by Sean Black
“Or Candy was hammered and not too picky.”
“Or that,” Sofia agreed. Given the sheer number of men Candice had slept with leading up to Daniel’s conception, it was a hard point to argue. But then again, all the men they’d met so far did seem to have some kind of quality a woman might find attractive. Either looks, or build, or some kind of alpha-male vibe. But Witter? Not so much.
“Maybe he’ll surprise us,” Sofia suggested.
* * *
SOFIA WASN’T sure if there was such a thing as a World’s Most Boring Man competition. But if there was, her money would be on the English actuary sitting across from her and Aidan. She really had expected to be surprised. Just not like this. She’d thought that in person Gary Witter might give them some insight into why Candice had found him attractive, however briefly, but so far they had nothing.
He had thinning, greasy hair he combed over at the front in a vain attempt to conceal his rapidly receding hairline. His skin was a deathly greyish-white. His teeth were definitely English―uneven and yellow. It was hard to imagine someone could have lived so long in California while making a good living without at least picking up a tan and some remedial dental work.
Not that any of that made him boring. Just unattractive. What made it difficult to stay awake in his presence was his monotone voice. He placed exactly the same emphasis on every word, as if his voice was somehow computer-generated. Although even a computer-generated voice couldn’t be quite that dull.
On the plus side, he gave them a fair hearing, listening politely to everything they had to say. Then he started asking questions. Mostly about the background to their search for Daniel’s father. Then about Daniel’s condition.
So, thought Sofia, he might be boring, but he seemed more concerned about Daniel than any of the other men they’d spoken to. Maybe that had been what had caught Candice’s eye. Regardless of his appearance and that voice, Gary Witter listened and asked questions, which most men never managed to do.
As they answered, Witter jotted down notes. Then he started tapping away at the keyboard on his desk in front of him. Occasionally he’d stop and ask another question. Then he’d go back to tapping at his keyboard. Sofia had no idea what he was doing. Judging by the look on Aidan’s face, neither did her partner.
“Mr. Witter?” Sofia said finally.
Witter didn’t look up.
“Will you be happy to provide us with a sample of your DNA so we can rule you out?”
Witter stopped tapping. He looked at her and blinked. “That won’t be necessary, Ms. Salgado.”
“Why not?” said Aidan.
“Two reasons,” said Witter. He didn’t elaborate.
“And those would be?” Sofia asked after a full thirty seconds had elapsed.
“From what you’ve told me about the number of men you’re speaking to, the possible number of sexual encounters, and of course Daniel’s physical appearance and other traits, it strikes me or, rather, the data-analysis software I’m using suggests, that there is less than a two per cent chance I’m the father.”
“Okay,” said Sofia. Hey, he was the numbers guy. Maybe they could get him to work out who had the highest chance, which would allow them to focus their efforts.
“And the second reason?” said Aidan.
“Second reason?” Witter repeated.
“Yeah, you said there were two.”
“Oh, yes,” said Witter. “You know part of my work as an actuary is to calculate risk of death, both broadly and, when called upon, more specifically?”
“Yes,” said Aidan.
“From what you’ve told me about Daniel’s medical condition, and particularly the rapid deterioration, I very much doubt that, even if I was the father, then proved to be a match, anything I could provide would be of any real use.”
“What do you mean exactly?” Sofia asked.
“The doctors at UCLA may not have put this bluntly to either you or to Daniel’s mother but from what I can gather, using a piece of state-of-the-art medical modelling software, Daniel could have as little as two weeks left. Hardly enough time to locate his father, ensure he’s a match and perform the surgery. And even if it is, Daniel may not be well enough to be operated on.”
Both Sofia and Aidan stared at him. It might have come off as a horrible thing to say but he’d spoken without a hint of emotion.
“As little as two weeks?” Sofia asked him.
“But it could be longer, right?” said Aidan.
