A Body on Pine
A Marco Fontana Mystery
Joseph R. G. DeMarco
Published by Lethe Press at Smashwords
Copyright ©2011 Joseph R. G. DeMarco
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally; and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by:
Lethe Press, 118 Heritage Ave, Maple Shade, NJ 08052.
lethepressbooks.com [email protected]
Cover by Niki Smith
Book design by Toby Johnson
ISBN 1-59021-345-9 / 978-1-59021-345-2
______________________________________________
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
DeMarco, Joseph R. G.
A body on Pine : a Marco Fontana mystery / Joseph R. G. DeMarco.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-1-59021-345-2
ISBN-10: 1-59021-345-9
1. Gay private investigators--Fiction. 2. Masseurs--Fiction. 3. Gay men--Violence against--Fiction. 4. Murder--Investigation--Fiction. 5. Philadelphia (Pa.)--Fiction. I. Title. II. Title: Marco Fontana mystery.
PS3604.E449B63 2011
813’.6--dc22
2011013043.
For Jason Li
And for my mother, Caroline
Acknowledgements
Fortune is found in those you love and who love you. I am very fortunate.
I have to thank Jason Li, my closest friend, who believes in me, gives me confidence and critique, and is the best friend a person could ask for; my mom, Caroline, who has been an unfailing source of support and love; Michele Hyman who saw me through some dark times; Steve Berman whose friendship, guidance, and sense of humor has been invaluable; Barbara Ryan and Chuck Lyons, friends who provide loyal support, comfort, and who put up with a lot; Skip Strickler, a friend whose quiet wisdom is a comfort; Margaret Rohdy and Eric Mayes whose advice and critique have been so very helpful; Louise, Tom, Sal, Jody, Howard, Geneva, and a host of others who keep me grounded. There are some who I know are watching and guiding still, whose presence I miss: my father, Fred; my aunt Mary; Rusel; Harry L. and Harry M.; and most of all of these my late partner William Phillips. There are others. I am grateful and thankful and I’ll never forget.
Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgements
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Start the Novel
About the Author
Chapter 1
I tried forgetting Stinky and his sordid life as I climbed the steps to my office. Sometimes being a P.I. makes you feel as dirty as your clients. But, the Stankowitz case was over and done with. A long, hot shower would wash it all away.
Anton stood at the top of the stairs, arms folded across his broad chest, like a sentry on duty. Tall, blond, and square-jawed, he looked down at me and smiled. I hadn’t seen him much in the past three weeks since I’d been on stakeout and I felt happy at the sight of him.
Anton is my right-hand when it comes to running StripGuyz, the male stripper troupe I own, so it was no surprise finding him outside my office at Bubbles, the bar we use as the troupe’s base. The strippers and my work as a P.I. bring in enough money to pay the bills but both jobs keep me running. Having Anton manage the dancers and their schedules makes a big difference.
“Marco! You’re early. Did you give up on Stinky?” Anton had dubbed my target “Stinky.” It was a name that fit.
“You know me better than that.” I reached the landing and every knotted muscle the stakeout had caused tightened painfully. “Stinky is history.”
I took Anton in my arms and planted a kiss on his mouth. Surprised at first, he responded wrapping his arms around me and pressing me close. His warmth felt good and I wanted more but Anton had his rules and I had no choice. We stayed in each other’s arms a while, then he gently pulled back. Turning toward the closed office door, he swung it open.
“The office is all yours.”
Walking into the small room, I felt liberated after the long stakeout. It wasn’t my regular office, which was bigger and lots more comfortable, but this one would do for now. I moved to the desk, dropped into the chair, and let out a sigh. The battered old desk chair felt like heaven after a couple of weeks bent behind a steering wheel or peering out the car’s window. Sam “Stinky” Stankowitz, the sex-addled whacko, slipped into more places more quickly than anyone I’d ever followed. I was right behind him every minute, watching, taking pictures, and making notes.
“So, you’re all finished with the Stankowitz case?”
“Stinky’s not gonna give his wife a problem ever again.”
“He’s not… um… you know…?” Anton paused. “…is he?”
“The slime ball is still alive. But once his wife gets my report, Stinky will probably want to be on a slab somewhere.” A sharp pain stabbed at my leg. Leaning down, I massaged my left calf which had a knot the size of Kansas. Grudgingly, the muscle relaxed. Eventually, it’d be back and with friends. “Think you can lend a hand and massage a kink or two out of my shoulder?” I smiled then winced feeling the pain in my calf again.
Anton tossed me a sympathetic smile, moved behind me, and placed his hands on my shoulders. He gripped them gently at first and I leaned back and sighed.
“Feel good?” Slowly he began to press and squeeze until I felt an exquisite but painful relaxation of the muscles. “Got yourself all scrunched into knots.”
“F-feels…unh… feels great…,” I drew a sharp breath when he hit a particularly sore spot. “Ow…”
“Sorry, big boy…”
“No… Feels… feels great… yeah… yeah… do that again.” In seconds, my shoulder muscles turned from angry to blissful.
