The Player

by Joe Cosentino

  “Christianity is more than a belief system. The Bible is the unaltered word of God. We are all sinners in God’s sight. As proven by the passages against sodomy.”

  “There’s a lot more against heterosexual sex than gay sex in the Bible—which was written by men and has been translated and rewritten throughout the centuries.”

  “By men inspired by God.”

  “Who clearly didn’t fully understand the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead in the tomb.”

  I couldn’t help chuckling at Freddy’s joke.

  “It’s sacrilegious to laugh at men of God.”

  Trying to find common ground with Preston, I said, “The parables offer many valuable lessons.”

  “I agree. They’re a roadmap for our lives.”

  I couldn’t resist. “Which is why I find the evangelicals in the Republican Party an anomaly.”

  “How so?”

  “In the Bible stories, written many years after the disciples’ death, by the way, Jesus calls for us to love and serve our neighbors. All of them.”

  Freddy grinned. “As my dear friend Mae West said to me in a hotel’s shared bathroom, ‘Love they neighbor—and if he happens to be tall, debonair, and devastating, it will be that much easier.’”

  I ignored Freddy. “And to turn the other cheek to violence, house the homeless, feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, embrace the outcasts, and protect the environment. That seems contrary to your party’s stance against immigration, environmental regulations, women’s rights, LGBTQ rights, gun control, scientific research, and medical care for all. So much for healing the sick.”

  He grinned. “You’ve been listening to the liberal media. You should give the conservative media a try.”

  “You actually listen to their lies?”

  He nodded. “I know that isn’t popular with most gay people.”

  “Hm, I wonder why?” I couldn’t stop myself. “Perhaps it’s your party’s persecution of gay people?”

  Preston slid to the edge of his seat. “I’m not a one-issue voter.”

  “What a flat tire.”

  Preston squirmed in his seat. “And I don’t wear my sexuality on my shirtsleeve.”

  I muttered, “Just like the gays who worked for Hitler didn’t wear their pink triangles—until they were taken to the concentration camps and exterminated.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “I didn’t come here to argue religion and politics with you.” Relaxing, he added, “I thought we could have a nice dinner together. So can we forget our differences for tonight?” He placed his arm around my shoulder. “And enjoy the evening?”

  “Dinner is served!”

  I stood. “Let’s go to the dining alcove for the appetizer.”

  Preston rose and pinched my bottom. “My mouth is watering.”

  After quickly seating Preston at the table, I headed to the kitchenette.

  Preston called out, “Beautiful table setting.”

  Freddy asked me, “Don’t I even get a thank-you for that?”

  “Thank you.”

  Preston grinned. “You’re welcome.”

  I served fruit-infused water to drink, then headed back to the kitchenette.

  A crease appeared between Preston’s blond eyebrows. “I hope the dinner doesn’t have tomatoes in it. I’m deathly allergic.”

  “Give him extra cocktail sauce for the shrimp.”

  I whispered to Freddy, “That’s not funny.”

  “It sure isn’t.” Preston said, “If I eat a tomato, I swell up like a… tomato. And I can’t breathe.”

  I served the shrimp cocktail. “Stay away from the cocktail sauce.”

  “Thanks.” Preston added, “I would have told you about my allergy sooner, but I didn’t realize we would be having a cozy dinner in your apartment.”

  “Just don’t get too cozy.”

  I shushed Freddy.

  Preston nodded. “I know, the walls have ears. We wouldn’t want the neighbors to talk.”

  “Good segue to ask him about Alexandria,” Freddy said.

  I sat across from Preston. “Speaking about the neighbors, have you heard that Alexandria Popov Sokolov in 1A was murdered?”

  He nodded. “I live in an apartment building for only one week and the neighbor right downstairs from me gets murdered. Who’d have thought that would happen?”

  “Did you know her?”

  “The first day I moved into the building, Alexandria welcomed me in the hallway.”

  “Alexandria? That’s a surprise.”

  He swallowed a piece of shrimp. “We only spoke briefly.”

  “That sounds more like her.”

