“Can I ask you a question?” I said, my voice wobbly.
“That’s not usually the way we do this, but go ahead.” Tripp looked me right in the eye, and I almost forgot what I wanted to ask him.
“Is there a way to tell if Eddie had sex or was having sex when he died?” If he or his client were into scarfing, I wondered if there was a scientific way to prove it.
Tripp watched me for a moment. I could tell he was trying to figure out why I’d asked that particular question. “I was at the autopsy,” he said. “There wasn’t any semen found on his body. As far as other indicators are concerned...the report’s not complete yet, but the coroner said it can’t be ruled out even though he doesn’t have conclusive evidence.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m not doing you any favors. When you get a lawyer, he’ll be able to get you the autopsy report.”
“I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“The state will provide a lawyer when the time comes.”
“You could at least say if, if the time comes.”
He gave me a sad, disappointed look, then said, “I could say it, sure. But I don’t think there’s any if about it.”
After Tripp walked away, I stood there a minute or two. I couldn’t get over the feeling that coming to the funeral had been a mistake, and not only the funeral. I had the feeling every move I’d made in last few days had been wrong.
I walked slowly back to my car. Before I got there, I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Carlos Maldonado running up to me. His face was red and angry. “Why did you come here? Haven’t you done enough to this poor family?”
Absurdly, I felt shame. As though I’d done the things he was suggesting. I had to defend myself. “I didn’t hurt anyone,” I said.
“You’re not the first killer to tell that lie.”
“You can tell his family that I’m looking for the killer. I’m going to find out who did this.”
He stared at me for a moment, then chuckled. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“I’m not kidding. And when I find the killer, you can apologize to me.” His face turned even redder. Pleased with myself, I walked away.
Driving home from the funeral, I realized I’d committed myself to finding the killer. Well, I really didn’t have a choice. Tripp and Hanson weren’t doing anything to find him. I was sort of stuck. I did have an idea about how to do it, and when I got home, I put the plan into action.
Walking into the house, I went straight for the spare room. Eddie’s table was still in there, just where he’d left it. I unzipped the case and took the table out. It was fairly simple to set up. I took it down and set it up again. I did it a few more times until I felt I might look like I knew what I was doing. In the side of the case was a pocket where I remembered Eddie keeping his lotion, his iPod, and the flannel sheet he used to cover the table. I slid my hand into the pocket and found it empty. Nothing was in there. Eddie had probably just thrown his supplies into his overnight bag. It would have been easier. But the police had taken his bag. I’d have to make do.
Then I headed in to my bedroom and took off my clothes. I slipped on my smallest pair of designer briefs and went out to the living room to get my phone. In my bathroom, there’s a large mirror covering the wall above the sink. I hated it and had hoped to replace it with a more modest, less narcissistic, medicine cabinet when I redid the bathroom. That particular afternoon, though, it was very useful. Standing there, I held the phone in front of my face and snapped a photo. Not so hot. I’d exposed too much of my face and wasn’t happy with the way my stomach looked.
I got down on the bathroom floor and did twenty-five sit-ups. Then, tightening my stomach muscles as hard as I could, I centered the phone in front of my face and took another photo. I got one that might work, but I wasn’t completely convinced. I did about a hundred more sit-ups and took another ten photos. I wished again that I had my laptop. There was a rudimentary photography program on it. It would have been nice to adjust the color and up the contrast. But I didn’t have my laptop, so I’d have to deal with what I had. Taking a deep breath, I slipped my briefs off. This would be the difficult part. I needed a picture I could put on the massageformen.com where my cock was a least semi-hard.
Unfortunately, the police had removed not just Jeremy’s box of kink but all the porn from the house. That left me with just my imagination. It had been a long time since I’d masturbated without visual aids. Not that I needed to finish. Not that I needed to get very far along even. But still. I felt like the only porno-deprived fag in Los Angeles County.
Closing my eyes, I began pulling gently on my cock. I started considering what I should think about to make this easier. I’d certainly had a number of sexual adventures recently. I could have recalled any of them. But Eddie was dead and it was too creepy to use him as an imaginary fluffer. The guy at the gym was an ass; thinking about him now might make my dick shrivel. And Jeremy, well, the sex was hot, but fantasizing about him was too complicated. Simon was out of the question. I considered a couple porn stars I liked, but without the actual material, they didn’t do much for me.
Detective Tripp popped into my head, and my prick woke up. I imagined him showing up for no reason at my house. Wearing one of his crisp, well-tailored business suits. He’d stand at my front door, not sure what to say, mumbling a little. I’d invite him in, but I wouldn’t step back far enough. He’d be very, very close to me. I’d tilt my head back, and he’d kiss me. His lips would be amazingly soft. I’d push the door shut. My hands would be all over him, feeling his wide shoulders, his tight stomach, his cock struggling to get out of his slacks.
My dick had swelled to a respectable size. I stood back, aimed my phone at the mirror and snapped a couple shots. Checking them, I was impressed with myself. They looked good. I considered taking a break and finishing the fantasy I’d started about Tripp, but I had work to do. I pulled my briefs back on and went into the bedroom and got dressed.
