap the phone out of his hand out of sheer spite. Holden glanced over his shoulder at his screen, and saw the guy was big on emojis and misspelling everything, from whut to loll – yes, with the extra L. He did it three times, so it wasn’t a thumb slip. This made Holden want to hurt him more, so he pretended to study the drinks menu like it was actually interesting. What he was actually doing was scoping out the people in this surprisingly busy Starbucks, trying to figure out who the suburban drug dealer was. He had two suspects: a college aged kid on a laptop at a table near the bathrooms, or a slightly older guy on an iPad near the door. They were both white, both within the same general age range, and both casually dressed in clothing was just a bit more pricey than you’d think. Maybe Holden wouldn’t pay a ton of money on clothes, but he’d had enough clients with ridiculously expensive wardrobes to know it when he saw it.

Seth ordered some fussy coffee drink, so by the time Holden got his simple green tea and lemonade – if he had coffee now, he’d never get any sleep – Seth got his. Holden took a seat at a table near the back that still gave him a great view of Seth, and took out his phone. He was pretending to text while doing nothing but view Seth through his camera. Seth seemed like he was trying to be calm, but he was nervous. His right leg was jumping under the table, so much so his knee hit it, making his cup teeter. He managed to catch it before it tipped over.

Seth then looked at the hipster with the laptop, with a gaze that Holden might have attributed to desire, if he didn’t know better. About a minute after eye contact, the kid slipped his laptop into his messenger bag, gulped down the rest of his coffee, and headed towards the men’s room. Barely three seconds later, Seth was up and following him. He didn’t seem to notice Holden, in his slouchy cheap jeans and Seattle Falcons sweatshirt, following him in return.

By the time he entered the men’s bathroom, the two had disappeared inside a stall. Holden figured he could pee, and did, trying to keep an ear out for their conversation. They kept their voices pitched low, so he couldn’t quite hear them over the piped in soft rock music, that sounded like lethargy given voice. Was it some kind of corporate in joke that Starbucks sold stuff rife with caffeine, and yet also sold music designed to put you to sleep? Did they think it balanced out all the uppers?

Even though Holden couldn’t hear what they were saying, he could tell there was some kind of transaction taking place. Holden kind of hoped it was for sex, simply because being in the middle of a domestic thing was the last thing he wanted.

Holden was washing his hands for the second time when hipster drug dealer came out of the stall and left, without glancing at him. He was a professional – he did his job and got out, never acting suspicious. Holden was deep into his third hand wash by the time Seth came out of the stall. He looked around nervously, but Holden kept looking down at the sink. Seth decided to fake wash his hands, and that’s when Holden decided he was done loitering.

He went out and retrieved his cup – he’d already drank his tea, but the cup was a good prop – and waited for Seth to come out of the bathroom. Luckily, that wasn’t long. Seth returned to his table, and subtly popped some pills in his mouth before gulping his coffee. That’s when Holden sat down at his table.

Seth just stared at him for a moment. He was a very average looking guy, a little sallow, brown hair thinning at the front, giving him what seemed to be a bigger than average forehead. He was dressed as casually and poorly as Holden, in a worn t-shirt for some marathon, and a hoodie almost exactly the same kind as his, only grayer. He had watery brown eyes that made him look like he was always on the verge of crying. “My name is Holden. I was hired by your husband to follow you.”

He scoffed, possibly trying for a laugh, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “What?”

“I’m a detective. He wanted me to find out if you were using again.”

“That bastard. I can’t –“

“As far as I can tell, you have two options here,” Holden said, ignoring him. He wasn’t interested in Seth’s excuses, or whatever he told himself to get through the night. “You can tell Jeremy the truth when he gets home, and throw yourself on his mercy. Maybe he’s not all that serious about leaving you. Or you can tell him the truth, pack a bag, and stop trying to be something you’re not. It’s up to you.”

He shook his head. “You’re crazy. He –“

“You hit him last time, Seth,” Holden said. He sat back, as if Holden had just done the same thing to him. “Gave him a black eye. He could have had you arrested for that.”

Seth made warding off hand gestures as he continued shaking his head. “No, see, that was an accident. I was drinking then, I’m not drinking anymore.”

