"Look who's here. Taking a break from harassing innocent people?" The voice over my shoulder sounded familiar.
I turned to see Franny Clifford. Slightly subdued today, wearing a blue blazer with a lime green vest sweater underneath and loud plaid pants. The lack of sleep was evident on his puffy, pasty face. He reeked of cheap cologne.
"Even us evil guys gotta eat, Franny," I said. "Harassing the innocent takes energy."
His cackling laugh drilled right through me.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked. "Only for a moment. Got a hot date with a young thing. A rare occasion for me these days. Dates are no doubt nothing special for you."
"I wouldn't say that," I answered and waved him to the seat opposite. "After the last time we met, I didn't think you'd want to give me the time of day."
"Taking to a hunk like you is good for my image," he said, scouring the crowd for his date. "Besides, you've got the people at the Archdiocese buzzing. Somebody even said you were gunning for the Cardinal."
He stared at me with his watery eyes, as if trying to read my thoughts.
"Are you? After the Cardinal, I mean."
"I don't see it's any of your business."
"You're right. But I like to know what's going on. It comes in handy."
"Like when you deal with Scanlan?"
"Deal with... are you kidding me?" He made an extravagant gesture with his hand. "I would never be caught dead with that man."
"He's that bad?"
"Do you know," Clifford said, leaning in closer, "do you know he goes to that bar... Stella's?"
"It's a wonder they allow him to work at the Archdiocese," I coaxed.
"He's got protectors."
"You said he worked for Wren."
"He's shadowy. I don't really know what he does for Wren. I just know he's on the payroll."
"How can a guy like Scanlan come and go as he pleases? Can they afford to pay a guy for doing nothing?"
"Oh, honey, I don't think he does nothing. I think he does a whole lot of something. I just don't know what that is. Wren's fierce about him. Won't let anyone even think about criticizing the man." He fidgeted and kept scanning for his date's arrival. "He's got free rein in the office."
"Does Scanlan meet with the Cardinal often?"
"Maybe." He became more wary. "Still full of questions, aren't you? But I guess that's what private eyes do. Ask questions. People like me get pulled into your pretty brown eyes and we'll answer anything you ask."
"Not you. You're way too smart for that."
"You bet I am, mister pretty boy detective."
"So?"
"You want me to vacate?" Clifford huffed.
"Not at all."
The waiter brought my lunch.
"Be right back with the fries," he said and moved off.
"You're going to eat that?" Clifford's eyes went wide. His mouth worked as if he were salivating at the thought of gobbling a cheesesteak. He licked his lips. "It's a cholesterol nightmare. How can you do that to your beautiful body? You need someone like me to take care of you. I'd see to it you eat right."
"You'd cook for me?"
"Didn't say I'd cook. I said I'd see to it you ate right."
"Aw, and I was just getting all warm inside."
"Sarcasm never makes a pretty boy prettier."
"You never did answer my question about Scanlan and the Cardinal. I guess I'm not all that pretty if I can't squeeze an answer out of you."
"You can squeeze all kinds of things outta me. But you just want information. I'm old enough and wise enough to know that."
"Am I gonna get the information?"
"Like I said, I don't know all his comings and goings."
"You're on top of everything at the office. You help keep that place humming and you know everything everybody does. Am I right?"
"I know what I know. True."
"So what about Scanlan?"
"Scanlan pretty much sees whoever he wants to see whenever he wants to see them. I'll bet Scanlan can even see the Cardinal without a problem."
"What gives a guy that much juice?"
"If I knew, hon, I'd be dining with the Cardinal, myself. I know plenty, but Scanlan, he's like the wind."
"Tell me about it."
"Oh! There he is...." Clifford stood and waved wildly at someone who'd just come through the door.
"Have fun, Franny."
"Call me, sometime." He blew a kiss at me as he left.
The waiter dropped off my fries. But before I had a chance to bite into my cheesesteak, Anton sat down across from me.
"I see you're back on your health food kick," Anton quipped.
