Detective Anatoly Sokolov knew of the homosexual underground that ran rampant through Russia. Occasionally, he himself participated in less-than-heterosexual activities. This was a secret and something that confused him greatly. He’d never fully dabbled in the idea of being any kind of homosexual. But here he was, forty-eight years old and having an existential crisis over his sexuality as he stared at the penis of a deceased man.
When Anatoly became a detective, the things he liked had been very clear. The things he enjoyed. Women, alcohol, and self-loathing. He can’t remember when or where, but somewhere along his sixteen-year career the lines became blurred. His interests, his hobbies, his…feelings. It was all too complicated for him to try and unpack, so he did what detectives did best: Buried it deep, deep down inside himself. Until he was forced to confront these feelings at work, in front of his colleagues, whilst looking at a dead man’s naked body.
It wasn’t the deceased man that made him feel…things. It was more the familiarity of it. Looking at it, seeing it. Oh god, he was going to be sick. He threw his hand up to cover his mouth, desperately trying not to gag.
When Anatoly was young, he’d decided being a police officer was stupid, but it paid very well. He didn’t particularly enjoy his job, but he did enjoy the benefits of carrying around a badge. No one questioned a police officer in the underground. No one ever approached him. He was free to do whatever he wanted.
Well, until his emotions caught up with him on the job. Specifically, the homicide of a twenty-seven year old man in his garden kind of job.
“Detective…are you okay?” Lieutenant Ivanov Sato, Anatoly’s partner, pat his hand on his back. The duo had been partnered up on a homicide case four years prior to where they found themselves now. Anatoly had shown up drunk to a case, and Ivanov decided from the moment he met him that he would loath being by his side.
Now, as much as Ivanov hated to admit to anyone, he couldn’t imagine working alongside anyone other than Anatoly.
Again, not that he would ever admit that out loud.
Anatoly took deep breaths through the gaps in his fingers, unable to take his eyes off the dead man, a crawling feeling of disgust wriggling under his skin. “Oh my god, Ivan. I think I’m bisexual.”
Ivan’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He quickly whipped his head around. Police lights flashed behind them as cars and ambulances crowded around the garden where they’d found the man’s body. A few other police officers and detectives gathered around different parts of the garden. He let out a low breath of relief. No one heard them.
He thought.
Ivan crouched down to Anatoly’s level, leaning in close to his face. Anatoly still couldn’t take his eyes off the dead man. There was a reason it was called the homosexual underground. Being gay in Russia in the 60s had to be just about the most illegal thing a man could do—above murder or theft. Nothing in Russia was worse than being gay.
“Ant, what are you talking about?” Ivan glanced over his shoulder at everyone. No one was paying them any mind, too concerned with gathering evidence and cordoning off the garden.
Ant had gotten a little too drunk and a little too close one night a long time ago and had told Ivan all about his visits to the underground: The women he’d met. The men he’d loved. The drugs he’d taken. The parties he went to. In one night, he’d admitted to at least eight different crimes, but Ivan didn’t care. He couldn’t care less about what Anatoly did in his spare time, or that was what he’d told himself anyway. He didn’t ever want to hear about the men and women he went around with, for what he thought were obvious reasons.
But they weren’t as obvious to himself as Ivan thought they were. He told himself he didn’t care what Anatoly did, as long as he did it quietly.
Anatoly looked over at Ivan, breathing heavily into his face. He couldn’t believe he’d said that. He could not believe he’d said that. Out loud. To his colleague. His friend. His male friend.
He turned away from Ivan, from the dead body, and threw up all over the grass. Ivan sprung up to his feet, walking a few paces away from Anatoly. He could deal with dead bodies and gore, but vomit is where he drew the line.
Ivan drew a packet of cigarettes from his left pocket and ran his hand through what was left of his hair.
