I picked up the ball. I was pretty sure what his next question would be. "You and Michael ever go to parties with people who like... all this?"
"I don't know what you mean." Tom was defensive. Damn! Runson was good. He had me doing bad cop and I never do bad cop.
He knelt down again. "What Nick is wondering is whether you might have met anyone who's into this type of thing. Someone who maybe..." He left it hanging there.
Tom looked into Runson's face and said, "It was never like that. All those guys. We're all friends. I can't imagine..."
Runson put his thick hand on Tom's shoulder and squeezed. "I know. But..." He looked up at me and nodded again.
I grabbed a riding crop that was laying on the table next to me and slammed it down. It made a very loud crack. Tom jumped up and turned to look at me. "Damn it. That's my stuff. Leave it alone."
I shrugged. I looked at the crop in my hand. I had an idea.
"What happens when you use this?"
"What do you mean?" asked Tom suspiciously.
"Well, show me. How did you use it on Michael?"
"I still don't understand."
"Did you do this?" I turned and quickly whipped the side of Carter's good leg.
He exclaimed, "Son of a bitch, Nick!"
I looked at Tom. He had shifted. He was immediately turned on. I looked around. I saw a pair of gloves on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Runson smiling and nodding slightly.
I put the riding crop down and picked up the gloves. They were a little small and snug, but I pulled them on. I walked over to Tom. As I did, I could see him shift his stance. That was a tell I had seen before. He just went from defiant to compliant.
I reached out and rubbed the side of his face with the back of my gloved hand. "Is this how it works, Tom? Hard and soft?"
"Yes," he whispered.
It came to me naturally, which frightened me, but I heard myself ask, "Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
I remembered something Carter had done to me a couple of weeks earlier. I put my hand on Tom's chin and pulled it towards me. Softly, I said, "Good boy."
He was breathing hard.
Runson walked over. "Anyone you can remember who didn't like Michael?" Tom looked down at Runson and didn't say anything.
I was still holding his chin in my hand. "The lieutenant asked you a question." I was going to add, "son," to the end of that statement, but I couldn't. I didn't want to hear myself say it.
Tom looked at me. He nodded. I released his chin and tapped it slightly. "Such a good boy."
He blinked at me several times and then he said, "Ronald Montgomery."
Runson asked, "Who?"
"He's part of that group. He asked me a couple of weeks ago if he could 'borrow' Michael for a couple of days of training. I told him no." Tom looked at me. I raised one eyebrow. He started breathing hard again.
"Then what?" asked Runson. He looked over at the chair. I walked over and picked it up. I could feel Tom's eyes following me. I slammed the chair on the concrete floor behind Tom and said, "The lieutenant needs you to sit down, Tom."
Tom sat and looked up at me expectantly. I smiled tightly and nodded.
Runson put his left foot up on the side of the chair and leaned over. Tom looked down and then back up at Runson. Damn! With that move, and I could feel it, the dynamic changed. Now, Runson was the bad cop. I waited for his next cue.
Runson took his thick hand and pulled on Tom's chin affectionately, mimicking what I had done. He was smiling. Suddenly, he pulled it up and said, "What did Michael think about you doing that?" He held it there for a moment and then let it go. He rested that hand on his knee and adjusted himself with his other hand. I heard Carter gasp slightly behind me. I couldn't blame him. It was amazing to watch.
"He first got mad at me for making the decision without being consulted." He looked over at me and I shook my head slightly. Runson grabbed Tom's face and turned it back in his direction. "Then?"
"Then I told him that's how this works now. I'm the master. He does what I say. He has no choice in the matter."
Out of nowhere, Carter asked in his best hayseed voice, "How does that work?"
Tom turned to Carter with a pitying look. Carter was working Tom's earlier contempt. And doing it well.
"You probably won't understand but we have a bond." He stopped and looked at me. I shrugged. He turned back to Runson. "We had a bond. Michael had vowed to follow me. That's how we set this up."
"How did this Ronald Montgomery feel about it?" asked Runson.
"He was sore at first, but then, the next time I saw him, he seemed fine."
"What happened next?" asked Runson. He reached out with his hand, smiled, and tapped Tom on the nose. It was a sweet gesture yet utterly controlling.
The dam finally broke. "Michael told me that, last Monday, he saw Ronnie on the street. Just around the corner at 17th and R. And that Ronnie tried to convince him to let him in here. He had been down here before during a party we'd had once. Michael told Ronnie we were having the basement finished out and that everything was put away and that I had told him he couldn't and that Ronnie should respect the vow. Ronnie punched him. Right on the street. If Lady hadn't been there, Ronnie might have really hurt him."
Runson seemed to know who, or what, Lady was.
"Anything else about Ronnie I should know?" It was a seductive question. Runson leaned in.
Tom was breathing hard again. He got himself together after a minute or two and said, "No. I can give you his phone number. I don't know where he lives."
Tom turned to me and had a questioning look on his face. I crossed my arms, nodded, and said, "You did just fine."