Witter tapped away at a few more keys. “Oh, yes, there are always statistical outliers. He could have six to eight weeks. But that would really be stretching the balance of probability.”
Sofia was stunned. She’d been hoping Dr. Mark had exaggerated to get them moving on finding Daniel’s father. If Witter was to be believed, he hadn’t. If anything, he’d been on the optimistic side. And why would Witter lie?
Witter looked from Sofia to Aidan and back again. “So, you see my position. I likely won’t be the father, and even if I were, and I were a match, which isn’t by any means certain, I’m not sure that, with the time available, I’d be of any use.”
* * *
SOFIA STOOD with Aidan on the sidewalk outside Witter’s office. She dug out her sunglasses and put them on. She was still reeling from what they’d just been told. Did Candice know how little time her son had? Did Daniel? And what about Brendan?
Or had Witter just spun them a line to get them out of his office? If so, it had been an incredibly cruel thing to say. On the other hand, Sofia couldn’t imagine someone as boring as Witter being quite so devious.
“Should I call Dr. Mark?” she said to Aidan.
“What good’s that going to do?”
“He’ll be able to tell us if things really are that bad.”
“Didn’t he already?”
“He said Daniel’s condition had taken a turn for the worse. Not that we only had a couple of weeks to find a donor match.”
Aidan rubbed at his face. “Wait here,” he said, striding off.
Sofia ran after him. She didn’t like the look on Aidan’s face. Not one bit. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to do to get a sample. And that it would involve blood.
By the time she was back inside the building, Aidan had disappeared. At least she knew where he was headed. She pushed her way through a small crowd of people waiting for the next elevator.
“Excuse me. Sorry. Emergency.”
People rolled their eyes, and a few muttered under their breath, but they got out of her way. She took up a position next to the elevator door and waited for everyone to get in.
It was some strange law of elevators that whenever Sofia was in a hurry, hers would stop at every floor. She was already having visions of Aidan being marched in handcuffs to a waiting patrol car.
She got out at Witter’s floor and ran through his open door into the waiting area, then on into his office. There was no sign of Witter or Aidan. She glanced about for signs of a struggle―Aidan could do a lot of damage to someone in a very short space of time. Nothing. Not so much as a piece of paper out of place. Everything was as perfectly ordered as it had been when they’d left.
Sofia did a quick run through the rest of the office suite. No one there either. She had noticed when they arrived that Witter didn’t appear to have a secretary. Maybe he was so boring that no one could stand working with him. Having to listen to that British monotone all day would drive most people over the edge.
Where the hell could they be? Aidan hadn’t been that far ahead of her.
Maybe Witter had tried to run and Aidan had gone after him. She left the office and walked toward the stairwell. Passing the men’s room she heard a commotion and definitely Aidan’s voice, though not what he was saying. He was speaking in the low growl he and Brendan used when they were angry.
The men’s room door opened and Aidan walked out. He held up a clear plastic bag containing a mouth swab. “Done,” he said.
; “How?” said Sofia.
“Don’t ask, don’t tell, Salgado.”
“You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
“Not physically, no,” said Aidan.
“Aidan?”
“I may have suggested there was a hundred percent probability of him having his head shoved into a toilet bowl if he didn’t help us out with a sample. I think he had a flashback to being at school and it was all plain sailing after that.”
She glared at Aidan. “You can’t go around threatening people.”
Aidan shrugged. “Too late.”
CHAPTER 29
Sofia wrote Witter’s name on the side of the bag with a black marker and placed it inside a lab envelope. They could drop it off on the way back to Malibu. But first they had the last potential dad to visit, the one Sofia had been dreading, even more than Witter.
Even in a town notorious for having sleazier sleazebags than pretty much anywhere else in America, nightclub and restaurant owner Josh Walters stood out. His story was pretty much living proof of the joke about how to make a small fortune in restaurants: start with a big one. He had inherited a vast amount from his father, but rather than follow his old man into banking, he had decided his experience in propping up every bar along the Sunset Strip was the perfect preparation for setting up bars and nightclubs. When he’d realized that ownership of such was a great way to pick up naïve young women, his course in life had been set.