“But you met that drug dealer in the bathroom and bought some pills, which you just took.” Seth opened his mouth, probably to deny it, and Holden held up a hand. “Don’t try and bullshit a bullshitter, Seth. I happen to know a pill addict, a couple of them actually, but I give them all passes if they’re in so much pain they otherwise can’t function. The first pill addict that comes to mind? He’s like that. I’ve seen him in so much pain he can’t move, and he can barely talk. And he’s a macho asshole type, who never wants to show he’s vulnerable, so just think how much pain that must be.” Okay, Roan would object to the macho asshole part, but not strenuously. “You’re not in that kind of pain, dude, not physically. I get that it’s an illness, but you need to get your shit together, and never take it out on someone else again.”

His eyesbrows lowered, and he could tell Seth was going to give belligerence a try. “Who are you to judge me?”

“The man your husband hired. You know, I don’t really do relationships, but even I know if you distrust your partner so much you hire someone to follow them, it’s pretty fucking over. So why don’t you be the adult, go pack bags, and go off and be yourself? Take all the drugs you want. Just let Jeremy go.”

His watery eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking him, is that it?”

Holden rolled his eyes. “God no. He couldn’t afford me. I’m just hoping one of you could be a non-passive aggressive adult about this. Stick a fork in this marriage, it’s done. I think it’s been done since you punched him.”

Seth scowled. “I didn’t mean to do it, all right? Stop painting me as some kinda … kinda …”

“Abuser? ‘Cause that’s what you are.”

He slammed a hand on the table. If that was supposed to intimidate him in some fashion, it had failed. “It was a mistake, and it happened once! Don’t you dare pin that on me.”

Holden raised an eyebrow at him. “I think you need help, Seth, but what kind I don’t know. Not my department. I just think you’d be happier if you stopped pretending to be something you’re not.”

“And what am I pretending to be, exactly?”

“Not an addict. You are, and I don’t actually think there’s any shame in that. Own it. But you can’t own it if you’re pretending to be clean for your husband.”

He shook his head again, giving him a look like he just didn’t understand what was going on. “What the hell is this? Some weird ass intervention?”

Holden sighed, putting his hands on the table. “What this is is me giving you a warning you don’t deserve. I’m telling my client, Jeremy, that his suspicions were correct and you’re using again. I’m giving you the opportunity to be an adult and get ahead of this. I realize now I was giving you way too much credit.” He shoved himself up to his feet, done with this domestic disturbance in a teacup. “Sorry about your marriage.”

“Hey, wait,” Seth said, but Holden ignored him. Did he think he was kidding? When he was done, Holden was fucking done. He made a stab at being a decent human being, but he had his limits. To be honest, he had no idea how Roan had tolerated working with people all this time. They were so annoying.

He was out on the sidewalk when Seth caught up with him. He grabbed his arm, and Holden instantly yanked it away, so violently it actually sent Seth stumbling back a step. Seth stared at him wide eyed, off put by the show of strength, but he still continued. “You can’t tell him.”

“Yeah, I can, and I will. Don’t plead your case to me, Seth. Go plead it to Jeremy. Leave me out. I barely care about my own domestic drama, and I’m involved in that. Why should I give a fuck about yours?”

Seth stared at him, not sure what to say. Holden didn’t blame him. This was a poorly thought out impulse that didn’t help him in the least. He was acting without thinking, which was probably how his marriage ended up on the ropes. It was funny how those things worked.

Holden’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out without bothering to look at who it was. Right now he didn’t care. “Yeah?”

“Uh, is this Fox?” a woman asked.

The voice sounded familiar, but it took him a moment to place it. “Amanda?” He turned away from Seth, and started walking away. “Hey girl, you still work at the Dungeon?”

“Sometimes. I’m mostly word of mouth, exclusive clientèle, all that.” Amanada, a/k/a Mistress Amanada, was a professional dominatrix. She helped Fiona a bit when she got started in that business. Holden’s path didn’t cross hers that much, but higher end sex work was kind of a small universe. If they didn’t know each other, they often knew of each other regardless. Although the field was getting so crowded now it was hard to keep up. “I’ve heard conflicting info on you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You still in the game or not?”

She didn’t mean table tennis. As he stood on the corner, waiting for the crosswalk light to turn green, he realized there were times when he really missed being a full time sex worker. There was something so dispiriting about following people and watching their dreary lives. He would rather fuck a guy he wasn’t into. “Much like you, exclusive clientèle. Why, you got something for me?”

“Yeah. Wanna talk about it over coffee tomorrow?”

Holden had to think of the stupid name of that coffee shop near her place. They’d met there once. At least it wasn’t a Starbucks. “Sure. Grounds For Divorce, eleven-ish?”

“Sounds good to me. See you there.”

Yeah, he couldn’t see being a full time sex worker again. But some nights, it seemed a whole lot more appealing than being a private detective.

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