The Dirt Peddler

by Dorien Grey

  “And now he wants to back out of the entire contract.”

  Bernadine nodded, took a last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out on the pile of other butts in the ashtray.

  “He does, and he’s not going to.”

  “How often are you in contact with him?”

  He pushed the ashtray aside and sat back in his chair. “I’m pleased to say we aren’t. One of the first things he did when Dirty Little Minds started to take off was to hire an agent—Sal Armata, one of the best. Everything goes through him now.”

  “Did you know someone is blackmailing Tunderew?”

  I watched for his response.

  “Really?” He didn’t even look up from the ashtray. “Good for them. I hope they get every cent he has.”

  “Well, he’s going to do everything he can to see that they don’t, and he’s surely not going to just sit back and write out a check. I’m trying to find who’s behind it before it goes too far.”

  Before he could leap to the accurate conclusion that I might be referring to him, I hastened to add, “It occurred to me that it might be tied in with the book he’s working on. What do you know about it?”

  “Enough to be sure that what he submits to us will be the one he roughly outlined for me. As I said, we’re not stupid. Since he said he’d started on the second book when he convinced me to go with Dirty Little Minds, I asked him for an outline of the second book before we signed the contract. There are enough basics in there to guarantee he won’t be able to foist something else off on us.”

  “So you know who the subject of the next book is?”

  He smiled yet again. “Well, his books are all completely fiction, of course…” Uh huh “…but I think any third grader could figure it out. But of course I’m not going to say anything further than that. I’m sure you understand.”

  I did, though I really, really wanted to know. Whoever it was just might be the blackmailer.

  *

  On the way back to my office, I had a serious little talk with myself. I was increasingly aware that I really didn’t care who was blackmailing Tony T. Tunderew. And I felt guilty about it because it was my job to care—or at least find out who was behind the blackmail—and that I would do my best to do. I hadn’t had a chance to try to find Judith Francini yet, but of the people I’d contacted—Larry Fletcher, Catherine Tunderew, and the Bernadines—any one of them had a pretty good reason, and I could empathize with them all. But if I had to place any bets, I realized that Peter Bernadine had edged ahead of Catherine Tunderew. He had to know Glen O’Banyon was defending Tunderew in the suit, and he also had to know that O’Banyon won the majority of his cases.

  Tunderew had mentioned that the blackmailer wanted the money on a specific date—the fifteenth—and that date was two days after his next royalty check was due. It could well be coincidence, but if it wasn’t, it was unlikely that anyone other than somebody at Bernadine Press would know when royalty checks went out.

  Yeah, but the blackmail demand was for only ten thousand dollars—a small fraction of what Bernadine Press stood to lose if Tunderew broke the contract. Of course, perhaps the blackmailer intended it to be only the first installment.

  I debated on whether I should try to contact his new agent, Sal Armata, but decided to hold off on that. Armata was new to the picture and probably couldn’t provide any constructive information. Still, I’d keep him in mind.

  Tunderew would be back in town Thursday, and I hoped to be able to talk to him then. I still wasn’t sure how he was going to take the news that Larry Fletcher probably wasn’t the blackmailer: Tunderew was so sure he was. Again, he might well think I was covering up for a fellow fag—everyone knows how we stick together, after all. If that’s what he wanted to think, let him.

  *

  I was surprised, upon returning to the office, to find a message from Jonathan asking me to call him. Since, as I’ve said, he almost never called me at work, except maybe on his lunch hour, I immediately returned the call.

  “Evergreens.” I recognized the voice as one of Jonathan’s coworkers, though I couldn’t recall his name.

  “Is Jonathan around?”

  “Sure. Hold a second.”

  A very long “second” later, I heard the phone being picked up.

  “Hi, Dick. Thanks for calling back.”

  “What’s up?” I sensed something in his voice.

  “I’ve got a favor to ask… A really big favor and I’ll understand if you say ‘no.’”

  “Randy wants you to pick him up again and bring him into town?”

  There was a pause, then, “Uh, yeah…well, no, not exactly, but…uh…”

  “‘But uh what?” I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like what came next.

  “But can he stay with us for a few days? He got kicked out of New Eden.”

  Oh, joy! I thought.

  “Only for a few days.” His words picked up speed in an attempt to forestall my anticipated interruption. “I was going to tell him about Haven House, but he’s too old to stay there. He’s pretty sure he knows someplace he can stay after a couple of days, but right now he hasn’t got anywhere, and he let me stay with him when I didn’t have anywhere and I really owe him, and I don’t want him to have to just be out on the street with no place to go and…”

  “Okay, Jonathan, okay,” I said, trying to get him to let up on the accelerator. “He can stay with us a few days if you want…but it can’t be forever.”

  I could almost hear him exhale in relief. “No, it won’t. I promise. Just a few days.”

  “What time are you supposed to pick him up?”

  “I’m not. He’s here now.”

  Great! I thought. I wondered what Randy had done to get kicked out of New Eden on little or no advance notice. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything good. And I was more than a little concerned for Jonathan. I didn’t want Randy to start influencing him in the wrong direction.