Chapter 18
On the way to The Willard
Tuesday, June 1, 1953
Around half past 8 in the evening
Carter and I sat in silence in the cab on the way back to the hotel. After a minute or so, he took my hand in his. I liked that. I always have and always will.
We walked up to the desk and I asked for messages. There were two. One was from Mike. It said, "Coast Guard released the boat. Heading home tomorrow." I whispered, "Ship, not boat." Carter was reading over my shoulder, heard me say that, and chuckled.
The second was from Marnie. It said, "Nothing important. Just checking in. Call Thursday when you can."
I looked around the lobby to see if Andy was nearby. If he was, I couldn't see him.
We went upstairs to our suite. I started to strip as soon as we walked in. "I want a shower."
Carter closed the door and locked it. He asked, "Why?"
I put the messages down on the desk. I looked around the rooms and noticed that the beds in the two bedrooms had all been turned down for the night and the curtains were closed.
"I feel dirty."
"Why?"
I threw my coat across the back of the desk chair and tossed my hat on the desk. I unfastened my cufflinks and laid them on the desk while also kicking off my shoes.
I turned to Carter as I was starting to pull off my tie, "What do you think?"
"I think all that excited you, is what I think. And I think that makes you nervous, son."
I stood there and looked at him, stunned. He was right.
He walked over to me, watching me intently the whole time. He stopped in front of me and pushed my hands away from my tie.
"You spent a long time trying to pretend like you were broke when you were the wealthiest man in town."
I nodded. I could feel something powerful moving inside of me.
Carter pulled off my tie. He leaned in, reached around me and fastened the small end of my tie to my right hand. As he did he whispered in my ear, "It makes you nervous to have too much power. Why do you think three of your four lovers have all been so big?"
I couldn't speak.
Still leaning into me, he pulled my left hand and bound it to my right hand with the other end of the tie. He whispered again, "You ha
ve to learn to let go of what binds you, Nick."
Once my arms were bound behind me, he stood up and looked down at me, contemplating my state. He began to unbutton my shirt.
"There's something about this town that makes me horny, son."
I nodded. I had to agree.
"We might go somewhere we've never been before. You know that?"
I nodded.
. . .
Later that night, I was resting against his chest. Carter was running his right hand up and down the side of my body. He asked, "How do you feel now?"
I sighed contentedly. "Happy. In love with you." I let that feeling sink in. Then I remembered. "I'm also worried about how it felt when I hit you with that riding crop."
"It shocked me at first and then it excited me. Everything you did excited me. I got to see you at work." He paused. "And I liked that." He paused again, thinking. "And I got to see you do something new. That I really liked. You and Runson were a great team."
"If things go south for him, I'm thinking about bringing him on board."
Carter laughed. "On board what? You can't keep hiring people when you don't have any clients."
"Or what? If we keep doing this for, say, the next 300 years, I might go broke."
"Well, you're right on that point. What's that line in Citizen Kane?"
I laughed. I had been thinking the exact same thing. "'At the rate of a million dollars a year, I'll have to close this place in sixty years.'"
Carter pulled me in tightly. "That's the one."
"So, what do you think?"
"About what?"
"About bringing Runson on board?"
"Let's do one thing at a time. You can think about that after the sky has fallen in on him. In the meantime, let's solve this case, save Runson from himself, and get the hell home."
"Yeah. Let's get the hell home."
. . .
The next morning I woke up thinking about Mack. When Carter had mentioned my four lovers, he was talking about Mike, Mack, Jeffery, and himself.
I'd met Mack on the ship that brought us home at the end of the war in '45. We'd been lovers for a few weeks. When we got to San Francisco, things had cooled off but we had stayed friends afterward. Next to Mike, he was probably my best friend. He'd been around when I'd met Carter and he was there when we bought our house. He'd renovated the house for us, in fact.
Carter and I were in the shower when I said, "I wanna see Mack."
He was soaping my back when I said that. He stopped for a moment, then resumed.
"That's right. He's here."
I nodded. Carter reached his arms around me and pulled me in for a hug. We stood there for a while, neither of us speaking.
. . .
Carter called down to the hotel's concierge for directions to find Mack. We went downstairs, asked the doorman for a cab, and told the cab driver where we wanted to go.
To get there, he drove right by the White House. In the morning light, it was beautiful. After a couple of turns, we could see the Washington Monument on the left. He turned to follow a leafy road next to a park. In a couple of minutes, the Lincoln Memorial was on our left. He made a circle around it and we crossed a white stone bridge. As the cab moved slowly across the span in the morning traffic, we could see the green slope of Arlington Cemetery directly ahead.
We entered the grounds and the cabbie pulled over next to a building the concierge had mentioned. Carter jumped out, leaving me in the cab. As we waited, the man turned around in his seat and, with grave concern, asked, "War buddy?"
I nodded. "And a good friend."
The cab driver looked to be in his fifties. "I got a couple from the first war that are parked here. My son is here, too." His light brown eyes got a little watery.
I said, "I'm sorry to hear that."
He turned back around in his seat, paused for a moment, and then replied, "Thanks."
