Murder on Camac

by Joseph R. G. Demarco

  "How could I forget? But Anton handles scheduling now. I'll remind him I promised you a night." Kevin, or, as he was known when in drag, Germaine Shepherd, had been dying to MC our Top Cheeks night, a best buns competition that a drag queen always hosted.

  "Promises! Men are all alike." Kevin smiled, then Germaine blew me a kiss.

  It was after nine and Bubbles was crowded. Not unusual for Friday nights but it seemed louder, more frantic. I waded through the sea of men, bumping here and touching there. I flinched when someone goosed me. When I turned around, everyone looked innocent and engaged in conversation or cruising.

  I hiked up to the second floor. Whatever was happening in the dressing room hadn't spilled over into the bar. Happy voices floated up from the bar. But tension filled the hall ahead. It was purposely dimly lit -- so as not to encourage customers to "explore" the terrain. Tonight the hall was filled with guys -- my guys. My Friday night strippers. There were fifteen or more standing around in their thongs, one or two were bare as babies. Some paced back and forth, their sculpted bodies tense. Angry looks darkened their faces. Phoenix, the softest, most vulnerable of my dancers, hugged himself in a corner while Nick stood by the dressing room door clenching his fists. As I got closer the tension raged, then it was like a dam broke.

  "Marco!" Trey approached me. "This isn't good, dude."

  The guys crowded around grumbling, swearing, and shivering without their clothes. I noticed with relief that no one was hurt.

  "What's happening? Fill me in."

  "Marco, I'm so glad you're here. It's awful. They're in there." Phoenix threw his arms around me. I gently peeled him off.

  "Who's where? What's happening?" I asked.

  "Anton and Nando..." Trey started.

  "And that other guy!" Nick spat out the words.

  "He's got our clothes and costumes," Phoenix complained.

  "Whoa. What other guy? Who is he? Who let him in? How did this happen?"

  "Nando's ex," explained Trey. "He came begging Nando to get back together. But Nando didn't want to hear anything. I told the guy to get lost."

  "I remember him. Didn't look dangerous to me," I said nonchalantly, wanting to keep them calm. Dancers are high strung and, especially before they're about to go onstage, they're always jumpy. The least thing could throw them off and ruin their mood. Which would have a domino effect -- ruined mood, bad performance, low tips, depressed dancers, more ruined moods. I couldn't have that.

  Nando's ex was a cute, love-sick, puppy of a guy, who'd been haunting the place on nights when Nando danced. He'd just stand at the back and stare. Once I noticed him crying. Sometimes he'd sit at the bar and silently stuff Nando's g-string full of dollar bills. Nando took the cash, no fool Nando, and kept moving.

  I'd thought he was harmless since Nando never complained.

  "What're you gonna do Marco? I'm standin' here balls in the wind. Get me in there and I'll fuck him up. He's got all my stuff," Strider said. He didn't mind being naked in public, that much was clear. But he couldn't go onstage like that.

  "Let's see what I can do." I paused. "Anybody know if the guy is armed?"

  "Armed? You mean like with a gun or something?" Phoenix always got right to the heart of the matter.

  "Of course he means a gun," Nick said. "Nah, he wasn't packin' and I can tell." Nick liked playing the tough guy, claiming his roots in South Philly gave him all sorts of mob connections. But everyone knew he was a pussycat.

  "He must've had something," said Phoenix. "Or why would we all be out here? One minute we're all in there getting ready to go on, the next we're out here because he came in shouting and waving his arms. Maybe he had a gun. Or a knife. Or something. Or we might not be... out... here. Would we?" Phoenix had managed to confuse even himself. Which wasn't all that difficult.

  "Okay, I'm going in. I'll take care of this," I said. If that guy wasn't carrying, I was. I never knew what would come up.

  I pulled the door open and the guys behind me craned their necks to get a peek. I slipped in quickly and shut the door.

  The room was stuffy and smelled of sweat, fear, and cosmetics. Anton sat in a chair off to the side, his hands propped on his head as if he'd been told to keep them in sight. Nando and Zegg, naked as plucked chickens, hugged each other as they huddled in a corner near Anton. All of them were chalky white and looked ready to faint.