  “Okay. I’ll pick you up right after work.” I didn’t ask what Randy would be doing in the meantime, but I hoped his showing up wouldn’t get Jonathan in any trouble with his boss.

  I had a few minor time-filler projects, including a trip to the Hall of Records to trace previous ownership on a parcel of land for one of the straight attorneys for whom I did occasional jobs. Hey, if I’d wanted a life of glamour I’d have gone to beauty school.

  Even though I deliberately took my time, I was in the car and on my way to the nursery half an hour early. When I pulled up in front of the main building, I saw Randy sitting on a bench, leaning forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped between them, apparently lost in thought. An Army-Navy Surplus duffle bag was propped against the edge of the bench. He didn’t even look up as I got out of the car and walked toward him. Finally, he noticed me and sat up.

  “Hi, Dick,” he said, not smiling.

  “Randy.” I gave a head nod toward the duffle bag. “You want to put your bag in the trunk?”

  He got up quickly. “Sure.” He picked up the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, following me to the car and, and when I opened the trunk, he tossed the bag in.

  “Thanks for letting me stay with you guys,” he said casually. I was struck by the realization that this was how Randy lived his life—one place to the next, never long in any one of them, everything he owned in a duffle bag. It was not a happy realization.

  “No problem.”

  I was not about to ask him what had happened that had made him leave New Eden. I figured if he wanted to tell me, he would. Or Jonathan would, later…if he knew. We moved around to the sidewalk side of the car. Not knowing how long Jonathan might be, I didn’t want to get in. I felt a little awkward, not really knowing what to say, and there was about a minute of silence until Randy looked toward the nursery entrance gate and gave a small heads-up nod.

  “Jonathan likes it here,” he said. “He’s doing pretty good.” I read into the last sentence that he didn’t mean just the job.

  �
�Yeah, I’m really proud of him.”

  Randy said nothing, but nodded.

  At that moment, luckily, Jonathan emerged from the gate and, grinning, came over.

  I went around to the driver’s side as Jonathan and Randy got in the passengers’ side.

  Jonathan, never at a loss for words, kept things from being too quiet on the way home by telling us of his day’s adventures, which included having gone with a landscaping crew to the suburbs to dig up a perfectly good front lawn, lay down fresh sod, and then discover they’d gone to the wrong house. Since his boss had written up the order and put down the wrong address, nobody got blamed for the mistake.

  *

  The evening went fairly smoothly. We picked up a bucket of fried chicken and trimmings on the way home, put Randy up in the guest bedroom, and spent most of the evening watching TV. Jonathan tried to do a little studying for his Thursday night class, but apparently didn’t want Randy to feel neglected.

  Randy himself didn’t have much to say, though he didn’t seem too concerned over his current situation.

  He in fact made a couple oblique references to a pretty solid future not too far off. Hustler talk? I couldn’t tell, but as with the previous times, there seemed to be an air of conviction that went somehow beyond fantasy.

  Jonathan and I went to bed around eleven, Randy opting to stay up and watch TV. Jonathan stayed in the living room with him until I was in bed, then came in a few minutes later.

  “You’d better watch out,” he said as we assumed our pre-sleep front-to-back “spoon” position, Jonathan’s back to me and my arm over his shoulder.

  “For what?”

  “Randy thinks you’re hot. He asked if we ever did three-ways.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “I told him ‘sure!’ He’ll be in in a minute.”

  I slid my hand rapidly down his side, open palm, grabbed his ass and squeezed so hard he yelped.

  “Okay, okay,” he said in a stage whisper. “So I didn’t.” There was a pause and then: “You want me to?”

  I squeezed again, and he buried his head in the pillow to muffle a still-audible “Owwwww!”

  When I moved my arm back over his shoulder, I said, “So did you find out why he left New Eden?”

  He nodded, but said nothing.

  “A secret?” He flipped over so we were face-to-face, belly-to-belly.

  “Barbara Dinsmore came home early last night from a trip and found her husband sitting spread-legged behind his desk in his office. He wasn’t wearing any pants and Randy was there, too, on his knees between Mr. Dinsmore’s legs. She wasn’t happy.”

  “Had she known her husband liked guys?”

  He shook his head.

  “If she didn’t, she sure does now. Randy got right up, hitched up his pants, and left while the Dinsmores had a little talk. This morning, Mrs. Dinsmore called him into the office and told him he had exactly fifteen minutes to get off the property or she’d call the police. He said she was very calm, but he could see the fires of hell behind her eyes. He said he just hoped her brother didn’t find out about it, for Mr. Dinsmore’s sake.”

  “Her brother?”

  “Yeah, her brother is Administrative Director for the place, and apparently very protective of his little sister.”

  “Interesting. And how is Randy taking all this?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “He’s okay with it. He said he was getting ready to leave New Eden anyway. He’s got big plans. He wouldn’t tell me what they are, but he’s got ’em.” He was quiet a moment, then said, rather softly, “I hope they work out for him.”

  “Me too.”