He pulled on the steering wheel and continued, "Me and the missus come out here every few months or so to pay our respects. Except in the summer. Too hot." We looked out together over the green expanse that was covered in small white stones.
Carter slid into the cab and handed the man a slip of paper. He looked at it and said, "Wadda ya know. Your buddy is parked near my Davey."
Carter asked, "Your son?"
The cabbie said, "Yeah." He put the car in gear and pulled forward.
After about five minutes, he pulled the cab under a tree. He pointed to the right and said, "Your buddy is down this row right here. Probably about twenty or thirty feet down. My Davey is over there." He pointed uphill from where we were. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna pay my respects since we're here. I'm sure his mom won't mind me coming alone."
"You're not alone," Carter said.
The man nodded without speaking.
I opened my door. "We'll meet you back here. Take your time."
Carter and I walked down the row. After a moment, we came to where Mack's cross was.
I looked at it. This was the first time I'd seen it. I knelt in the grass and ran my hands over his name in the monument: Kenneth McKnight.
For some reason, I didn't cry. I had been really broken up in the fall of '50, when we'd gotten the news.
Mack had decided to go back into the Navy when the war in Korea started. He was aboard the U.S.S. Pirate, a minesweeper that was sunk by a mine. His body was among the few that were recovered. After an investigation, it was determined he'd helped save the lives of three of his shipmates by holding open a bulkhead door while the ship was sinking. That's why he was buried here. He'd been given a medal for the effort.
He was a big giant of a man and had tremendous physical strength. He was also afraid of nothing except the little guys who always gravitated towards him, looking for a father figure, whenever he was prowling the streets of San Francisco for a date.
I had mixed feelings about how his family had rushed in to make sure he got his place at Arlington. He hadn't spoken to any of them since '45. And then they showed up to claim the body, brushing the rest of us away, and making sure he got his honors. I was glad he did. But what were they worth, I wondered, other than something his parents could talk about? I guessed if it helped alleviate their pain, that was fine.
I stood up. Carter took my hand and we walked together back to the cab. We stood under the tree, enjoying the respite from the bright June sun. Ten minutes later, our driver was back, his cheeks wet from tears. We all got back in the cab and drove back to the hotel in silence.
. . .
When we pulled up in front of The Willard, I handed the cab driver a folded ten and told him to keep the change. He looked at it for a moment and then turned to look at me and Carter. His eyes opened in surprise.
"I seen you in the papers, mister."
I nodded. Carter opened the door to get out.
The cabbie kept looking at me. I held his gaze. Finally, he said, "Give 'em hell," and turned around.
I smiled and said, "I will."
As we walked into the hotel, Carter said, "Now they whisper of the man in our nation's capitol. This magic man, the bestower of outrageous tips, who dares love--"
"Carter Jones."
"Yes."
"It's a burden. But I'm holding up."
Chapter 19
The Willard Hotel
Wednesday, June 2, 1953
Mid-morning
We walked up to the front desk to check for messages. There was a note, which I looked at for a moment. Carter peered over my shoulder.
"Could he be the runt? The little one?"
I said, "I don't know. He's definitely one of 'em."
I asked the clerk. "Where are the payphones down here?"
"Is it a local call?"
"One is. The other is long distance, but I'll call collect."
The man pointed over to a couple of chairs sitting next to a small table that had a phone on it. "Use the house phone. Tell the operator your room number. She'll place the local call for you
and can arrange long distance, as well."
I nodded. "Thanks."
"My pleasure."
We walked over to the chairs. Carter sat in one and I took the other. "Do you have a pencil?"
"I do." He handed it to me.
I picked up the phone.
"Operator."
"This is Mr. Williams. Room 500."
"Yes, sir."
"Can you place a local call for me?"
"Certainly. The number?"
"Capitol 2400."
"One moment."
I waited. I looked at Carter who was watching something with a frown. I followed his focused gaze over to where he was looking. Andy was leaning against a pillar and watching us both.
I put the phone on the hook as I heard a voice answer.
Carter turned to me, "Why is he here?"
"I have to tell you something before he comes over."
"What?"
"He's actually protecting us." I briefly described the conversation we'd had in the bathroom at National Airport. Then I told him about the letter.
Carter took a deep breath. "Do you have it?"
I nodded.
"Give it to me."
I pulled it out of my inner coat pocket and handed it to him. It was sealed and simply said "Carter Jones," on the front.
"Have you opened it?"
I shook my head.
He ran his finger under the flap and broke the seal. He pulled the letter out. It was a single page.
He read it.
As he did, I looked over at Andy who was watching Carter intently.
I heard Carter sigh. He handed me the letter.
Carter –
It's probably too late, but I'm sorry. Sorry probably isn't the right word. Regret, shame, guilt, embarrassment. Those are close. I was trying things out and didn't know what I was doing to you or to Henry. I thought you liked it. But now I know. Actually, I knew that night in the woods.
Nick told me not to say that if I had known then what I know now... You know that sort of thing. But I didn't know. I didn't understand. And I hurt you both. Nothing will change that.
The Sartorial Senator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 3) Page 12