by P. A. Brown
A small sound woke him. He looked up, blinking, to find David standing in the doorway staring down at him with flat, unreadable eyes. He was dressed again; even from the doorway Chris could smell the reek of alcohol coming off his clothes.
“How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember?” Chris sat up, glad he had decided to wear pajamas last night.
Normally he slept naked, but that hadn’t seemed like a good idea with a drunk and overly amorous David in the house.
“If I remembered, would I ask?”
“You came banging on my door last night.”
“What time was that?”
“Around one o’clock.”
“My car’s not in the driveway.”
“I don’t know how you got here.” Chris shrugged. “You never said.”
Suspicion darkened David’s face. “Why didn’t you just send me home? There’s money in my wallet. You could have paid a cab.”
Chris bristled. “I tried to get you out of here. You refused to go. I had no choice but to put you to bed.” Chris untangled himself from the futon and stood. “Look, I’m going to make coffee. We can continue this discussion in the kitchen.”
David put his hand on Chris’s arm. “What happened last night, Chris?”
Chris snatched his arm away. “You mean did I take advantage of you? Fuck you, David.”
Before he could respond, Chris shoved by him and stormed into the kitchen, where he banged around refilling the kettle and grinding coffee until his anger subsided.
David appeared in the kitchen doorway. He looked tired.
“I’m sorry, Chris,” he said. “That was uncalled for.”
“What’s this about a fight with Martinez?”
“I told you that? Sorry, that was just stupid.”
“You said I wasn’t a suspect anymore, but Martinez didn’t want to let it go. Is it because I’m gay?”
David winced. He rubbed his head. “Yeah, well Martinez has some problems with that.”
“Martinez is a narrow-minded bigot.” Big news there. David already knew that. He’s the guy who had to live with it. Chris banged around in the cupboard, producing two mugs for his efforts. “Where did you go last night?”
“Some bar up in La Canada. Country and western place. I don’t remember leaving.
Next thing, I’m waking up in your bed, practically naked.”
“If you’d had your way, you’d have been completely naked. And I’d have been there with you.”
David blushed scarlet.
“Do me a big favor,” Chris said. “Next time you come over, do it sober. Then I won’t have to say no. I don’t want to say no. I don’t think you do either. Where does that leave us, David?”
“Maybe we need to talk.”
“That sounds like a good start—”
“Is that coffee ready?” David rubbed his forehead again. “I could really use some.”
Chris poured him a mug. He sighed when he took his first sip. “Now I remember why I don’t do that.”
“Go on benders?”
“Right. Was I really bad?”
“Blotto. Totally and completely blotto. I’ve rarely seen anyone that stinking—”
“Okay, I get the picture.” David set his mug down and looked around the kitchen.
“Where’s your phone? I have to call a cab.”
“Let me give you a ride. I still got my rental. It’s the least I can do after compromising you.”
“Compromising—” His eyes narrowed. “According to you, we didn’t do anything.”
“I can fix that soon enough.” Chris moved closer, grasped David’s powerful arms, and drew him down until their mouths touched. “How about this?”
The passion that had burst between them the first time was still there, untamed. David tasted of coffee and mint; he had clearly taken advantage of Chris’s mouthwash before he came downstairs. Chris groaned when David’s hands moved down to his ass and pressed their growing erections together, proving the lust was not one-sided.
Chris murmured against his throat, “You sure you can’t stay? I could make you breakfast. Wash your clothes for you. Take you to bed and ravish you.”
David broke away, laughing shakily. “In that order?”
“Any order you like.”
“This is getting too complicated.”
“David—”
“I can’t, Chris. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“Is it your partner?”
“It’s everything. It’s who I am.”
“I don’t think I like who you are very much.”
“Sometimes neither do I.”
Chris stared at him for several seconds. David looked away.
“Fine,” Chris sighed. “Come on, let’s go find your wheels. Jesus, I hope you can remember where this place is.”
“A country western bar in La Canada?” He shook his head. “This should be fun.”
Wednesday, 11:30 am, Baptiste Way, La Canada, Los Angeles It took them nearly two hours to track down the bar, a tiny, nondescript cinder-block building tucked behind a dirt parking lot near Foothill. The parking lot was half-concealed by a pair of massive Sycamores which hid the cars from the street. It barely looked inhabited, but when they pulled into the lot at two minutes after ten, two Latino guys came out of the building. One of them carried two cases of empties out to a blue pickup.
“They here last night?” Chris asked as they watched the two dump the empties and head back, presumably for more.
“I barely remember being here last night,” David said.
“This your car?”
Chris strolled around the ’56 Chevy Two-Ten sport coupe David was struggling to restore. On his salary it was a project destined to take years. But Chris seemed to see beyond the damaged body and faded paint.
“Wow, haven’t seen one of these in years. Where’d you find it? And what happened to that horrible Ford?”
“That’s an LAPD car. I bought this from a guy in Palmdale two years ago.”
“Beautiful. Hard to find parts?”
“There are places.” David shrugged. “You into classics?”
“Go to all the shows. Unfortunately I’m mechanically challenged. I figure I’m doing pretty good to pump my own gas.”