"Like someone just told me, 'Sarcasm doesn't make a pretty boy prettier.' And this is the first cheesesteak I've had in two or three months." I popped a french fry into my mouth for emphasis. "What're you doing here so early?"
"It's not that early and we've got a special show tonight. Remember? Or have you totally forgotten those of us toiling in the fleshpots of the city?"
"Tonight Cal and Bruno are sharing the spotlight. See, I haven't forgotten."
"Right, but it's also Top Cheeks night and I've got a lot to get ready. Not that you should be concerned or anything. I have it all under control."
"As I knew you would." I ate some of the sandwich, popped a few more fries, and swilled some Coke. My taste buds were singing. "Which dancers are scheduled?"
"Mostly the bigger names. More tips on Top Cheeks nights. Too bad we can't let them show more than their cheeks."
"The Liquor Control Board would be delighted to slap us with numerous citations and close down the place for a few days. Stan wouldn't be happy."
"I know." Anton sighed. "Just letting you know everything's under control."
"I was gonna come up after clogging my arteries. How'd you know I was here?"
"Word gets around when the boss strides into town. You get noticed," Anton peered at me as if he hadn't seen me in ages. "Will you be here tonight?" There was a wistful quality in his voice.
"Sure. If you don't need me now I'll go home and be back at showtime."
Before he responded, his cell phone rang.
"It's marked 'Restricted' I hate that." He tapped the screen. "Hello?" He paused, listening. His face contorted into a look of pain or fear or both. "Nando? Nando! Are you all right?... What are... Are you crying?... Nando, talk to me."
"Let me listen in." I grabbed his hand and placed my head next to his.
"I'm sorry..." It was Nando's voice. He was sniffling. "Anton... I wanna... be there... for the show... but...I can't... not right now." That teary voice didn't sound sincere.
"Nando! This is Marco." I gently pulled the phone from Anton's hand.
"Marco? It's you? I thought... but... Anton..."
"I'm with Anton. Where are you Nando? I can help. I can come get you."
"No!" He cleared his throat. "No, it's not necessary. I am all right... No one hurts me... We... I will be back... yes, some time...I will be back."
"Are you being held against your will?"
Silence. A few sniffles and a cough. I heard other sounds in the background. Distinctive sounds.
"Nando?"
"I'm all right. I must go now. Tell... Anton... I wanna perform... I am happy at Bubbles... I..."
"Then let me come get you, Nando." I soaked up the background sounds.
He sobbed a few times and the phone went dead.
"I told you, Marco. He's in trouble. It's Kent. Your protege with the gun. Damn it, Marco. When you find him, I'll beat him to a pulp."
"Nando was hiding something, Anton."
"Sure he was hiding something!" Anton snapped. "He's being held against his will and that gun-crazy kid won't let him tell you where he is."
"No. He wasn't being truthful. That much was in his voice. Something's not right."
"That's a goddamn understatement," Anton said. "I'm going upstairs." He left without looking back.
I had to let h
im cool down. No use running after him right then.
My cheesesteak was soggy and the fries were cold. I didn't have much of an appetite left anyway. Nando's call was on my mind. And it wasn't the fact that he'd been lying about something.
There were sounds in the background. Familiar sounds. Very familiar. Identifying them and putting them all together might help locate Nando.
Chapter 33
"We've gotta limit the crowd. Firecode regulations," Stan complained.
Bubbles was packed to overflowing and Stan paced the hall outside my office. Top Cheeks Night was always a crowd pleaser but tonight there were lines out the door.
"Don't worry, Stan. Your guys'll keep a line outside. As people leave, we let people in." I thumped him lightly on the shoulder. "Relax. It's good for business."
"Yeah, yeah." Stan's voice trailed off as he went down the stairs.
My closet of an office was my only refuge and muffled the music and noise. I enjoyed the almost-quiet before I plunged into hosting the contest.
My workout at the gym earlier left me feeling sore but good. That half-eaten cheesesteak kept me on the treadmill an extra forty-five minutes. At least Grant, my trainer, had been easy on me, claiming I'd surpassed his goals.
