“Hey, Sherm.” I prepared to field insults in order to get my information.
He turned the TV off in the middle of what looked like one huge catfight. “I was wondering when you would show up.”
“I’m sorry, Sherm. I know how much he meant to you.”
He didn’t move for a moment, then a large fat tear rolled down his face. “I shoulda made up with him, you know?”
I noticed that Sherm’s usually superbly coiffed hair was not brushed into its typical neat waves, and the thin line that connected his beard to his sideburns was in dire need of trimming. Even his manicured nails were looking…well, overlooked.
“I just figured he was wrong and I was right. I thought if I waited long enough, he would come apologize, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” If there was one thing I did know about, it was how pride could make you do things that you regretted later. Or make you not say the things that you should. I was thankful I’d finally told Riley I loved her. If I got my head blown off now, at least she would not have to wonder where to sit at the funeral. Family and partners always sat in the front row.
I glanced sideways at Riley to see how she was taking all this. Her eyes were riveted on the big man as if she were watching something she couldn’t comprehend. I knew how she felt. I didn’t like Big Sherm, never had. Aside from some pretty disgusting personal habits, he was also a drug-dealing gang leader. I was shocked when I found out—by catching them in the act, so to speak—that he and Marcus were an item. I’d been so sure that he was no good and would end up hurting Marcus. I had been partially right. Marcus and Sherm had split up within a year. I never got the full story, but apparently it was because Marcus felt that Sherm would always be ashamed of who he was. I’d never known two more different people.
“What happened to him, Sherm?” I gently lured him away from whatever memories he was plugged into.
“He was killed coming home from the drag show. I told him. I told him not to wear that shit in public, you know? Some punk with a hard-on for trouble sees it as an invitation. He must have had a flat or something, ’cause they found him in his car. He was beaten and…” Sherm choked up. “They beat him so bad that his casket was kept closed at the funeral.”
I felt myself sway, and Riley’s hand moved to my hip to steady me. I didn’t want to think about what his final moments had been like.
“Random hate crime. That’s what they’re saying. Someone saw him standing there and decided to fuck him up. I don’t know, Foster. I just don’t know. I checked. I had my boys on every corner out there. Made it sound like he owed me money or something. No one knows who did him.”
“Do you know if he was involved in anything, maybe something he shouldn’t have been?”
Sherm looked up then. I didn’t see any joy or any sorrow, just complete emptiness. “I haven’t talked to Marcus since we stopped seeing each other. But you know him, he was as straight as they come. He was always trying to get me to give up the game.”
I nodded. I didn’t feel like explaining to Sherm what I meant by Marcus being into something. I didn’t want him asking me questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. “I’m going to try to find out who did this.”
“I heard you were off the force.”
I stiffened. So word had gotten out. “I am. What does that have to do with anything?”
He looked at me appraisingly. “Why are you here, Foster? That friend of yours…Stacy…could have told you what happened to Marcus. She probably knows more than I do. The police won’t tell me shit.” Sherm glared at me as if I were withholding information.
I was tempted to console him, but I knew as well as anyone why Sherm had not bothered to go to the police. Not because he was afraid of any backlash from them, but because he was afraid of anyone finding out about his sexuality. That was something he would have to live with. I had my own demons to fight.
“Yeah, she could have, but I need your help.”
His brown eyes immediately shut down. There was no evidence of the man who had lost his ex-lover. “Why should I help you? Not like we were ever friends.”
“No, but I’m going to find out who killed Marcus. I figure you want their balls on a plate about as much as I do.”
He sneered. “How you gonna do that? You’re not even a cop anymore.”
“I don’t need to be a cop to find out who did this. Now, you going to help me or what?”
“What do you want?”
“I need a car with legit tags that can’t be traced, and some equipment. More weapons, some lock picks, a penlight, and a police ID. Oh, and a tiny tape recorder. Quality shit, Sherm, not that costume shit.” I remembered the money that I had taken from Riley and added, “A couple grand would help, too.”
He didn’t laugh or turn me down flat. “When you need it?”
“Yesterday.”
“Come back later.”
We were halfway through the door when Sherm called out, “Everett?”
“Yeah?”
“You should go see his gravesite. They laid him out real nice. He would have been proud.”
*
Back in the car, Riley cupped my face in her hands and kissed me sweetly. “I love you.”
A small tendril of arousal caused my nipples to harden. Oh boy, this is going to take some getting used to. “I love you, too,” I said, and although I was as shocked to hear myself say it as I was the first time around, it still felt right and good.
If I had any doubts about my lapse in control in admitting the truth before, her smile was enough to convince me I’d done the right thing. It was far simpler to make sure she stayed out of harm’s way than to keep denying my feelings.
We drove to Secrets and Stacy opened the door quickly, almost as if she had been waiting for us.
“Are you two nuts? Get in here!” She slammed the door behind us before grabbing us both in a bear hug. “Why in the hell did you come back?”
I tried to speak, but had to stop because I was trapped between Riley’s body and hers.