Along the way he’d picked up a pretty serious drug habit, done several stints in rehab, then moved into restaurants. The bars and clubs had lost money, and so did the restaurants, even faster than the previous ventures had. However, the size of the family fortune meant he still had money to burn.
That Candice had hooked up with him was one of her least surprising revelations. Sofia would have been shocked if Walters hadn’t featured on the list of potential fathers. That said, she hoped he wasn’t Daniel’s father: she couldn’t imagine that any of Walters’s major organs were in good enough shape for transplant.
Having called into a few of the places Walters owned, Sofia had finally tracked him down to a supposedly upmarket gentlemen’s club he was opening on Sunset Strip. ‘Gentlemen’s club’ was code for ‘strip joint’. It might have been a club, but Sofia doubted very much that it attracted many gentlemen. Its unique selling point was that it featured transgender dancers. Walters had carefully used the current high profile of transgender people to bat away any accusations of his new venture making money from sexual exploitation. The club’s name was Secret Surprise, presumably because a number of drunken patrons would stumble into the place without realizing what they were letting themselves in for. Walters had said in a recent interview with the LA Times that his dancers would be both pre- and post-operative transgender men transitioning to women. That meant some would still be packing a little extra in their thongs.
Aidan pulled into a parking lot a few doors down from the new club. “You can take this one if you like.”
“Oh, no,” said Sofia. “There’s no way I’m going in to talk to that sleazebag on my own.”
“You’ll be fine. He’s not going to hit on a private investigator,” said Aidan, in a tone that suggested even he wasn’t convinced Walters wouldn’t try something.
“That’s right. That’s why you’re coming in there with me. I’m still a trainee.”
“I have some calls to make. We’ll get double the work done if we split up.”
Sofia looked at him. It had taken her a moment to figure why he was so reluctant to make this particular visit. “What’s the matter? You scared one of the dancers will take a liking to you?” Sofia asked him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aidan scoffed. “You work this job, you spend more than your fair share of time in joints like this one.”
“But not exactly like this. This one’s a little different.”
“Oh, yeah, the whole trans thing.”
Aidan was trying to play it like it was no big deal but everything else about his manner suggested that the prospect of going into the club made him really uncomfortable. From what Sofia had observed, Aidan was one of those guys who would never come out and say that gay or transgender people unsettled them, even though they did. It was, thought Sofia, kind of a downside to all the political correctness that went on in LA. Aidan would never pick on someone for their sexuality, or want to deny them their rights, but the whole thing creeped him out.
“Yeah,” said Sofia. “The whole trans thing doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it?”
This was classic Aidan. Answering a question with a question.
“I dunno. You tell me.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll come in and babysit you,” said Aidan, getting out of the car. “But you’re gonna have to start handling this kind of stuff by yourself some day.”
Sofia smiled quietly to herself. Perhaps this would more fun than she’d thought. Super-uptight Aidan surrounded by dozens of scantily clad exotic dancers who just happened to be transgender: this was something she really wanted to see.
CHAPTER 30
T hey pressed the buzzer at the main entrance to the club and waited. There was no answer. Eventually, Sofia noticed wires trailing out of it. It hadn’t been hooked up yet. They walked around to the side delivery entrance. Two stunning young women, with legs Sofia would have killed for, stood smoking next to a Dumpster. One was a pale blonde, the other a striking Latina with a mane of long dark hair that ran all the way down her back.
Aidan’s eyes were out on stalks. Despite any lingering prejudices he might have had, he looked like something in his brain had just short-circuited. His eyes roamed all the way up both dancers’ legs and back down again. “Ugh,” he said. “Ugh.”