Sitting on the hard box spring, I clicked away at my phone. I went to massageformen.com website and placed the following ad:
Erotic massage by hot thirtysomething
Hi! I’m Zeus! 5’ 11’’ 185 lb. jock. I offer a relaxing Swedish massage done on a table and in the nude. Out call only $140. Full release guaranteed. Open to suggestion.
Maybe Zeus was a silly choice for a name, but there were a lot of ads and some of the guys looked like they spent every spare minute at the gym. I needed something that would make me stand out. I could have gone with Dirk, but something felt wrong about that. So, I stuck with Zeus.
I worried that “open to suggestion” might not be specific enough. I changed it to “open-minded”, but that seemed lame, too. I needed something that would bring in Eddie’s killer. I finally went back one more time and changed it to “into most scenes.” I needed to leave myself room to say no. I didn’t want to have to fulfill every fetish out there. I attached the two best pictures I’d taken and then I was done.
Now all I had to do was wait. Well, no. I had to do more than that. I had to think through what I’d do when someone answered the ad. It was very unlikely I’d receive an email from Eddie’s killer that said, “Hi! I’d like to choke you to death. Are you cool with that?” No, he’d probably hint at what he wanted in an email. Then he’d be more specific when I got there in person. He might not even ask for what he wanted until we were well into the massage.
That meant I needed to think through two very important things. First, I had to be convincing enough in my massage techniques to keep Eddie’s killer from jumping off the table and running away. And second, I had to be able to protect myself if he tried to strangle me.
As far as being convincing, I had to remember everything Eddie did with me. I sat down and took some notes. Maybe that seems silly, but I’m an accountant. It’s my nature to organize things. I remembered six
moves he did really well. I numbered them and jotted down a brief description. Six was not a lot; I’d have to pick up a book on massage. Hopefully, it would have a section on how not to actually hurt people.
Protecting myself would be a little trickier. I wished I could have the clients come to my house. I could set up my extra room with candles and soft music. I could also hide weapons all over the place. But Eddie’s killer had been here. He’d know something was up the minute I gave him the address.
Buying a gun was out of the question. First, it would be difficult to keep nearby while doing a nude massage. Second, even if I could figure out a way to conceal it, I was pretty sure there was at least a week long waiting period and that didn’t work for me. Probably the thing that most put it out of the question was that the police would find it suspicious when I applied for the permit. Yes, I could try to get an illegal gun, but I had no idea how to go about that. No, the only possibility was a knife. Like a switchblade.
Of course, I had no idea where to buy a switchblade. I pulled out my smart phone, jumped on the Internet and Googled it. I found an online knife store. I’d rather go and pick one up so that I had it today, but then I noticed they had a category called California Legal. Apparently, I lived in a state that had really solid knife control -- but still allowed you to own a machine gun. Logical.
I clicked on the link. All the knives on the page had short, stocky blades. You might be able to hurt someone with a knife like that, but I wasn’t sure you’d hurt them enough to keep them from killing you. I went back to the main page and checked out some of the longer, more reassuring blades, but realized they probably wouldn’t send them to me in California if they weren’t legal here.
Giving up, I went out into the garage to dig around in the boxes from the kitchen. Jeremy and I had bought a nice set of knives. I just had to find them. Fortunately, the police had opened every single box, so it wasn’t hard to figure out which one held the kitchen knives. My first instinct was to go with a paring knife. It was small and would be easy to hide. Though the blade seemed long enough, it was thin and likely to break. I decided to go with the boning knife; the blade was not only thicker, but nearly twice as long. I’d manage to hide it somehow.
Almost a half hour had passed since I’d placed the ad, so I decided to check my email. I didn’t expect to have any responses, and I knew I was being obsessive. But when I checked my email, I had three responses to the ad. One was a request for more pictures; the second for an appointment later in the week; the last wanted an appointment that same afternoon.
I ignored the request for more pictures. Went ahead and agreed via email to the appointment later in the week. We’d work out the details later. Then, I took a deep breath and sent my phone number to [email protected]. I wasn’t ready and knew it. But the possibility that I might have already snagged Eddie’s killer was too much to pass up.
Ten minutes later, the phone rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Chapter Sixteen
Houses in the Hollywood Hills are typically built on tiny, misshapen lots that rise and fall at alarming inclines. They’re built crammed together, sometimes just a few feet apart. They cling to their hill, rising one level on top of another. So it was a surprise when I reached Tomahawk Lane and found that db4162’s house was a two-story Spanish mansion sitting on more than an acre of well-landscaped lawn.
He’d sounded nice enough over the phone. “Is this Zeus?” he’d asked.
“Yes, it is,” I replied.
“Your mother must have enjoyed the classics,” he said, with just a touch of snideness.
“She was well read,” I said dryly. Sort of imitating my friend Peter.
This made him laugh. When he stopped, he asked, “So, you’re available this afternoon around three o’clock?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of massage is it?” he asked.
Every single kind of massage I’d ever heard of instantly flew out of my head. “It’s a mixture really. Erotic mostly.” I giggled, in what I hoped was a flirtatious manner. Apparently, he wasn’t all that picky about what type of massage he had because he gave me his address and began to explain the directions.
