The Hired Man

by Dorien Grey

  Bud brought the beer, and I pushed one of the bills I’d left on the bar from my change toward him. He nodded and took it.

  “Thanks again,” Phil said.

  “What’s with the El Cordoba?” I asked after we’d both taken a drink.

  He pulled out a stool and sat down, his back to the bar.

  “The client gets turned on by games,” he said. “Sort of like that Japanese businessman Billy and I used to see.”

  I noticed with some relief that he was able to say Billy’s name conversationally, without any pause or evidence that it hurt to do so.

  “He really digs hustlers,” Phil continued, “but I think he’s leery of them, too, so he uses ModelMen because he can afford to. Sometimes he’ll meet me in here, and I’ll pretend we’ve never seen each other before, and we’ll go through the whole courting ritual. Or, like today, I’ll stand on the corner near the El Cordoba, and he’ll come strolling by and pick me up, and then we’ll walk in to the El Cordoba and get a room.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I said, truthfully.

  Phil took another drink and nodded.

  “Yeah, it’s different. There was a little variation today, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You know the El Cordoba at all?”

  As a matter of fact, I did, from my visit there during an earlier case I’d worked on.

  “You know Brad, the day manager?”

  Oh, my, yes! I thought. A hot-looking hulk with muscles for days, every one of them covered in tattoos, but with a really nice face. I nodded.

  “Well,” Phil said “the client is toying with the idea of having me approach Brad for a three-way. I don’t think Brad hustles, but if he’d be willing to go along with it, I sure wouldn’t mind.”

  Neither would I! I thought.

  He grinned. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  I returned the grin. “Do that.” I then had to force myself back to the reason I’d wanted to see Phil.

  “I was wondering, Phil. Are any of ModelMen’s escorts bi?”

  He looked mildly puzzled and thought a moment before answering. “Steve,” he said. “He’s married and has a son.”

  Steve! The Botticelli Man? I guess I was right about his androgyny, but it still caught me by surprise, somehow. “Any of the others?” I asked.

  “Good question,” he said, then knit his brows a moment. “You know, Dick, I honestly don’t know! Steve’s wide open about it. I’d assume Matt was, since Billy told me he had a couple of kids, but I’ve never heard the other guys say anything at all about it. Why do you ask?”

  Suddenly, his eyes widened slightly, and he pulled his head back. “Jeezus!” he said. “The prostitute who was found in the Dumpster! Do you think Steve or Matt…? You can’t mean…?”

  I raised my hand to try to slow him down.

  “I don’t think or mean anything,” I said. “But I have to consider every possibility, and this is one of them. Did you ever sense anything between Steve and Billy?”

  Phil shook his head. “No. Like I said, Billy really dug butch guys and he always said Steve was just too pretty for him.”

  It occurred to me that the Glicks have gone out of their way to select escorts with the widest possible range of…experience, and it wouldn’t be out of the question for some bi clients to want a bi escort—for a bi three-way, say.”

  Phil shook his head. “You’re right, I suppose, but I’ve honestly never heard it mentioned. The Glicks keep a lot of things to themselves when it comes to who they select for what specific…specialties. I remember when I first talked with them, they asked me if I was bi, and I told them no, but that was just one question among many. One of the rules is that we’re not supposed to discuss among ourselves what we do with our tricks—there’s no reason to, usually. Probably you should ask the Glicks.”

  “I think I’ll do that,” I said. “Just thought I’d check with you first.”

  “Got any plans for tonight?”

  “Not really, no. You want to do something?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’d really like to. Maybe grab dinner somewhere and go to a movie? God, I haven’t done that since…in a long time.”

  “You got it.”

  *

  A nice night. We went for pizza then to see the latest James Bond movie; then I drove Phil back to his car, parked near Hughie’s. He was pretty quiet the last couple blocks, and I wondered if anything were bothering him. I figured the best way to find out was to ask.

  “Anything wrong, Phil?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, not really. I just really miss not having somebody around to spend time with like…I used to.”