Okay, that’s fine, he’s gay, we knew that, he thought to himself on a loop. He lit his cigarette with shaky hands. Now, Ivan knew deep down that he didn’t care about Anatoly being gay, but he cared about his career, Anatoly’s career. He cared about his own safety, more than Ant’s, and as much as he hated to admit it, he cared about what people thought of him. Glancing around the garden, Ivan took a large drag of his cigarette. A few of the detectives had taken notice of the pair, Anatoly’s violent gagging gaining traction with the men surrounding them. Ivan cringed, stepping further away from Ant, a wave of shame dampening his soul. Whether that was shame for being near Anatoly, or shame for feeling the way he felt, he didn’t know.
“What is wrong with your boyfriend?” an officer approached Ivan, nodding his head towards where Ant was hunched over. Ivan never bothered to learn his name, he just knew how much he despised officers like…whoever this was. Ivan glanced over to Ant. He was hovering over the dead body on his hands and knees, his face dangerously close to the cadavers’ own. Ivan cringed again, before looking back to the officer.
“Did you need something?” he asked the officer. Ivan tried to seem calm, nonchalant, but the way he was white knuckling his cigarette wasn’t fooling anyone. He was barely even fooling himself.
The unnamed cop threw his hands up in defense.
“I was simply asking a question, didn’t realize being a queer was such a touchy subject for you.” He laughed; Ivan didn’t.
“Tell your boyfriend he needs to wrap it up, we need to move the body before it starts to smell.”
Ivan nodded his head and flicked his cigarette butt onto the grass.
“He’s not my fucking boyfriend, don’t be disgusting.”
“Woah, that’s the most I’ve heard from you detective!” The cop slapped Ivan on the back. Ivan let out a grunt of pain.
“Good to know where you stand. We need less people like him around.” Ivan watched with disgust as the cop glared over at Anatoly. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He couldn’t defend Ant if he tried. Shame crept its way up his throat as he just nodded at the cop. He trudged back to Anatoly, unable to look at him.
If there was one thing Anatoly had gotten really good at, it was listening. Given the nature of who he was, and the way he behaved, it wasn’t a surprise that people kept away from him. Despite the fact that no one knew his secret, he hadn’t always been the most likable person. Honestly, it was a miracle Ivan even hung around him in the first place, but, after hearing what the cop said, Ant could understand why Ivan could barely look him in the eye.
Ivan crouched down by the cadaver, analyzing the same spots over and over again, an uncomfortable tension rising between the two detectives. Anatoly had said what he said. He was bisexual. He couldn’t change that, couldn’t go back on it. It was out there. Had he wished he’d realized this in a more appropriate setting? With less dead bodies? Of course. But, he did what he had to do. Ivan knew that. Ivan knew that. Right?
“Ivan I—”
“I think we’ve got what we needed from here.” Ivan sprung to his feet, taking down vigorous notes in his small green notepad. The one that Anatoly had given him for Christmas.
“Contusions on the neck, a couple of bruises, slight head trauma. That’s everything we can see without a lab”.
Anatoly closed his mouth tight. He’d fucked it, well and truly fucked it, with the one friend he really had. But he couldn’t help but be a little angry at Ivan. This wasn’t new information? This wasn’t something that Anatoly had randomly come up with overnight. Ivan knew he felt this way. Why was it all of a sudden a problem?
Ivan walked around Anatoly and made a beeline to exit the garden. He swatted the police tape out of his way, storming towards his cop car. He didn’t bother saying bye to anyone, nor did he bother to officially sign off for the day. He just wanted to get out of there.
But why?
Why did he suddenly feel like the world was caving in around him, like he couldn’t breathe, like his life had just been ruined completely.
What? Just because his partner had officially told him something he already knew? Because his partner officially confessed to a crime?
Partner.
Who decided to call their colleagues their partners.
Why did he suddenly care?
What was happening?
A few knocks jolted Ivan out of his own head. He’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t even realized he’d climbed into his car. He sat with his hands tightly gripping the wheel, waves of nausea assaulting his stomach. He didn’t need to look up at the window. He knew he was there. It was why he didn’t protest when he heard the passenger car door open, and it was why he said nothing when he heard it close again, a warm body now beside him.