  After taking a sip of his drink, Preston said, “I guess you two were pretty close.”

  “You guess wrong. I barely knew her.”

  “But Detective Shawnee said she was killed in your apartment.”

  I was getting incredibly tired of correcting people. “She was killed outside my apartment.”

  Freddy called out, “Ask him where he was when Alexandria was murdered.”

  After swallowing my water, I asked, “Where were you when Alexandria was murdered?”

  “In my apartment. Eating a pizza.”

  “Alone?”

  “Pathetic, huh?” He took my hand. “This is much more fun.”

  Freddy moved our hands apart.

  Preston stared down at them. “Your hand slid out of mine.”

  I ad-libbed, “I was cooking earlier—with olive oil.”

  Freddy joined us at the table. “Ask him about the checks.”

  I became exasperated. “I know!”

  “You know what?” Preston asked.

  “That you wrote checks to Alexandria,” I said.

  He swallowed hard. “How did you find out about that?”

  “I saw you give Alexandria an envelope.”

  “Ah.” Preston feigned calmness. “When Alexandria and I met in the hallway, she mentioned having some temporary cash flow problems. The Bible says to love your neighbor, so I offered her a short-term loan. She took me up on it.”

  Freddy chuckled. “Ishkabibble.”

  Preston added piously, “It was the Christian thing to do.”

  Freddy said, “Ask him if he ever got his money back.”

  “After Alexandria was killed, did you speak to Alexander or Denis about paying you back from her estate?”

  “I thought that would be in bad taste,” Preston said.

  “Don’t you want your money returned?”

  “I’ll speak to them about it… sometime.” He leaned into me. “Let’s stop talking about money. How about if we stretch out a bit between courses.” Finished with his shrimp, Preston got to his feet and then lifted me to mine. Squeezing my triceps, he said, “I can tell you work out.” Flexing his biceps, he added, “So do I. What’s your routine?”

  I replied quickly, “Stretching, cardio. I work back and chest one day, shoulders the next, then arms, and finally legs.”

  “What’s your perfect weight?”

  “One sixty, I guess.”

  Putting his arms around me, he slid his hands from my back to my bottom. “My perfect weight is you on top of me, or underneath me, or alongside me.”

  Before I could pull away from Preston, Freddy jumped up, grabbed Preston by the collar and belt, and then lifted him into the air.

  Not knowing what hit him, Preston screamed, “How did you do that?”

  “All my workouts paid off,” I replied behind him. Then I opened the door, and Freddy threw him into the hallway. “Thanks for a not-wonderful night, Preston.” I closed the door in his shocked face.

  Freddy wrapped his long arms around me. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded. Then gazing into his adoring eyes, I said, “Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that the first song in the player piano was ‘Someone to Watch Over Me.’”

  Freddy leaned toward me.

  My stomach growled. Eyeing the kitchenette,
I said, “How about if I eat dinner while we discuss the case?”

  He sighed. “Your wish is my command.” Freddy served the next course: salmon mousse on crackers. Then he sat opposite me at the table.

  I asked him, “What did you think of Preston?”

  “He’s a wurp.”

  I was beginning to understand Freddy’s Roaring-Twenties-speak. “He sure is a buzzkill. He’s also a hypocrite and an enemy of his own people.”

  “Besides all the revivalist hooey, why would Preston give Alexandria smooch at their first meeting?”

  “Good question—you did mean money, right?”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t mean a kiss on the lips.” He winked. “I’ll reserve that for you.”

  Ignoring Freddy’s flirting, I recalled my observation in the hallway. “Preston didn’t look too happy when he handed Alexandria the envelope.”

  Freddy added, “I too question Preston’s good-neighbor jargon. In my day, we didn’t write checks to people we barely knew—unless they worked in a creep joint.”

  “You went to brothels?”

  “Only to visit with my politician friends as they were leaving.”

  Chewing on a cracker, I said, “Freddy, this is delicious.”

  “Of course it is. I made it. And speaking of food, did you notice Preston said he’s allergic to tomatoes, but later he mentioned being home alone with a pizza when Alexandria was murdered?”