  On the other side of the room stood the source of their fear. "The guy" as everyone outside called him, braced himself against a table, gun in hand, tortured expression on his face. Short, smooth-faced, dark-haired, his intense eyes were filled with despair.

  "Marco!" Anton sounded relieved.

  The guy whipped around to look at me.

  "You! You took Nando away from me." His gaze shifted from me to Nando and back to me. He kept us all at bay with his gun. All I noticed was his face -- the picture of a man in a lot of pain.

  I said nothing.

  "Tell Nando to come back to me. Tell him this kind of life's no good for him." The poor guy was a mess, dark circles under his eyes, hair like a fright wig, and clothes that looked as if he'd left them in the dryer too long. He was a walking wrinkle.

  "What's your name?" In his disheveled state, he was still appealing, but even the cute ones can be crazy. Looks are no guarantee of anything. I didn't move, not wanting to spook him. "What's your name? How can I tell Nando anything if I don't know your name?" Of course, that made no sense. But I didn't suppose the guy was thinking straight anyway.

  He looked confused. Whipped his head back and forth looking at us. The hand with the gun never wavered.

  I inched forward while he wasn't noticing. I felt the weight of my gun in its holster but it wouldn't do me any good here so I didn't reach for it.

  "C'mon, what's your name? Maybe we can all sit down and talk this out."

  "K-Kent," he said. The pain in his eyes seemed to grow. "Nando and I were happy before he met you."

  "Kent, right?" I waited for him to respond.

  He nodded and grunted.

  "Kent, listen to me. It's not gonna be long before someone calls the police and then this is all outta my hands. Right now we can keep it between us. You put that gun down, we'll talk. Wait too long and the police won't be so friendly." I inched forward. His face was a map of warring emotions.

  He obviously hadn't thought about the consequences of holding people hostage. He'd hoped Nando would waltz out with him and they'd continue the happily-ever-after that existed only in his mind.

  "You'll call the police anyway."

  "No. No I won't." I meant it. I could keep this all under control if he'd just give up the gun. "And no one will press charges." I glanced at Anton, Nando, and Zegg. "Will you?" They all shook their heads furiously, mumbling "No. No."

  Kent remained silent but I saw him relax. The pupils of his eyes, his jaw muscles, his breathing all said he was calmer. Even his grip on the gun softened.

  "C'mon, Kent. Whaddaya say?" Another inch closer. "You don't really want to shoot anyone, do you?"

  "N... Yes. If Nando doesn't come back, what's the use?" Kent asked. "Then..." He looked at us all with those pained brown eyes and put the gun to his head. "I don't want to live. Nando is my life. If he doesn't love me, there's no point."

  See, this is why children and guns don't mix. This kid was definitely not in any emotional shape to be handling firearms.

  "Kent!" My voice was sharp. I wanted to startle the little drama queen. And I did. He stiffened and held the gun on me now instead of himself.

  "Don't try to stop me. I'll shoot you then I'll kill myself anyway." He kept the gun trained on me.

  "I don't care one way or another if you shoot me and I care even less if you shoot yourself." I moved forward again. "What I do care about," I said, as I crept toward him, "is the mess you're gonna make for these boys and for the club."

  I was almost close enough to reach out and grab the gun away. But that would have been foolhardy and stupid.

>   "Don't make a lot of trouble for everybody. You kill yourself, you're givin' up any chance you have of getting Nando back. I'm not saying you have a chance but if you do, being dead kinda changes your odds."

  Now he looked even more confused.

  "But..." He put the gun back up to his head. "Make him say he'll come back. I don't have anything but him."

  "Please don't do this, Kent." Nando said in an accented voice so weak it was almost a whisper.

  I looked at Nando for a moment. He shivered and held onto Zegg like a lifeline.

  "You hear the pain in that voice?" I asked Kent. "If you do, you understand what I'm tellin' you about the trouble you're gonna cause."

  Kent's hand trembled, he brought the gun down to point at me again.

  "You took him away." Kent sounded as if all the troubles in the world were on his plate. "You filled his head with talk. About dancing and men and money."

  I edged forward. I stood directly in front of Kent, the gun nearly touching my chest. I held myself as still as I could manage.

