The wharf was boisterous this time of night, music coming from the pubs and brothels, card games played over barrels on the boardwalk, laughing children and barking dogs underfoot. Only the markets were quiet, boarded up tightly for the night against visiting sailors who didn’t follow The Code regarding ‘biting the hand that feeds you’.
Hal headed towards the center of town and Kyle followed on his heels. He saw the looks as the captain passed, wide-eyed recognition and a few hasty salutes here and there. Everyone knew who Captain Hal Jordan was, and everyone knew who Kyle was and what he was to the Captain. But rather than the usual derogatory comments that would have been mumbled at their passing — sodomite, buggerer, catamite, Molly — no one would dare risk the wrath of Captain Jordan. Instead they were “Captain Jordan and his young gentleman”.
Hal turned down a quiet, empty side street. He stopped at a door covered in peeling blue paint and rapped out a rhythm on the battered wood. In a few moments the door opened, spilling light into the dark alley. “Ah, Captain Jordan!” a portly, well-dressed man said. “So good to see you again!”