David laughed and unlocked the door. He reached in and popped the hood. They peered inside. “I did a complete rebuild of the carburetor,” David said, pointing out the piece. The manifold’s new, too.”
Chris leaned in; their shoulders brushed and David could smell him. A pulse beat in his head. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But he didn’t move away.
“I go to all the shows, too,” he said. “When I can.”
“Yeah? Which ones?”
Their eyes met. “Palm Springs. San Diego once. The L.A. shows, of course.”
Chris swallowed. “Palm Springs is nice.” This was insane. Standing in the middle of a dusty parking lot in broad daylight and all David wanted to do was kiss this man.
Where had all his discipline gone? All his hardwon resolve?
Chris’s phone rang. David jerked back. He slammed the hood down and retreated to the open door and got in the car.
“Des, how’s it going—” Even from where he sat, David could hear Chris’s friend.
Chris tried to break in but Des wasn’t letting up.
“I’ll try—” Des’s voice dropped and Chris hunched over the phone, straining to hear.
Beginning to look worried.
“Des—” Chris stared at his cell. With a low curse he shut it off and met David’s gaze.
“Trouble?” David asked. Chris started to shake his head, then stopped. “Kyle’s disappeared.”
“Kyle—oh, right. Des’s friend. What do you mean, disappeared?”
“He called me the other night from Santa Monica. He thought someone was following him.” Chris shrugged, an uneasy gesture. “I told him I’d come get him but when I got there I couldn’t find him.”
“W
hen was this?”
“Yesterday.” Chris bent down, leaning his elbows on the window’s lip. “Do me a favor?”
Warily David met his eyes. “What?”
“Can you do anything for him?” Chris held up his hand, palm out. “We already filed a report with the Santa Monica Police, but I could tell they were giving us the brush-off.”
David opened his mouth to say something, but Chris didn’t give him a chance. “Kyle had no reason to run away. And he was being followed. Des is worried.”
“Chris, I don’t know—”
“Just run one of your checks, can you?”
“You mean check the morgues? The hospitals?”
Chris winced and looked away. When he looked back his face was pale but stoic.
“Yes. If that’s what it takes.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks,” Chris said quietly. He smiled. “Let’s hope I’m wasting your time.”
“Sure.”
Chris patted the side of the Chevy. “You’ll have to take me for a ride sometime.”
“Ah, sure.” David settled both hands on the worn steering wheel. “We can do that.”
“Have dinner with me tonight, David.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Hell, he knew it wasn’t. Could he really spend the evening with this guy and keep it safe?
“Dinner, David. What’s the harm in that?”
David looked at him like he was crazy. He should know just being in the same room raised thoughts that David had long ago forsworn. He squeezed the wheel in his big hands.
“Okay,” he said, knowing it was a big mistake, but beginning to feel like a moth in front of a brilliant flame. “Dinner.”
“Hermosa Beach,” Chris said. His fingers caressed the ivory door panel. “You can drive. Pick me up at my place, six?”
“Six, sure.” David slammed the door shut with a solid thunk. He rolled the window down and propped his elbow on the lip. “Tonight then.” He drove off the lot in a plume of dust.
“Brilliant,” David muttered. “Absolutely brilliant.”
His cell phone rang.
It was Martinez. “I got a positive ID on our first John Doe. Meet me at the station in thirty minutes.”
Traffic was heavy leaving Verdugo; he saw the flashing lights of the California Works Department ahead of him. Heat shivered off the stalled traffic and blacktop. He wasn’t getting anywhere in thirty minutes. The work crew stood around looking into a hole they had made in the ground, while their machinery stood by idle.
Nobody was moving in the torpid heat.
David calculated how long it would take to get home and have a quick shower and change his clothes.
“Make it ninety minutes. I’m stuck in traffic.”
“Ninety then.” Martinez clicked off.
In his rear view he saw Chris two cars behind him in the left lane. All his windows were rolled up and even from here he looked cool and unruffled in his air-conditioned car.
A guy who had it all.
Who was David kidding? He did have it all, and then some. Of what interest would a closeted cop at least ten years his senior be to a man like that?
David sighed and leaned over to crank the other window down. It didn’t help much, but it was better than nothing. He turned on the radio and caught the tail end of Garth Brooks wailing on about walking in the fire. Then it was Patsy Cline’s turn.
*****
“This one disappeared out of Silver Lake in early July. No doubt there, according to his numerous friends.” Martinez sucked on a mint, scowling. “And no doubt about which way he swung. Found his roommate and he was happy to give up these.” Martinez handed over a pair of three-by-fives. They showed another slender guy with dark hair cut short and streaked. He was dressed in leather. At least he was partly dressed, as Martinez was quick to point out.
“Get a look at that outfit. Can you believe they wear that shit?”