“Sorry, baby.” Riley stepped back with a rakish grin on her face.
Stacy gave us a look. Baby, huh? “You just here to give me a show or what?”
Riley and I exchanged a lingering look.
“Sorry, Stace,” I said.
“No, you’re not. Come back to the office. There’s no one here but me. Chrissie won’t be in for a while. This is inventory day.”
We adjourned to the small, cramped office she only used when doing paperwork and other things requiring concentration. I contemplated perching on Riley’s lap, but thought better of it and instead sat on a corner of Stacy’s desk.
“We went to talk to Big Sherm.”
The vague look of disgust faded from her face as she realized, as I had, that Big Sherm was probably hurting as much as we were over Marcus’s murder. “How is he taking it?”
“Not so good. Stacy, what happened the last time you saw Marcus?”
Stacy sighed. “Marcus was in the Miss Secrets contest, like he always is. It was a packed house, so I didn’t get a chance to do much more than wave at him from across the room. I did see his show, though. You know how the girls hoot and holler for him.”
I nodded. Everyone loved Marcus, and we all secretly did what we could to sway the vote, even though there was a panel of judges that determined the winner.
“Anyway, he won. The last time I saw him was when he got crowned,” she said regretfully.
“You didn’t notice when he left?”
“No. Chrissie told the two cops who questioned us that he left a little after one.”
“Did they say where they found his car?”
“Yes, right off the freeway over on Barham. The keys were still in the ignition, and he had the trophy for the contest plus the check for two hundred fifty dollars still in his bag. That’s how they tracked him here to Secrets.”
And why they figured it was a hate crime. “Nothing was stolen,” I said, more to myself t
han to Stacy, but she nodded as if that odd fact had occurred to her as well.
“Did he ever say anything to you about something he might have been working on or looking into?”
“You mean something to do with you?”
“I don’t know. I told him to leave it alone, but Marcus was stubborn when he got on the scent of something.”
“As far as I know, he stopped. He didn’t say anything to me about it.”
Something else occurred to me. “Do you remember which two cops questioned you? I want to make sure they are putting the best they can on Marcus’s case and not just pushing it under the rug.”
Stacy opened her desk drawer and pulled out a small white card. “One of them gave me his name, just in case we remembered anything else.”
It could just be coincidence, I told myself as the name “Alvin Wilson” stared me in the face. But I couldn’t help wondering why two detectives assigned to the Cold Case division were investigating a hate crime.
“Mind if I keep this?”
“Sure, go ahead. Anything wrong?”
“No. Not at all.” I handed the card to Riley, even though I was sure it meant nothing to her. She didn’t ask any questions, just put it in her shirt pocket.
I couldn’t think of anything else to ask Stacy, so I told her we would be in touch. “Stacy, do me a favor and let me know if those two cops come back around, okay? I want to know what they’re up to.”
“Sure, I’ll give you a call.” She hugged each of us. “Be careful, you two. I don’t need anyone else to visit at the cemetery.”
*
“I’m going to break into Marcus’s house. If he was hiding some information it’s probably there somewhere.”
Riley flipped our steaks. “How are you going to do that?”
“Sherm’s going to give me lock picks.”
“That’s illegal,” she said evenly.
“Highly, which is why you need to stay here.”
I put a piece of tomato in my mouth. Riley’s dressing gave it a tart but pleasant taste. I chewed it appreciatively. My appetite had been lousy ever since I heard about Marcus, but tonight I felt like I was doing something at last, so I was hungry.
“What if the police are watching his house?” Riley placed our steaks on the table.
“I don’t see why they would be. If they really believe it’s a random hate crime, why watch his house? And if they think he was up to something…Well, he’s not anymore.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said in that no-nonsense voice of hers.
Shit…shit…shit! I dug morosely into my salad. “No, that’s not a good idea.”
Riley got up to get me more water. “I can be the lookout while you pick open the lock.”
I don’t know when it happened, but the tide had turned in our relationship and I was not the one calling the shots. I chomped down on a big-ass piece of cucumber and wondered sullenly if I had ever really been calling the shots.
Riley sat back down in her chair and, almost as if she’d heard my thoughts, gave me a large grin that I couldn’t help but return. The words “pussy whipped” came to mind. I decided to eat my steak. When in doubt, do something you’re good at.
*
This time when I pounded on the door to the bar, we were admitted immediately. Both Riley and I were dressed in black and probably looked ridiculous, but I wasn’t so much worried about that. My conscience was starting to give me trouble. I didn’t mind breaking the law myself, but the idea that I was going to drag Riley down with me, well, it didn’t sit right.
Sherm was sitting in the same room that I assumed served as his office when there wasn’t any illegal gambling going on. The minute we walked through the door, he tossed me the keys to the car I had requested. “It’s the midnight blue Blazer in the back parking lot.” He snapped open several cases and turned them toward us. “Here are your tools. This shit was hard to come by.”
“Sorry.” I turned the tiny tape recorder over in my hand before shoving it, along with the case that held my new lock pick set, into my pocket.