I stopped him, saying, “It’s okay. I have GPS on my phone.”
Walking up to the house, I was nervous. I tried to reassure myself. It wasn’t like I had to get an erection myself. All I had to do was get naked, rub the guy for the better part of an hour and then jerk him off. It was simple. I’d find a way to manage it. And if this was Eddie’s killer, the boning knife was in my gym bag, wrapped in a towel underneath a plastic bottle of Intensive Care Lotion with Aloe, an old set of jersey sheets, a couple of wash rags, and my first iPod, the one that was too big for the gym.
When db4162 let me in, I recognized him immediately. He was David Barker, head of Lovetime TV. His picture was constantly in the trades. In his early fifties, he was more than well preserved. He was pampered, tanned, and groomed to within an inch of his life. He probably had a trainer who came everyday and a cook who made sure he never noticed how low cal his meals actually were.
His hair was a close-cropped deep brown -- if it was dyed, it was done so well I couldn’t tell. His eyes were an almost turquoise blue (possibly contacts) and his teeth an unnatural bright white. His toned body was lean and angular. With an obvious sense of the dramatic, he’d opened the door naked. He didn’t have a tan line.
“Zeus! I’m so glad you could make it.” He smiled. I suspected it was a smile that had been getting him what he wanted most of his life. “Come on in. Would you like some water?”
I declined the water and asked, “Where would you like me to set up?”
“Out by the pool, under the lanai. It’s wonderful in the afternoon.” He aimed me through the enormous living room, then said, “I have to finish up a call. Then I’ll be right out.”
As he left the room, he made sure I got a good view of his remarkably well-shaped ass. I exhaled. It wasn’t going to be too bad. David Barker was an attractive man. It wouldn’t be difficult to earn my money today. Unless, of course, he turned out to be the guy who’d killed Eddie.
I dragged Eddie’s table out to the lanai. I was glad David wasn’t there to see how awkward I was setting up the table. Apparently, the practicing I’d done hadn’t helped. When I finally got the table up, I opened my gym bag and took out the sheet. It was queen-sized, so I had to fold it three times to get it to fit the table without draping down to the floor.
From my bag, I pulled out the lotion and in the process managed to drag out the boning knife with it. It hit the cement with a clang. Quickly, I snatched it up and got it back into the bag. I decided, though, that I should put the bag under the table. That way if it turned out I needed the knife, it would be very close by. I’d just finished sliding the bag under the massage table when David came out to the lanai. Rather dramatically, he said, “I’m disappointed.”
“Um...why?” I asked. Had he decided he didn’t want me and I’d have to leave? God, that was a humiliating thought.
“You’re still wearing clothes.”
“Oh.” Suddenly, I was shy. I’d dressed very carefully in a pair of drawstring pants that had been Jeremy’s and a T-shirt with an extra deep V-neck. I’d actually chosen the outfit for ease of removal, but now I hesitated.
“You’re not going to make me stand here naked all alone are you?”
I pulled the T-shirt over my head and dropped it onto the patio. I stepped out of my flip-flops. Slowly, my eyes on David’s, I untied my pants and let them drop. David smiled. “Very nice.”
I felt like I was losing control of the situation, so I quickly said, “I think you’re supposed to be on the table face down.”
Obediently, he climbed up and stretched out. I pressed play on my iPod and Ella Fitzgerald began to sing.
“Oh, thank God,” David said into the donut where he�
��d placed his head.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked.
“I get really tired of the new-agey shit other guys bring.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I spread lotion all over my hands and walked over to the table. Rubbing my hands together to warm the lotion, I took a good look at him. Shoulders wide and a well-muscled back tapering into a waist that had thickened only a bit with age. His buttocks stood up nicely and looked to be nice and firm. He had almost no fat on him. He was all sinewy muscle and skin.
I began rubbing his shoulders, squeezing them.
“Harder,” David said. I pressed my thumbs deep into his shoulder muscles. He groaned. “That’s it.”
I attacked his shoulders and back as aggressively as I could with one of Eddie’s moves. The one I’d numbered three. David seemed to enjoy the move. And began talking while I repeated it.
“Never date anyone more than ten years younger than you are. It’s too much of a headache. Ahhhhh.” He took a few deep breaths and then said, “Harder. Of course, the problem is I’m just not attracted to people my own age. I know that might seem disgusting, especially to someone who’s still young like you are, but there’s a biological imperative at work.”
I was getting bored with the abusive part of the massage, so I lightly ran my fingers down his spine right to the top of his buttocks.
“If we were still living in primitive conditions, the fact that my genes had survived this long would mean something significant. And I’d be doing my best to implant them in the youngest, most fertile female I could find. The fact that I’m a fifty-two year-old homosexual living in the twenty-first century doesn’t change my biological imperative in the least.”
I slid my hands over his buttocks, his inner thighs. I could see his balls and the tip of his cock between his thighs. I tweaked them. “Oh my God,” he gasped.
He lifted his ass into the air, offering it. A light growth of hair in the small of his back was now matted with lotion.
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