“Now that you’ve finished snooping and taking whoopee photos, you’re turning them over to his wife? Poor woman.” He gave me an extra hard squeeze to punctuate his remarks and I yelped. Anton knew the investigative drill but something about this aspect of P.I. work rankled him.
“Snooping is such an ugly word. I was gathering intel. Besides, Mrs. Stinky hired me and demanded color close-ups. She can have them. I’m glad I won’t have to see Stinky’s face again. I’ve had enough of him to last three lifetimes. I won’t miss the little porker.”
It’d be satisfying pulling Stankowitz out from under his rock, watching him blink in the sunshine. Satisfying but not much fun because everybody gets hurt. The wife, the kids, even Stinky himself, not that I had a speck of feeling for him.
Spying on cheating partners wasn’t my favorite kind of gig, too much pain and trouble. But those cases brought in the dough. Since I’d moved my investigative offices to a newer building, I needed better cash flow.
“Until he comes after you for destroying his marriage,” Anton said and massaged my shoulders more gently.
“Hey, he’s the one who destroyed his marriage.” I said. “When he decided to cheat on his wife with any and every man he could find, he made his marriage moot.”
“You just took pictures to illustrate Stinky’s drama.” Anton smirked.
“It pays the bills. Anyway, his wife deserves a good settlement when they divorce. She’ll have three kids to raise all on her own. Those illustrations will help her case. Stinky’s a chiropractor with money coming out of his ass.”
“I guess you know what you’re doing, Marco.”
He gave my shoulders a few more gentle squeezes then stepped around to the front of the desk again.
“Guys like Stinky are slime. They want it all no matter who gets hurt. I’m helping him face reality.”
“Here’s some reality for you, boss man: there’s a truckload of things going on right here at Bubbles. Maybe you remember us? Weeks staked out in your old BMW made you forget your responsibilities here, right?” Anton affected a world weary look.
“Like?” I played innocent but knew full well what was coming.
“The Campaign Express is rumbling through Bubbles and you graciously agreed to co-host the event. Hot politicians trying to get the gay edge in the primary are gonna be all over you. After they crawl out the door, there’s the Amateur Competition.”
“I only recall promising to play with the politicians.” Stan, the bar’s owner, had roped me into doing the political event. With the primary a few weeks away, some candidates were visiting the bars on their “I Love Gays” tour. That’s what I called it. Love was the furthest thing from their devious political minds. Votes were what they craved. The sincerity behind their gay pub crawl wasn’t high but it was better than having them ignore us completely.
“You’re right, you didn’t promise to help with Amateur Night. I’ve already got a host lined up,” Anton said, a dazzling smile spreading across his face. “Good thing you put me in charge of scheduling and managing the guys. Especially since you spend so much time taking dirty pictures.” He winked at me. Anton was as good at keeping the schedule running smoothly as he was at managing the StripGuyz dancers.
“The politicians are all I can handle tonight. Three weeks tailing Stankowitcz was torture. I never realized how cramped my car is. There’s no way to get comfortable in that tin can.”
“You could find other kinds of cases.” Anton smiled innocently. “Or buy a bigger car.”
“Not complaining. But I’m looking forward to the massage I scheduled with Brad tomorrow.” I smiled thinking about Brad, who’d been my masseur for several years. I scheduled myself for a massage twice a month, which never actually happened twice a month because cases always got in the way.
Not only was Brad a great masseur, he was a good friend who was never bothered by my quirky schedule and last minute cancellations. I intended to keep this appointment no matter what. My screamingly knotted muscles would never forgive me if I cancelled. As if to remind me, the arch of my right foot developed a painful spasm, curling my foot and making me cringe.
“Brad again, huh? Sounds like you’re getting more than a massage with him. I’ve known lots of masseurs. When they advertise a deep massage they’re not just talking pressure.”
“Jealous?” I winked at Anton who also knew Brad. “What happens at Brad’s spa stays at Brad’s spa. That’s what I always say.” I glanced at Anton and noticed a strange expression cross his face. “Don’t worry. Brad and I are as chaste together as you and I.”
“Why should I worry? You’re a free man, tiger.”
I didn’t comment. Those words were loaded and I wasn’t about to light that tinder box.
“Brad’s totally professional with me. Whatever he does with other clients, I don’t know and don’t care. All I want is a good massage and that’s what I get.”
“All I know is,” Anton said wistfully, “when you’re on his table, he gets to see more of you than I ever have.”
“Uh, correct me if I’m wrong, handsome, but I’m not the one holding out. Am I?” I looked up innocently. Anton wanted the whole package: monogamy, cozy nights at home, a white picket fence. Short of that, we could kiss and cuddle but that was all.
Settling down sounded so permanent but at the same time, appealing. Half of me wanted to dive right in but there were issues I needed to resolve and I refused to give Anton false hope. I had strong feelings for him but something stood in the way, something in me. Maybe I was a fool thinking he’d wait.
I kept having doubts, kept thinking about all the bad relationships I’d seen. I’d watched too many broken hearted guys trudge through my office. Did I want to create one more situation like that?