He pointed to Riley with his chin. “You want the big one to have a gun?”
“No, and her name is not…the Big One.”
Riley gripped my hand under the table. I felt like knocking the shit out of Sherm for talking about Riley as if she wasn’t sitting in front of him.
He shrugged. “Look, I don’t have time for polite conversation. Can we get on with this? I got things to do.”
I made myself calm down. I did need Sherm, probably a lot more then he needed me. I picked up a box of ammunition and a .38 caliber Smith and Wesson that had already been shoved into an ankle holster. I still had the two Glock 19s that Sherm had given me before I left L.A., so I took two more clips for those as well. “What about the money?”
Sherm slammed a white envelope on the table and sent it sliding over to me. I resisted the urge to count the stack of money and instead handed it to Riley.
“How do I know you’re going to get me my stuff back?”
“Who the fuck are you kidding? You didn’t pay for any of these stolen goods. As for the money, that’s nothing to you, so don’t get started with me.”
He knew as well as I did, whether I found the guys that murdered Marcus or not, he wasn’t getting one red cent of his money back. I held my breath and waited to see if Sherm would blow his stack. Normally I wouldn’t give a shit; I was determined to go after Marcus’s killer with or without his help. I just figured it would be a lot easier if he supplied the necessary hardware.
“Later, Sherm. I got things to do, too.” I rose and followed Riley to the door.
“When am I gonna hear from you?” Sherm called after us.
“In a few days, unless I find something before then.”
Sherm pushed a card across the table. I walked over and scooped it up, glancing at it quickly before pocketing it. There was a phone number on the card—no name, no title, just the number.
“That’s my cell,” he said. “Not too many people have that.” I put it in my pocket and turned to leave. “How do I reach you?” he asked.
I looked back at him in surprise. Does he think I’m stupid? “You don’t.”
I was tempted to grab Riley’s hand as we walked back to the parking lot, but I figured it would just fuck up my tough-girl reputation, so I didn’t.
“He loved Marcus.” Riley said. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.
“Why do you say that?” I had come to the same conclusion, but I was curious how she had, after only meeting Sherm once.
“Because when you love someone, you let go of lots of things.”
“Like?”
“Like pride…safety.”
Pride, I understood. Sherm was holding his tongue with me because he loved Marcus, and he wanted his killers found and punished. But safety? I didn’t think Big Sherm was in any danger. “One of these days, I’m going to have to ask how they met, sort of an odd couple.”
“Any more odd than the two of us?” Riley asked.
“I don’t know. You’re not secretly pleasuring yourself with pen caps in the ear, are you?” I bumped against her so she would know I was kidding.
Riley grinned. “What do we do now?”
“We get over to Marcus’s place.”
She shoved her hands into her front pockets and slowed her pace. “Tonight?”
“Yeah, we have to. They may have already reached Marcus’s family. It’s possible that they could start clearing out his stuff soon.”
We walked toward the blue Blazer. I could smell the new-car scent from four paces away. The tires probably had a bottle of ArmorAll on each one, and the paint job was pristine. I opened the door and hit the button so that Riley could jump in, too. I whistled.
“Damn, this is nice.” I squished back into the leather.
Riley was looking around the truck as if something was going to reach out and grab her. “This isn’t stolen, is it?”
I cou
ld tell she was worried, and something in me wanted to lie to assuage her fears, but I couldn’t. So I went for a little vagueness and hoped she would leave it at that. “Riley, I told him I wanted a car that had legit tags. I’m sure it’s okay.”
That seemed to appease her. I didn’t tell her that a man like Sherm probably had a few people down at the DMV on his payroll. I hadn’t exactly lied. If we should ever get pulled over, this car would come back clean, but as for if it was stolen? Was Riley really that naïve?
*
I knew I had the right place before I even pulled the mail from the mailbox. Still, I thought it prudent to check before breaking into someone’s home. As I removed the crumpled mail from its tight confines, the mailbox lid banged loudly, making my heart speed up. I paused, waiting for a light to go on inside the house or at a nearby neighbor’s. When there was no flurry of activity, I absently waved Riley over, certain her eyes would be on me.
A cursory glance gave me no helpful phone bills or anything else that might give clues to what Marcus had been up to the last few weeks. I pulled out the case holding the lock picks. The set had a small penlight, which I held in my mouth to illuminate the doorknob as I worked. As an afterthought I went ahead and rang the doorbell, just in case.
The place was empty, but we still entered quietly, using the tiny flashlight to find our way. Marcus had a two-bedroom, one of which he’d turned into a home office. I figured the office was as good a place as any to start. He’d taken his time in decorating the split-level townhouse. The carpet was a light tan color that bordered on white, and all of the walls were painted a similar color. From the glance that I got of his living room I could see that it was also in a light color pattern. Marcus liked to entertain. In fact, he had, on several occasions, invited me to his dinner parties. But fearing I would be out of place, I had always cited a prior engagement. I sort of regretted that now; I would give anything to have spent more time with him. Being in his home made his death more real than seeing his gravesite ever could.
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