  I replied between bites, “Preston could have been eating a white pizza.”

  “What the devil is that?”

  “A pizza with no tomato sauce.”

  Freddy gagged. “That will never catch on.” He tented his fingers. “And did you see how Preston nearly pulled a Daniel Boone… meaning nearly upchucked… when you asked him about going into New York City regularly? Preston Steele is definitely hiding something.”

  “Elementary, my dear Holmes.”

  I heard pounding at my front door. Hurrying to it, I spotted Victor through my peephole. After I swung open the door, Victor and Alexander entered in joint panic.

  “Andre, you have to help us!”

  Alexander added, “I didn’t do it! I swear!”

  “Time for a beat session,” Freddy said from his seat.

  “Agreed,” I whispered.

  Victor flung his arms around my neck. “Thank you for believing us, Andre!”

  Leading them to the chaise, I said, “Why don’t you both sit down and tell me what’s wrong.” After they were seated next to me, Victor clasped Alexander’s hand like a life raft. “Alexander is going to be arrested!”

  “For a crime I didn’t commit!” Alexander added.

  Freddy rose and stood over me. “Sounds like your neighbor the peeper thinks Alexander zotched his sister.”

  “I can see that,” I whispered to Freddy.

  Andre grabbed my shoulders. “Then help us!”

  Trying to calm them down, I said, “Tell me everything—from the beginning.”

  Victor sucked in a shaky breath, causing his lime polo shirt to wobble like gelatin. “Detective Shawnee just left Alexander’s apartment.”

  “He told me my fingerprints and DNA were on the murder weapon,” Alexander added.

  “They were on Alexandria’s scarf because Alexander wears her clothes.” Victor placed a protective arm around Alexander’s narrow shoulders. “Alexander keeps his door unlocked so his sister—when she was alive—and now his brother-in-law can visit. So anyone could have snuck in and stolen that scarf. The murderer must have put on gloves, killed Alexandria, and then returned the scarf to Alexander’s hall closet before the police took Alexandria’s clothes away.”

  Still in mourning, Alexander wore a black dress shirt and slacks. His eyes brimmed with tears. “I would never hurt my sister. I was trying to help her.”

  I said, “My neighbor overheard you in your apartment arguing with Alexandria about her overdue loan.”

  Alexander slid a tissue out of his pocket and blew his tiny nose. “I knew the Russian mob meant business. When my mother refused to help Alexandria, I begged my sister to take my money to pay the Russians back, but she wouldn’t. I was scared something like this would happen to her. And it did.” He broke down.

  Victor held Alexander in his arms. “My father, Victor Martinez Sr., was named the wealthiest Latino in Florida, and my parents told me to fend for myself, just like your mother said to Alexandria.” Victor smirked. “The Tzar Me In Corporation owns this building, and your sister did business with the Russian mob. Pretty ironic, huh?”

  “I told her that!” Alexander rested his head on Victor’s shoulder.

  Victor patted his back. “Don’t worry. Andre will take care of this.”

  Freddy smirked. “Andre to the rescue.”

  I ignored him and asked Victor, “What do you want me to do?”

  Victor replied, “Talk to Shawnee. I’ve seen him with your aunt a few times. I think he likes her. Hopefully Shawnee will listen to you. Tell him Alexander didn’t kill his sister and that anyone in the building could have done it.” He hugged Alexander to his chest. “We just got together. I can’t lose you now!”

  I offered, “I’ve talked to Denis and—

  “Denis didn’t do it!” Alexander seemed more concerned about Denis than himself. “He loved Alexandria, and he would never hurt her!”

  Moving to the next suspects, I said, “I’ve also questioned Hunter Buck in 2C and Preston Steele, the new tenant in 2A.”

  Victor screeched, “You had a date with Preston Steele tonight! Did you pump him… for information?”

  I replied, “Both Hunter and Preston had financial dealings with Alexandria, and neither of them has an airtight alibi for the night she was murdered.”

  “Thank God!” Victor released Alexander and grabbed my hand. “Please tell Shawnee everything you know.”