  "Let it go, Kent." I slowly brought my hand up to the gun. "Let it go. Give yourself a break."

  I touched Kent's hand and he flinched. His hand trembled.

  "Give me the gun."

  He looked into my eyes. For a moment I wasn't sure if he'd drop the gun or pull the trigger. But he relaxed and placed the gun into my hand.

  I gulped in some air realizing I'd been holding my breath waiting for whatever would happen to happen. Before I said or did anything else, Kent promptly crumpled into a heap on the floor.

  Nando, Zegg, and Anton rushed over to me. Nando pushed the others out of the way and stood in front of me.

  "I don't believe what you juss done. You are so brave, papi. Thank you, thank you, Marco." Nando threw his arms around me, gave me a long hug, then kissed me lightly on the cheek and whispered into my ear, "You're the best, papi." He turned to look at Kent lying on the floor. "Can I... should I help him?"

  "Why not?" I said. Maybe it wasn't a great idea but I sort of thought it might be good for both of them.

  "Hot shit, man, you are somethin' else. Wait'll I tell everybody. Hot and heroic. I'm proud to be workin' for you," Zegg said. The tough, little blond moved toward the dressing room door.

  Anton waited until Zegg threw open the door and told the others what had happened. Then Anton moved closer, wrapped his arms around me, and hugged me as if I'd been gone for a long time. I thought I heard a sniffle but maybe it was my imagination. I'd never seen Anton get emotional.

  "You're stupid, Marco Fontana." Anton stood back, holding me at arm's length. "Stupid and very brave. I've never seen anything like that." He held me tightly to him again and it felt good. All the tension in my body melted away. "Maybe that's why I can't get you out of my head. You're perfect."

  "Then why not take me home and tuck me in bed?" I nuzzled his neck. I felt the guys watching us. Their eyes on the boss and his second in command hugging like lovesick teenagers. "I live not far from..."

  "I know where you live. And you know the answer to your question, Marco."

  And well I did. Before I could say anything, Nando gasped as Kent woke up.

  "I've got him, Nando." I knelt down to help Kent. "You go out there with the others. Anton will take care of everything. I looked up at Anton, who, from this angle, looked like a blond demi-god: strong, shapely, square jawed, blue eyes sparkling. I stared at him a moment. "You get them set up. I'll take care of Kent."

  I bent over the kid and helped him up. He shivered and I saw his eyes fill with tears. But he held himself together and didn't cry.

  "Are...are you gonna call the police?" Kent asked.

  "No one got hurt. And you came to your senses. I don't need to call them. Unless you want me to?"

  "No! No. Please." His voice was choked. "I'm... sorry. I was... it was crazy."

  "Let's you and me have a talk. I'll buy you a drink."

  "S-sure." He nodded.

  "Listen to me, the boys are going to look at you as if you've got three heads. Just ignore them. You're with me. And it'll be all right."

  We walked into the hall between two rows of my guys. They glanced at Kent but what surprised me was the way they looked at me. There was something like awe in their eyes. Every step I took, they moved to clear a path. They were silent. A few of them stared as if I'd burst into flame. I could get used to this kind of treatment.

  I kept my arm around Kent's shoulder to guide him but mostly to keep him from bolting. I wanted to watch him for a while, make sure he was all right. I guess I wanted to see if I could help him. Anton says that's my soft spot and tells me it'll get me into big trouble some day.

  I didn't really think Kent was trouble. He was just a love-sick mess. Now that I got a better, calmer look at him, I thought he might even make a nice addition to StripGuyz. Maybe he'd open up and learn a thing or two about himself while he danced for the customers. But that would come later, right now I'd have to bring him back down to earth and reality.

  We were about to sit in a quiet corner of the second floor bar, when my cell phone rang.

  "Fontana," I said into the phone.

  "Mr. Fontana?" Hollister's voice was familiar now. But he sounded frantic. "I've got a problem, can you get here right now?"

  I got Stan the owner to keep Kent with him until I could get back. As the door closed behind me I stepped into a quieter world. A place more dull and less exciting than the fantasy world inside.