Even more important, did I love him? Strong feelings aren’t love but maybe that’s how love starts. Anton was important to me, more than important. I needed to know if I loved him before I did anything. And before Anton decided to move on.
“Let’s not go there right now,” Anton said. “We’ve got politicians to coddle.”
“Who’s on the Campaign Express?” I asked.
“I think Stan has a list. He’ll fill you in.”
On my way out, I took Anton in my arms again, felt his muscular form relax against me. Our lips were about to touch when someone knocked on the door. As we slowly pulled apart, the door edged open.
“Anton? Oh! Pardon!” Jean-Claude, one of our newer dancers, stood in the doorway. The yellow office light brushed his wheat-colored hair giving him a sleepy-soft, seductive look. Tall, muscularly slender, with light brown eyes, Jean-Claude was a transplanted French-Canadian who’d started work a few months back. “Oh, desolé. I will come back.” Jean-Claude’s French accent laced his words.
“Hold on, Jean-Claude. We’ve got to talk about the contest. Marco was just leaving,” Anton said. “He’s got politicians to meet.” Glancing first at me then at Jean-Claude, Anton’s demeanor shifted from wistful to welcoming.
“Right.” I moved toward the door. “Can’t keep the pols waiting. See you later?” I looked at Anton.
“I’ll be here,” he said. “If you need me, just call.”
“Will do.”
Jean-Claude moved into the office. Suddenly they were all business and I felt invisible.
“Try and have a good time, Marco.” Anton said over his shoulder. “I’ll be swamped with this contest. We’ve got a lot of wannabes coming in and…”
“You should pay this man more, Mr. Fontana.” Jean-Claude looked admiringly at Anton. “He works too much.”
Anton smiled at me. “See? Someone appreciates my work.”
The sound of manipulation clunked in the background as I watched him try to push me into a pay-raise corner.
“Times are tough, Jean-Claude. Anton knows how much I value what he does… and him. See you guys downstairs later?”
“Uh, I… I don’t think so, Marco,” Anton said. “Got a lot to do before the contest.”
“Me neither,” Jean-Claude said. “I’ll help Anton before I get ready to go onstage.”
“I’ll face the politicians myself, then.” I laughed.
Anton and Jean-Claude quickly got back to work. Anton obviously needed an assistant, especially since I wasn’t around enough, and Jean-Claude seemed more than willing. The way he looked at Anton, though, made me feel vaguely uneasy.
I closed the door, squared my shoulders, and got ready for the political parade downstairs. Stepping into the main bar, the music hit me like a jackhammer. People laughed and talked. An air of excitement suffused the place.
“Marco!” A short guy in an expensive gray silk suit, stuck out his hand.
I had no idea who he was as we shook hands. “Hey, how are you?” I said noncommittally.
“You don’t remember me, do ya?” He winked at me. “I was involved in that case you handled in South Philly coupl’a years back. The one with the widow…?”
“Oh, right. Right!” I remembered everything now. Shorty was a deep pockets businessman who’d been helping out a boy toy he’d taken under his wing. I presumed he’d dug into those same pockets to back one of the candidates tonight. “How’s… um… your friend?”
“Y’know, I can’t remember his name either. We split a while back.” He didn’t seem bothered by the break-up. “I’m here supportin’ Nussbaum. Been in that seat a long time and I wanna keep him there.” He winked again.
“He’s got a tough young opponent, from what I hear.”
“That’s why I’m spreadin’ some cash around.”
“Gotcha,” I said and moved off
into the crowd.
None of the politicians had arrived and it was getting late. I wondered who’d organized this whole thing. I found Stan yuckking it up with some patrons, waving his hands like an old helicopter. He loved owning Bubbles and the high profile it gave him.
“Ready for the Attack of the Politicians?” I asked.
“The Campaign Express, Marco. We gotta play the game. It’s not every day politicians come begging to gay voters.”
“Yeah, like we really matter,” said a guy I didn’t recognize. He rebalanced himself on his barstool and gulped his drink.
“Who’s supposed to be here?” I asked.
“Somebody named Nancy has a list, she’s organizing it. Far as I know, most of the heavy hitters like Terrabito, Kelley, Nussbaum, Clarke and some newbies. Nancy what’s’ername hinted some surprises might even show.”
“And I’m supposed to do what?” I asked. Stan knew my feelings about political soirees. I hoped he also knew how much he’d owe me after this event.
“Turn on the charm with Nancy. Help her introduce the big dogs to us regular slobs. Schmooze with them. Let ‘em see that gay people are real live voters, too. I’d do it but you’re a hell of a lot prettier and you know more people.”
“When’s this happening, Stan?”
“Right about now.” He glanced at his watch then peered at the entrance.
A tall, neatly coiffed man entered accompanied by a small, grandmotherly woman. Helen Bell was the State Representative for the district. One of the few politicians I almost trusted. She was running unopposed but never missed an opportunity to meet constituents.
Some well-dressed guys trooped through the doors one or two at a time. Too stiff and slick to be patrons. I had to admit, though, some political types were attractive, even hot. I’d could enjoy the eye candy and ignore the hot air.
Body on Pine Page 1