The dancers exchanged a look. One took a long drag and blew the smoke toward Aidan’s face. “Yes, sugar?” she said. “You want something or do you plan on just standing here with your tongue hanging out?”
“Ugh,” repeated Aidan.
Sofia decided to intervene before Aidan’s head exploded or he suffered some kind of cardiac arrest. “Excuse my partner, ladies. He’s temporarily mute.”
Aidan glared at her.
“We have a meeting with Josh,” Sofia continued. “He said to meet us here, but the front entrance is locked and the buzzer isn’t working.”
The tall Latina dancer smiled and nodded toward the door behind them. “Just go on in. He’s inside.”
“Thanks,” said Sofia, walking toward the door. Aidan fell into step behind her. He kept glancing back at the dancers, his mouth open. Sofia couldn’t be sure but she thought she saw a line of actual drool running down his chin.
“Oh, by the way,” said the blonde, “he can be a little grabby. Just so you know.”
“Thanks,” said Sofia. “But I think I’ll be okay. My partner here has a gun.”
It was the dancers’ turn to eye Aidan. The Latina pursed her lips suggestively. “Yeah, I bet he does. A big one. Fully loaded.”
“I just hope he’s got the safety on,” added the blonde.
Sofia opened the door and stepped into a service corridor. Aidan followed, still clearly a little fazed by their alleyway encounter with the two Amazonian entertainers.
They pushed through a set of double doors into the main club room. A bar ran the length of one wall next to a separate elevated dining area. Beneath it was the stage, with a DJ booth behind it, and plush red velvet seating arranged in a semi-circle in front. So far, so standard.
Behind the bar, a college-aged kid glanced up from drying glasses, then went back to work. Otherwise the place was empty. Maybe Josh Walters had gotten wind they were looking for him and slipped out the front while they were walking in at the back.
A door next to the DJ booth opened and a woman stepped through. She was about five feet four with red hair, and had on a full make-up counter’s worth of mascara and lipstick. She walked with a slight limp and carried a silver-topped black cane.
“Marvel
ous,” she said, in a husky voice a full octave lower than Sofia had expected. “You’re here.” She limped toward them and tapped her cane on the floor three times. “I’m Madame La Rue, formerly of Baton Rouge, and now of this wonderful establishment of enchantment and hidden delights.”
Not a woman. Not transgender. A drag queen.
Sofia had no idea who Madame La Rue thought they were, but she seemed to have known they were coming.
“We’re meeting with Josh. He should be expecting us,” said Sofia, sticking to her story.
“Oh, no, darling,” said Madame La Rue. “You must be mistaken. I’m in charge of hiring new staff. Josh merely okays my decisions.” She lifted the end of her cane and ran it all the way up Aidan’s inside leg. “Why don’t you go and get changed?” she said to him. “I know not all the girls are comfortable coming to work in their alternative clothing.”
Aidan looked horrified, but couldn’t seem to say anything.
Madame La Rue studied him a little more closely. “You are a drag queen, right? I mean you couldn’t possibly be trans looking like that.”
She leaned in toward him. He flinched. Sofia doubted there would be many better shows here when the place opened than the one she had a front seat at right now.
“By the way, mon petit chéri,” Madame La Rue continued, “you really need to shave before I run you through the routine.” She looked at his empty hands. “You did bring clothes, right? Oh, never mind, I’m sure we can find you something backstage. What are you, darling? An eight?”
Madame La Rue started back toward the door she had walked through. “Come on. Don’t dilly-dally, sweetie.”
Sofia had a feeling Aidan might need therapy if this went on much longer. “We’re not here to audition,” she said.
Madame La Rue narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I can tell you’re not. I hope not anyway. I don’t know who your surgeon was but, honey, you should probably ask them for a refund.” Madame La Rue sighed. “If you’re going to transition convincingly, they might have given you a little bit more to work with up top,” she continued, scooping up her false boobs to emphasize her point. “I mean, at least try to embrace your womanly side.”