  But Hollister's last words, pushed me to move fast: "I think someone's broken into my house and I don't want to go in alone."

  Chapter 5

  Hollister's townhouse was on Latimer, a pint-sized street, studded with ginkgo trees, in the middle of a tangle of tiny streets common in downtown Philadelphia. I navigated my way there quickly.

  The more I thought about the case, the more I was convinced that finding the mugger was a key to the whole thing. Brandt had angered people. He'd been threatened. And now he was dead. There are no coincidences and finding the so-called mugger would prove that.

  In less than five minutes I was at the head of the street and saw Hollister standing midway down, one hand to his mouth, staring at his brightly lit house. I waved him over and watched him carefully step over the cobblestone paving and smelly ginkgo seeds, seemingly afraid to trip.

  "Somebody's in there." His voice was just above a whisper. I noticed alcohol on his breath. If I were him I'd have had more than a few drinks, too, after what had happened.

  "Did you see anyone?"

  "All the lights are on," he said, swaying side to side. "When I... we... left this morning, we didn't turn lights on and we don't have timers. Somebody's in there."

  "Wait here." I reached for my gun then eased up to the house. Sneaking a look through a window, I saw the empty living room. The place was still and quiet. Didn't mean it was empty, though.

  No choice but to go in. I signaled Hollister that I was going and indicated he should hang back. Didn't really look like he'd be sprinting up in any case. He had all he could handle standing upright.

  I climbed the three marble steps slowly, holding my breath. Standing to the side, just in case, I pushed at the door.

  It squeaked open a crack. I pushed it all the way. Gun in hand, I entered and swept the room. No one. Cautiously moving from room to room, I cleared the place including the second floor and the basement. There wasn't a soul in the house. But it'd been tossed.

  I poked my head out the door and signaled Hollister in.

  "Nothing. Nobody's here." I kept my voice down but noticed a few neighbors peeking through blinds or curtains. Living on a tiny street you're everybody's business, which is bad and good. I'd canvass for witnesses.

  Hollister wobbled carefully through the maze of cobblestone treachery beneath his feet. He gripped the railing and hauled himself up the steps and into the house. When he saw the mess, the look on his face told me he was sobering up real quick.

  "Why would
anyone do this?" He drew in a breath and a tear ran down his cheek.

  I led him to a chair and sat him down. I figured he'd been holding himself together all day and this was probably his first opportunity to let go. But he just stared in stunned silence. There was no way to read what went on beneath the surface.

  The place had been ransacked. Someone wanted something bad. But Brandt had been a careful guy, according to Hollister. He wouldn't leave sensitive materials around the house. If he did, they wouldn't be easy to find.

  Every shelf had been emptied, books and objects lay everywhere. Some books had been ripped apart, delicate figurines had been smashed. Drawers had been pulled out and overturned. Paintings and photographs had been torn from the walls, some lay face down, their backing ripped apart, some were sliced. The kitchen was a mess of pots and pans, utensils and dishes.

  I decided to give the second floor a better look.

  The ancient stairs creaked. These houses had been built in colonial days. It gave me goosebumps when I moved and heard a creak or groan. Lights were on in every room. I went into what had probably been Brandt's office. It'd been torn apart worse than the rest of the place. Papers and files everywhere. There was no evidence of a laptop other than a power cord on the desk. The bedroom was just as torn up. So I headed back down.

  Hollister sat where I'd left him, he looked about a hundred years old. His whole body sagged under the weight of his loss. He stared ahead as if he could see through walls.

  "Mr. Hollister?" I placed a hand on his shoulder and he felt slight, almost as if nothing were there. "Mr....?"

  "I want to get these... people, Mr. Fontana... I want them to pay." Hollister seemed revived by his anger.

  "We'll find them, Mr. Hollister." I guessed I'd be taking the case after all, though there were still a lot of pieces missing. The ransacking might have been connected to the killing. Or, someone might've taken advantage of the tragedy to steal valuables. Thing is, I didn't like the feeling I got. Things didn't add up to a simple solution. "Let's call the police."

  "No! I won't have them here. The way they treated me today. The way they brushed off Helmut's murder... No." He paused to take a breath and swipe a hand over his face. "We don't have to call them, do we?"