  “Yes, tell Shawnee all about my investigation.”

  I offered an aside to Freddy, “It’s our investigation.”

  “Call it anything you like.” Victor shook my shoulders. “Just don’t let Shawnee arrest Alexander.”

  A tear slid down Alexander’s cheek. “I’m a lawyer. I know the evidence is mounting against me, but I swear I didn’t kill my sister.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Thank you, Andre!” Alexander burst into tears again.

  Freddy groaned. “What a sob sister.” He added, “Or a lawyer putting on a performance for the jury.”

  I rose. “Victor, take Alexander back to his apartment. I’ll visit Shawnee.”

  “Thanks, buddy. Later.” Victor lifted Alexander to his feet and then walked him to the front door. Turning to me, he said, “Let me know how things go with Shawnee. And tell me how your date went down.”

  Freddy sniggered. “It went down like the Titanic.”

  Victor continued. “I saw Preston Steele in the hallway. He looks like that porn star, Hulk Topper.” He added quickly to Alexander, “I saw his picture online. I’d never watch porn.”

  When they were gone, I rested my back against the door and breathed.

  Freddy placed a hand on his narrow hip. “Your little friend Victor said it was ironic that the Tzar Me In Corporation owned the building and Alexandria owed money to the Russian mob.”

  “Do you think there’s a connection?”

  “I most certainly do, but not with the corporation and the mob.” He tented his fingers. “I believe the irony to which Victor referred was Victor Martinez Sr. not giving his son a penny, despite the fact that he owns the building.”

  I scratched my head. “How do you know Victor’s father owns this building?”

  “Victor announced his father was the wealthiest Martinez in Florida. You told me the Tzar Me In Corporation hails from Florida and owns my old homestead. When the Anagrams boardgame was released in 1934, I was champion at every party. So I can tell you Tzar Me In is an anagram for Martinez. Now what could be more ironic than a father cutting off his son who lives in
the family building?”

  I raced to the bedroom with Freddy at my heels. The moment I sat behind my laptop, I turned it on and searched for the Tzar Me In Corporation. The owner was listed as V. Martinez. “Freddy, you’re a genius!”

  “Yes, that’s true. But it was actually a relatively simple deduction.” He leaned on the desk. “From the get-go, your little friend Victor reminded me of Sniveling Simon Snotworthy, who lived in my dormitory at the university. Simon constantly begged his pals for loans, never having money for cigs, chewing gum, gasoline, or to take a girl to the petting pantry. Upon my meeting Simon’s father at graduation, I came to find out the old man owned the university, but he wouldn’t give poor Simon a penny until the dear boy got employment. However, the joke was on Simon’s dad when no employer would hire Simon because he couldn’t drive to the interview.”

  I focused back on the investigation. “But what does Victor’s father owning this building have to do with Alexandria’s murder?”

  “Perhaps Victor was even more angry than your aunt when Alexandria didn’t pay her rent.” Freddy paced the room. “But what intrigued me the most about your little friend’s visit was Victor’s parting comment about Hulk Topper.”

  I grinned. “Victor was lying when he denied having ever looked at porn.”

  “As my chum Mae West said when we were invited to watch a pornographic film, ‘I’ll try anything once, twice if I like it, three times to make sure.’” He sat on the window seat. “Victor’s interest in pornography aside, he said Preston Steele and pornographic star Hulk Topper look alike. Preston Steele mentioned going to New York City regularly. With Preston’s holy rolling, he seems like someone who would lead a double life—like my pal Aimee Semple McPherson, who could heal a man in or behind the revival tent.”

  “You think Preston Steele and Hulk Topper could be the same person?”

  “Perhaps your magic box can tell us?”

  I searched for Hulk Topper. Then I read, “Hulk Topper appeared in three gay porn movies shot in New York City. The latest was Willy’s Wonka. Topper is thirty years old with a Southern boy charm.” Flipping the screen around to face Freddy, I said, “Here’s his picture.”

  Freddy gazed at the screen. “If Preston Steele had black hair and dark eyes, he could be Hulk Topper.”