The cover of nighttime was all that was shielding these men from the sight of their coworkers. Neither of them attempted to say anything. What was there to say? Whilst Anatoly was just coming down from his own emotional high, it seemed Ivan was just starting to come into his own.
“Do you think…you could take me downtown?”
Ivan curled his lips upwards in an unknown emotion.
“Why?” Downtown. Ivan knew what happened downtown. But he asked why anyway.
Anatoly looked confused.
“Why? What do you mean why? You know why. Ivan. I like women. And men. I’m bisexual.”
Ivan physically flinched at Anatoly’s words, whipping his head around to make sure they were alone. Ant rolled his eyes.
“What’s going on with you? You knew this, this isn’t new to you”
“I know, damn it, I know, it’s just…”
He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. What was there to say? What was there to do? Deep down inside himself, Ivan knew that things wouldn’t be the same after this conversation. Something had changed between the two of them, whether Anatoly had noticed it yet or not, Ivan knew something had changed. But he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t like Anatoly. He needed time to think, to rationalize, to compress. He couldn’t just run around and be open about things like Anatoly could be. He needed to think, he needed to—
Anatoly let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his fingers on his temples. In his entire career, this had been the most stressful situation he’d ever found himself in. He couldn’t pretend what had happened had not happened. He wasn’t that kind of man. He needed to figure it out, with or without Ivan’s help.
But he really, really wanted his help
“Look,” Anatoly said, opening the car door, “I don’t expect you to understand, nor do I expect you to help me. If you want to forget about it, you can, but I can’t. I won’t,” He turned himself away from Ivan, unable to look at his withered face anymore. He stared at the pavement outside.
“I can’t change who I am, or the way I feel about people. That’s all it is, people. All we are. It’s silly to think anything else, and I’m frustrated that you of all people would turn away from me like this—”
Ivan leaned over Anatoly and slammed his car door shut, startling him in the process. “Ivanov what are you doing?”
Neither of them knew what they were doing, or what was happening, but before either of them could register anything, or process the crimes they were committing, they were all over each other. Mouths clashing together in some kind of frenzied hunger, as if this had been a long time coming. They didn’t know who leaned in first, who moved to who second, but now they started they truly couldn’t stop for anyone. Ivan was soft, and god, did he feel good against Anatoly, pressed tightly together in the backseat of Ivan’s car. They couldn’t think of anything besides each other and the way they felt. They’d act now, ask questions later. Wasn’t that what all police officers did anyway? The night faded into day, and the two of them lost track of how long they’d been in the back of Ivan’s car, but with the windows fogged up and the fuel tank running almost empty, they both knew they hadn’t been in there for nearly as long as they would’ve liked.
Ivan had always been aware of the way he felt, the things he knew about himself, but he was excellent at hiding. Well, from everyone apart from his partner it seemed. Partner. Funny how many meanings one word could have. He never really expected to confront his sexuality, but here he was, sitting in a run-down booth, with his run-down partner on a run-down Tuesday morning. There was a lot still to unpack and even more for the pair to talk about, but nothing that couldn’t wait for just a little while longer. Ivan glanced out the window of the diner and laughed lightly.
Maybe things would’ve been easier for him if he’d just had an identity crisis over some dead guy’s dick.
“Something funny?” Anatoly questioned from across the table, the pair sat in a grimy diner, with even grimier plates of some kind of food sat in front of them. Ivan lit a cigarette, taking a deep inhale. He wet the filter before handing it over to Ant, who made a point of sucking on the end of it. Hard.
“Nothing funny at all. Partner.”
Madelin Gonzalez Franco has been an avid writer since she was able to pick up a pen. A recent graduate from University with a degree in Creative Writing and Screenwriting, she spends her time drumming up ideas for her next script, excited for what the future holds.
Featured image by Jaclyn Baxter on Unsplash.