David hadn’t seen too many men in full leather regalia. He'd visited one leather bar in Palm Springs and spent a night with a too submissive bottom who was more into pain than David was comfortable with. In his experience they were a private bunch who kept to their own clubs and rarely wore their gear in public. This one had on leather chaps over bare skin—only a leather pouch covered his genitals. A harness studded with metal rings, exposing a well-muscled chest, covered his upper body. Both nipples were pierced. Dark eyes peered out from under a stiff leather cap. In one picture a pair of black shades dangled from his fingers. In the second one he had donned the mirrored sunglasses to put the finishing touch on the ensemble. He looked like something out of a Kafka western.
David glanced down at the missing-person report Martinez had dug up. Jeff Charette.
Apartment in Newport Beach at the time he went missing. Twenty-three. The oldest identified victim so far.
“His friends know where he hung out?”
Martinez flipped through his notes. “Couple of places. Joint called the Eagle Leather Bar. Silver Lake. Another one in West Hollywood.”
“Guess we plan a visit.” Again he studied the report. “Missing somewhere between the thirtieth of June and the first of July. Body found July third. Dead at least twenty-four hours at that point.”
“If our doer went by his standard MO then he was held several hours.” Martinez narrowed his dark eyes and chewed fiercely on his mint as he glared at David. “We?
What do you mean ‘we’?”
“Wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”
“Thanks, partner. Has anyone informed the sheriff’s department about this? This guy seems to be operating in their backyard just as freely as he is in ours.”
“Lieutenant says they’re apprised and they’re willing to share the investigation, but they figure it’s our call. Body dumps are ours, no way to know where the doer’s stashing them, but unless we can prove he’s doing them in West Hollywood—”
“—they want no part of it.”
David shrugged. “It’s a political hot potato no one wants to catch.”
“I know how they feel. ‘We,’ huh? Madre de dios, my mother would be turning over in her grave if she could see her eldest son now.”
*****
From the outside, the Eagle didn’t look like much. Plain dark brick and a door covered with security bars. Martinez stood on the sidewalk and stared at it as if it was the entrance to a man-eating dragon’s lair. David pushed the door open. Beside him Martinez hitched up his purple herringbone pants and followed. The instant they were inside David could smell the old reek of hops, stale sex, and cigar smoke.
The interior of the club was deliberately dark and cavernous. Light came from wall sconces and a pair of fluorescent lights above the bar. There were a lot of dark paneled walls posted with images of men. Several TV monitors played porn loops. David wondered if Bobby had played here. He was mesmerized by one that showed a bear in full police regalia, right down to the holstered gun fucking what could only be a Latino gangbanger. The bartender was a tall, narrow-hipped guy in full leather, including a peaked hat on his hairless head. No pierced nipples on this one, but he did have a black and gold leather dog collar around his neck and several gold earrings in both earlobes. A submissive.
He watched them approach with flat brown eyes.
“Dios.” Martinez breathed shallowly through his mouth. His eyes didn’t stop anywhere for long.
David took in the long mahogany bar on one side and the narrow row of small tables crammed along the opposite wall.
Acres of glass surrounded a tiled dance floor that wasn’t much bigger than a kitchen table but was already packed with at least a dozen men writhing to the deep bass that thundered out of hidden speakers. Lights bounced off the mirrored walls and the watchful patrons, most of whom had gigged themselves up in leather. Behind the dance floor there was a stage festooned with posters for upcoming contests and shows, most showing images of semi-naked men in erotic poses.
/> David stared at a tall black guy leaning against the bar who wore nothing but chaps and a leather thong that did a poor job of concealing his equipment. David could even make out the cock ring the guy wore. His body was hairless and oiled, showing off his sculptured ebony chest and tight abs. David stared at him hungrily.
His eyes met David’s and held them. He showed white teeth in a smile that completely unnerved David. As if he knew David’s secrets. Even the ones he barely acknowledged. He broke out in a hot sweat.
Everyone in the bar watched them. Especially Martinez, who along with the purple pants sported a loud yellow and green plaid blazer that had to be one of the ugliest things David had ever seen. Add to that a wide, purple tie and he definitely stood out in this field of cowhide.
“Help you?” the bartender asked.
David and Martinez both flipped out their gold shields. Then David pulled out the police-artist sketch he had had prepared from Digger and Ant’s descriptions of Anstrom’s phony uncle the day before and showed it to the bartender. “Have you ever seen this man?”
The bartender sucked on the ragged end of his Fu Manchu mustache. “Maybe,” he drawled. “Not a regular.”
“When did you see him?”
“Didn’t say I did, now did I?” the bartender said. “Just... maybe.”
“Ever see him with anyone?” The bartender shrugged. “Maybe. Who pays attention?”
“How long you worked here?” Martinez leaned his bulk over the bar, crowding the bartender’s space. “Most bartenders I know, they don’t miss anything that goes on in their place.”
The bartender looked Martinez up and down, unfazed by his nearness. “I don’t think we travel in the same circles, friend. I run a place where guys come in, have a few drinks, maybe meet new people.”
Martinez sneered. “Pollyanna’s dating service.” He looked around the crowded bar.
“If I was to start carding guys, what do you think I might find?”
“That a threat?”
“Sure it’s a threat,” Martinez said. “How come no one ever recognizes plain old police threats anymore?”
“We just came to ask some questions,” David said quickly before this could degenerate into a pissing match. “Let’s start with your name.”