"No rest for the wicked," Anton said as he entered the office. "You've got to get down there. Get somebody to take names of potential contestants, and tell Bruno and Cal your plans."
I kept my eyes closed and let his words wash over me. It was kind of nice letting him arrange the schedule. After the past few days, it was like a mini-vacation.
"You're listening, right? Your eyes are closed but I know you're listening."
"I have heard your every word, sir and I shall obey." I teased. "Of course I'm listening. So, tell me again what you just said."
I waited for his reaction which I saw building on his face.
"Just kidding. I'll get down there now. The contest starts in fifteen, right?"
"Right," Anton said and blocked my way. "Are you all right?" He placed a hand against my cheek. It sent a shiver through me and I wanted to kiss him.
So, I did. And he didn't object. In fact, he leaned into me and kissed me so fiercely I wondered if something was wrong. I let that thought die as I backed Anton to the wall and nuzzled his neck.
"Y-you've... got to get downstairs... now... Marco." He was breathing heavily as he pulled away but it felt like he wanted to stay right where he was. I know I did. We'd been down this path before. He'd let it go so far and no further.
"You're beautiful. You know that?"
"Almost showtime," he said, avoiding my eyes.
Crowd noises and music filtered up the steps as I moved to the main floor. There was an anticipatory thrum in the air. Everyone waited for the show to begin. I heard footsteps on the stairs behind me and turned to see Bruno and Cal, dressed in military fatigues, clomping down the steps in army boots.
"Ready for your big night?"
"Good one, Fontana," Bruno said. "The big night belongs to all the amateur asses that are gonna get exposed. Not us."
"But they won't be collecting the tips. You will."
"I hope so," Cal said. "I saw a new leather jacket that I have to have."
"It'll be a good night. You guys'll be on in five."
"We're ready," Bruno growled.
Instead of hitting the main floor, we turned down a hall to reach the stage door. I snatched the mike from its stand, took a deep breath, and stepped through the tinsel curtain.
The crowd erupted in cheers, applause, whistles, and catcalls.
"Ready for Top Cheeks?"
Cheers, whistles, hoots.
I recited rules and procedure. Contestants, otherwise known as audience volunteers, would come to the stage and, behind a specially made curtain, expose their bare ass to the crowd through a convenient opening. The crowd would, through applause and cheers, choose the top five. Through more applause they'd choose first to fifth places. But before those results were revealed, three lucky patrons would come to the stage and, after a closer inspection, try matching asses with the faces of their owners.
At the end, the winners would be announced, the top five would flash their faces and their asses, just to show whose was whose. Prizes would be distributed and more dancers would come out to continue the show.
It was simple, fun, and relatively cheap to produce. Often the most unlikely people volunteered along with some of the hottest guys. Sometimes audiences chose surprising winners and a lot of hotties went home disappointed. Mostly, everyone had a great time.
"Travis, the cute guy in the orange thong, will be circulating throughout the bar collecting names of people who want to put their ass on the line."
I noticed a few guys pushing their friends to sign up.
"Give him your name, and yes, you can use a phony name, then walk out that door, up the hall, and come backstage. We'll take care of your cheeks from there on out.
"When you gonna show your buns, Marco?" Someone shouted from way at the back.
"Play nice, boys, and you never know," I winked.
"C'mon. We wanna see the boss! We wanna see the boss!" Others joined the original guy in his chant.
I held up my hands to quiet them.
"This is my night off, guys. Come on up and volunteer. I promise you never know what'll happen or what you'll see backstage!"
More cheers and suggestive catcalls.
"Let's get it started!" I bellowed. "To warm you up for what's to come, here's Bruuuunooooooo! and Caaaaaaaallllll! Give it up for Bruno and Cal."
The music thumped and pounded as Bruno and Cal burst through the tinsel in an obviously well choreographed act. They were good, bumping and grinding against one another. Whirling and stripping off their shirts at the same time. The fog machines at either side of the stage billowed soft white smoke that spotlights turned gold and pink.