  “Well, all you have to do is call,” I said.

  He smiled and reached over to put his hand on my leg.

  “Thanks a lot, Dick,” he said. “I had a really nice time.” There was a long pause as we approached his car. “Would you…” He stopped.

  “Would I what?”

  “Would you come spend the night with me?” he asked. “I don’t mean to have sex, necessarily…”

  Damn, my crotch said.

  “I’d just really kind of like to be with somebody I wanted to be with. It’s really selfish, but you know, just for me.”

  And suddenly, for the first time, I understood exactly what Phil’s life must really be like.

  I pulled up beside his car.

  “I’ll follow you,” I said, and he smiled again, then looked serious.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “I’m sure.”

  *

  I can remember only one other time since Chris and I broke up that I actually slept with a guy without having sex. It was quite a revelation. I sensed that even my crotch understood this wasn’t the time or the place, that this was as Phil wanted and needed it to be…just for him. And I was pleasantly surprised to realize as we drifted off to sleep, Phil’s head on my shoulder and arm across my chest, that it was kind of just for me, too.

  *

  After a quick run home to change clothes, I made a stop at the diner on the ground floor for a large black coffee to go, paused at the newsstand in the lobby to pick up the morning paper, then went up to the office. I once again wondered, as the elevator creaked and groaned and shuddered as it rose, if it was going to make it.

  No messages, either at home or at the office, from Tim or Lt. Richman about the discovery of another body, so I was fairly confident I could look through the paper without finding any unpleasant surprises.

  After taking my time drinking my coffee and doing the crossword puzzle, I decided to try the Glicks at home; I preferred not to call the ModelMen offices unless I absolutely had to. To my surprise, the phone was answered by a male voice not Mr. Glick’s—”Glick residence.” I vaguely recognized it.

  “Good morning, this is Dick Hardesty. Is either Mr. or Mrs. Glick in?”

  “Oh, hi, Dick. This is Gary. I just came by to use the pool. You want to come join me?”

  Remembering Gary stretched out on top of my desk, his pants around his ankles and his shirt pushed up almost to his neck, made me very much want to join him. But business before, etc.

  “Sounds great, Gary,” I said, “but I’ll have to take a rain check. Are either of the Glicks at home?”

  “Yeah, Iris is…hold a second, and I’ll get her for you.”

  I heard the sound of the receiver being set down, then a long silence, and finally a click and Iris Glick’s voice.

  “Mr. Hardesty! How nice of you to call. What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if we might get together briefly. I have a question that can best be answered in person.”

  There was a slight pause. “Why, of course. Mr. Glick is meeting with his stock analyst this morning, but he’ll be home for lunch. Could you join us? Say around eleven-thirty?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Thank you for asking me. I look forward to seeing you.”

  “We’ll be eating by the
pool, so if you’d like to come in through the side gate, it will save you a walk to the front of the house.”

  It wasn’t until we’d hung up that it occurred to me Gary might still be there for lunch. I didn’t know how much he knew of the Glicks’ business, but he was Iris Glick’s brother. And if he was there, I could simply ask if any of the escorts was bisexual without pushing for a name if they were reluctant to talk about it in front of him.

  I was, of course, early getting to the Glicks so decided to drive around the golf course. I’d never been anywhere near the Birchwood Country Club before, but I wasn’t surprised to see that the clubhouse was a fairly good replica of Mt. Vernon—only bigger. And not being a golfer, I’d never realized just how long it takes to drive around an 18-hole golf course.

  I pulled into the Glicks’ drive at exactly 11:30, drove to the parking area and pulled in between a black BMW and a silver Porsche so new it still had the dealer’s sticker. My car sitting between them gave the impression of a dogfood sandwich.

  The side gate was open just far enough to let me know it wasn’t locked, and I walked toward the pool house. An umbrella table beside the pool was set for four, but no one was in evidence until I approached the front of the pool house. Inside, the little bar arrangement was still set up. Gary, fully clothed, was sitting on one of the four stools talking with Mrs. Glick.