  *

  The first thing I did when I got to the office Thursday morning…well, after making coffee and reading the paper and doing the crossword puzzle, of course…was to dial Tunderew’s number and ask that he call me as soon as he could. I had no idea if he was already back in town or if he’d be in later that day, but I wanted to talk with him before I went any further on the case.

  Not twenty minutes later, the phone rang.

  “Hardesty Investigations.”

  “Tony Tunderew here. I’m at the airport, and I’m leaving immediately for my cabin up north. I’ll be back in town tomorrow morning. Did you talk to Larry Fletcher?”

  “Yes, I did. I also talked with your ex-wife and the Bernadines, and…”

  “I didn’t hire you to talk to my ex-wife and the Bernadines,” he said curtly. “I hired you to talk to Larry Fletcher. Why did you go any further than him?”

  Control, Hardesty, control!

  “I thought you hired me to find the blackmailer.”

  “I did. I told you Larry Fletcher is the blackmailer.”

  “I don’t think he is.”

  He sighed dramatically. “Well, I was afraid you’d say that, but then you girls always do stick together, don’t you?”

  “I’ll send you my bill.”

  I carefully replaced the phone onto its cradle lest I throw it through the window.

  That rotten sonofabitch! I thought, infinitely grateful—as he damned sure should be—that he wasn’t standing in front of me at that moment.

  Chapter 5

  God! I hate getting that angry! I was so furious I was really glad no one else was around—especially not Tony T. Tunderew. Even thinking about that was scary. And my mood did not materially improve when I realized he didn’t want me to find out who the blackmailer was if it wasn’t Larry Fletcher. Fletcher was a real threat to him not because of being gay but because of what he probably didn’t even realize he knew about where Tunderew had gotten the material for Dirty Little Minds. I wondered how Tunderew was getting the dirt for his new book, since he was no longer working for a company whose files he could steal.

  I managed to get through the day, somehow, and by the time I left the office for home, I had myself pretty much under control. I’d hardly thought of Randy all day, or of the fact that this was Jonathan’s school night, which meant that Randy and I would be alone together for a couple of hours. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to that aspect of the evening—not because I was tempted to pursue the possibilities of Jonathan’s revelation that Randy thought I was hot, but simply because I didn’t have a clue as to what we would find to talk about.

  I needn’t have worried. By the time I got home, after stopping at the store to pick up items on the grocery list Jonathan had made up that morning, Jonathan was already there, sitting in the kitchen talking with Randy.

  Jonathan got up from the table to give me a hug as I put the groceries down on the counter, then took a step back and looked at me, head cocked.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine. Just a rough day at work.”

  “Ah,” he said, sensing I didn’t want to say anything more with Randy present—he wouldn’t have known what I was talking about anyway.

  Jonathan rummaged through the bags for things that had to be refrigerated, and while he had the freezer door open, he took out a tray of ice cubes while I exchanged greetings with Randy.

  “You want a Manhattan too, Randy?” Jonathan asked.

  “Nah, I’d better pass. I don’t want to smell of booze. But thanks anyway.”

  I wondered what that was all about, but didn’t say anything.

  As long as I was by the cabinets, I got out a glass for my Manhattan. Jonathan reached for the bourbon bottle, but I waved him off. “I can get it, babe, thanks. You grab your Coke.”

  “I figured we could just have hamburgers tonight,” Jonathan said, “since it’s a school night. And Randy wants me to drop him off downtown, so we’ll have to leave a little earlier than usual.”

  Hamburgers explained the package of buns, the large bag of chips, and the cottage cheese that had been on the grocery list.

  As was becoming another custom, on school nights I had my Manhattan at the kitchen table to keep Jonathan company while he fixed dinner. I reacted to hearing of Randy’s plans to go into town—I didn
’t have to ask what he planned to do there—with slightly mixed feelings: mild relief in not having to worry what we’d find to talk about, and a slight sense of annoyance if he was expecting us, or Jonathan, to go back into town to pick him up at Hughie’s again.

  Jonathan, who was getting pretty good at reading my mind even when he was standing at the stove with his back to me, said, “Randy says he’ll take the bus home. I’ll give him my key in case he comes in late.”

  “Okay,” I said, for want of anything better to say.

  “Yeah, I’ve gotta pick up a little spending money,” Randy said.

  “I’m curious. Doesn’t New Eden pay the residents for their work, above and beyond the room and board?”

  Randy nodded. “We get a hundred a week, on paper,” he said. “But they automatically deduct seventy-five for the room and board. It’s some sort of legal bookkeeping thing. So we end up with twenty-five dollars a week spending money, but hell, I spend that much on the vending machines. I’ll be doing a lot better than that pretty soon, though. I think I’ve got a really good job lined up, but I need some cash to hold me over.”

  Again I wondered how much of the job talk was bravado and how much reality. Obviously, it wouldn’t be a job through New Eden’s placement center.

  “I had to make a couple of long-distance calls to set it all up. Just let me know when the phone bill comes in, and I’ll pay you back.”

  “No problem.” I hoped he hadn’t spent the entire day calling old friends in Timbuktu.

  After helping me set the table, Randy went to the bathroom, which gave Jonathan a chance to ask me about work, and I gave him a brief version of my talk with Tunderew.