Backstage, while Anton, Stan, and a couple of off-duty bartenders handled set-up, I watched the parade of nervous contestants enter. Some cute, some shy, some bold. One guy on overdrive began stripping off his pants until I told him to wait for the right time.
"Gonna take a spin around the floor and see what's going on," I said to Anton. I liked to mingle with the customers and keep an eye on things. The bouncers were good but it never hurt to have an extra set of eyes on the crowd. Which made me think about Kent.
"We'll start as soon as we have fifteen or twenty contestants," Anton called out.
"I'll be back." I walked into the bar.
Music pounded through my chest. Bruno and Cal transfixed the men. Customers' faces were tilted upward, their eyes on him only. Patrons came in all shapes and sizes, ages, and colors. Everyone loves a stripper. Business was good.
"Marco." Someone grabbed my arm.
I turned and saw Grady, one of the regulars. Grady was in Bubbles almost every night. Middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair, his refined look said money. But his eyes said loneliness and that trumped money every time.
"Grady. Everything cool?"
"I just want to thank you. You've made this place a thousand times better than it was before you arrived with your group."
"I appreciate that, Grady." I signaled the bartender to give him a free drink by placing a shot glass I'd snatched from the bar upside down in front of Grady.
"I really enjoy your guys and I'd love to treat the whole group, and you, of course, to dinner some time."
"We'd be delighted, Grady. Let's talk after the show. I've gotta MC."
"You should do more than that, Marco." Grady winked.
I made my way around the entire bar, trading greetings and jokes with the men. They were a great bunch of guys, and they were generous with my boys.
On the way back around, I spotted a guy with a tattoo running up his neck and onto his face. A lizard tattoo, tongue flicking onto the guy's cheek. Yes!
Colt! Just the way Beto had described him. I needed to talk to him. I glanced around. Bruno and Cal, stripped
to their g-strings, and finished rounding the bar, were on their way to the stage. My cue to get back there. But I couldn't let Colt get away. And there was no time to tell Anton.
Clusters of people obstructed my view of Colt for a moment. Fixing him in my sights again, I moved quickly through the crowd. He turned and saw me. We locked stares for a moment. Short and swarthy, Colt's shaved head gave him a fierce look. As I moved closer, he whipped his head around searching for a way out.
Roughly knocking a few people to the side, Colt shoved his way to the door.
There was no time to apologize as I shoved aside the same startled guys.
He was fast. Faster than I expected in the tangle of customers. He slipped through one more knot of men and blasted through to the exit. I pushed myself, like a runner leading with his chest to break the tape at the end of a race.
I was out the door.
It had started raining and customers attempted to crowd themselves into Bubbles. I tried to figure which way Colt had run. I doubted he'd go to Stella's because he knew I'd track him there easily.
Taking a chance, I sprinted toward Broad as the rain pelted down. He could be heading anywhere. The rain soaked streets were nearly deserted. I glanced to the right and saw someone running about a block away. Had to be him. I took off, scattering raindrops. He was fast but I was just as good. When he turned onto Chestnut Street, I was barely a block behind. I pounded the ground trying to make up the distance. Chestnut was just ahead. I dodged traffic crossing Broad. Angry horns blared. Drivers shouted. I kept my eyes on Colt.
Half a block behind him, I saw him slow down. He turned right at Fifteenth Street making it appear he was going to Stella's. Instead, when he reached Market, he dashed west and kept going.
I guessed he was headed home.
I stayed on his tail all the way to Twentieth Street, where he turned, but it wasn't toward Arch. He ran south again and I followed. I was panting hard but he must have been tiring even faster. His pace was lots slower. But he kept going and I kept chasing.
Until Chestnut. Colt was just ahead. I'd have been on top of him a moment later. But when I hit the corner, a large man sheltering himself under an even larger black umbrella, appeared almost out of nowhere. I bowled right into him.
Murder on Camac Page 34