  “Mr. Hardesty,” she said brightly when she saw me. “Do come have a glass of wine. Mr. Glick is changing, and Johnnie Mae is putting the finishing touches on lunch.”

  Gary got up for an exchange of greetings and a handshake then moved behind the bar for a wine glass and a half-full bottle of something pink. (I’m afraid I flunked my Wine Snob course rather badly.) Whatever it was, I knew it had to be very expensive.

  He handed it to me with a telegraphed-message smile.

  “Did you see Gary’s new toy?” Mrs. Glick asked, nodding toward the parking area.

  “Uh, yes, I did,” I said. “Very nice, indeed.”

  “It’s a birthday present” she said in the “precious” tone of a matron talking to her poodle, leaning forward to pinch Gary’s cheek.

  I immediately wanted to mention that my birthday is November 14 but thought better of it.

  “Happy Birthday, Gary,” I said. “Just think…now you can vote.”

  “Thank you.” He gave me a quick grin while at the same time backing away somewhat awkwardly from Mrs. Glick’s attentions. “Sis is very generous,” he said with a slow smile for her. “Oh, and Arnold, too, of course,” he added, somewhat unnecessarily, I thought.

  I would really have preferred that Gary weren’t there, not that he didn’t provide a welcome supply of eye candy and erotic fantasy. I wasn’t sure how open I should be about the case in front of him.

  At this point, Mr. Glick emerged from the house, followed by Johnnie Mae pushing a covered caterer’s cart I assumed contained lunch. She stopped at the umbrella table and began efficiently transferring things from the cart to the table, while Mr. Glick came over to greet me. Even when he was dressed informally, as he was now, he still looked like an ad for a Distinguished Gentlemen’s clothing store.

  Gary went behind the bar to get him some wine; then Mrs. Glick motioned all four of us to the table. Johnnie Mae was just setting out the last of the cart’s contents, and I was once again in awe of her efficiency. Whatever the Glicks were paying her could never have been nearly enough. We exchanged smiles, and she turned the cart around and headed back for the house.

  Lunch turned out to be an incredible crab salad with a side dish of fresh fruit—slices of honeydew melon, cantaloupe, watermelon sprinkled with fresh raspberries. We small-talked pleasantly through lunch until Johnnie Mae returned with coffee and took the empty dishes back to the house on the same tray.

  “So, tell us, Mr. Hardesty,” Mrs. Glick said as we drank our coffee, “what was it you wanted to ask?”

  I glanced at Mr. Glick and thought I noticed just a flicker of…what?…discomfort?…cross his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual expression of complete composure. I felt suddenly very awkward, not knowing what to say.

  Gary caught on instantly.

  “Perhaps I should excuse myself,” he said with a small smile, but Mrs. Glick reached out and touched his arm.

  “Nonsense,” she said. “I’m sure whatever Mr. Hardesty has to ask isn’t privileged.” She glanced at me. “Is it, Mr. Hardesty.”

  “Well, no…it’s just a general question about the escorts’ services.”

  “Please,” Mr. Glick said, “ask.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “I understand that each of the escorts is selected partly for his ability to cater to specific client requests, with each one providing a different area of expertise.”

  Jeezus, Hardesty! You want to try that one again, in English? my mind asked.

  Mr. Glick gave a very small smile of amusement.

  “That’s true, yes.”

  Oh, to hell with pussyfooting, I decided.

  “Are any of your escorts bisexual?”

  There was a long silence until Mrs. Glick said, “We understand several of the escorts have had heterosexual experiences.”

  I recognized sidestepping when I saw it, and pushed ahead.

  “Yes, and I realize that a large number of your clients are themselves bisexual, but do any of your escorts specialize in requests for bisexual activity involving women?”

  Another awkward silence.

  “That would be me,” Gary said with a smile, his eyes fixed on mine.

  Chapter 10

  I hope to hell my face didn’t show the surprise the rest of me was feeling, but, on reflection, I probably should have been able to guess. Matt Rushmore made no bones about his being bi, and he’d said that he and Gary had been buddies in the Marines. Two plus two, Hardesty! And how do you know if somebody’s bi or not, unless they tell you? Nobody wears signs.

  “Ah,” I said, in yet another classic example of Hardesty non-statement.

  “Matt used to be our designated bi,” Gary went on, still smiling, “but when he left, I filled in. Not that there’s all that much demand for that particular specialty, but if they want it, they got it.”

  “Actually,” Mr. Glick said, “in light of the most recent terrible death, Mrs. Glick and I thought that might be the gist of your question, and we agreed it might be good if Gary were here to directly answer any other questions you may have. Do you think the police will follow your same line of reasoning?”

  I shook my head. “No way of knowing, really. I do know that Lt. Richman, though not officially a member of the homicide division, is pretty sharp. He’s got a lot better feel for what goes on in the community than most of the force.”

  “So, do you?” Gary asked, reaching for the coffee carafe to refill our cups.

  “Do I what?” I put my hand over mine to indicate I’d had enough.

  “Have specific questions for me?”

  “Well,” I said, “we went over most of the basic ones before this bi issue came up. I just think it’s a pretty good idea to understand that if I can see the potential link to ModelMen, the cops may do the same thing. The only advantage we have right now is that the police apparently aren’t aware of ModelMen’s escort branch. I suspect it’s only a matter of time before Richman or somebody else decides to retrace their steps to see what they’ve missed, and when they do…”

  We all sat for a moment, the only sounds being the water cascading down the little manmade hill surrounding the pool house and the drone of a passing airplane.

  “Gary,” I finally said, “if I were you, I’d go over your alibis for the nights of all three murders pretty carefully—you may well need them. I’d suggest the same to every one of the other escorts as well.”

  I turned to Mr. Glick.

  “You told me the client Phil was with the evening Anderson was killed would be willing to come forward if necessary. I hope that’s true, because Phil is
a definite and obvious link between ModelMen and Anderson. If they track him down and he can immediately offer up the name of the man he was with that night, that might deflect attention from ModelMen entirely. You should alert the client he might be brought into all this.”

  Mr. Glick finished his coffee and set the cup down carefully on the saucer. He looked at me and smiled.

  “He already knows,” he said, “and has no hesitation in coming forward if he’s needed.”

  Why was I getting a strong sense that I knew who Phil’s client was? No one had mentioned a name, just that the guy was a prominent fig…

  Shit, of course! That photo of Phil and Stuart Anderson taken with the senator and…Glen O’Banyon! Why Glen, you devil, you!

  I don’t think Glen O’Banyon customarily paid for sex, but in Phil’s case, I’m sure he’d be willing to make an exception. Hell, almost any gay man in his right mind would consider it! I made a mental note to ask Phil, just for my own curiosity.

  I also made a mental note, in light of the connection between Matt Rushmore and Gary, to call Matt with a few more questions; I had a few specific things I wanted to check. My crotch immediately jumped in with a question or two of its own.

  *

  As soon as I returned to the office, I looked up Matt’s number and dialed it. I wasn’t expecting to find him home and was therefore mildly surprised to hear him answer on the first ring.

  “Matt, hi…this is Dick Hardesty.”

  “Yeah, Dick, what can I do for you?”

  I really wish hot guys wouldn’t ask questions like that.

  “I had a couple quick questions I hope you wouldn’t mind answering,” I said. “We can do it over the phone, if you’d like.”

  “Sure,” he said, “but I prefer to talk to people in person. Why don’t you come over? We can have a drink and talk about whatever it is.”

  While my crotch thought that was a great idea, my mind wasn’t too sure. He was still very much a suspect-in-waiting.

  So, what’s he going to do? Chop you up in his own apartment?

  “Okay,” I said, “if it won’t be a problem.”

  “Nah, come on over,” he said. “It’s 4242 Harker, just north of Brookhaven. Know where it is?”