by J. P. Bowie
“Well…” Peter chuckled. “He probably didn’t want to tell me he’d just been contemplating doing in old man Hastings. Don’t you think you’re being a tad too suspicious now?”
“Hey, you’re the one who started me on this road, don’t forget.”
“But I believe what he said, about not wanting to cause Emily any more grief.”
“Yeah, it’s a good story,” Jeff murmured “And for the record, I hope you’re right.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jeff stood in front of his closet looking at the rows of clothes before him. What to wear for his meeting at Benny’s Bar? Should he go casually in polo shirt and jeans like some yuppie on his day off— or in a business suit, looking like he’d taken time out from a heavy schedule to keep this appointment? He finally decided on a light gray two piece suit, white shirt, and royal blue tie.
Fortunately, Peter had decided to leave early and spend some time with Gloria and Emily before the funeral, so Jeff had avoided excuses as to why he was dressing so formally. He very rarely wore a tie these days, and frankly hated the feel of a closed shirt collar. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he felt fairly satisfied with his appearance. No doubt he could pass for a successful business man with some money to burn on whatever his fancy chose.
Earlier, he had called Detective McKenna and updated him on his progress checking out Anthony’s alibi.
“So it looks like the kid’s story holds up,” McKenna had remarked.
“Looks that way. Listen, McKenna, I got a lead on some extracurricular activity that Hastings was involved in and I’ll be following up on that today.”
“Tell me more. Who gave you this lead?”
“I’d rather keep that confidential, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. I expect you to cooperate with us instead of trying to keep information from us.”
“Well, I’m not about to divulge my source, but I will tell you that I’m meeting one of Hastings contacts at Benny’s Bar on Harbor at three today.”
“Contacts?”
“Yeah, someone representing some kind of covert circle of sex on demand that Hastings used to satisfy his taste for little girls.”
“Christ. We’d better be there too.”
“Look, McKenna, it might be better if there aren’t any cops around. We don’t want to scare the guy off right away. I have a feeling the first meeting is a way of checking me out before they get down to business.”
“Could be you’re right. Okay, we’ll keep our distance, but don’t try any heroics. You don’t know what you’re dealing with here.”
Jeff had actually felt better now that McKenna knew where he would be. No harm in having a little back up should his assignation turn ugly, for whatever reason.
§ § § §
Sitting in the chapel by himself, Peter looked around at the dozen or so people in attendance at Charles Hastings’ funeral. Johnny had been right. The turnout was small, surprisingly so for a man of his stature in the business world. Apart from the family, he did not recognize any of the mourners—if they could be called that.
He looked over his shoulder and his eyes dwelled for a moment on a man sitting near the back of the chapel. A dark haired man with a black moustache who met Peter’s gaze for a moment before quickly looking away again. Peter felt a prickle on the back of his neck from the contact.
He was seated in the row behind the family. Anthony turned and smiled at him then in an instant the smile was changed to a sneer as his eyes flicked beyond Peter. Turning round again, Peter saw a rather nondescript man with stooped shoulders walking down the aisle. The man’s eyes nervously avoided Anthony’s glare of dislike. He took a seat some distance from the rest of them and sat with his head bowed, not looking at anyone. Peter glanced again at Anthony who was once again looking straight ahead. He breathed a slow sigh of relief. He had, for a moment, anticipated a confrontation of some kind between the two men.
Emily, Jerry, Gloria, and Johnny were sitting with Patricia, who was all but ignoring them, preferring to press against Anthony’s side and sob quietly into his arm. Peter felt an acute discomfort as he sat observing everyone. Something was making his skin crawl, and a faint feeling of nausea crept over him insidiously. He turned to look at the dark haired man again, but this time the man kept his gaze averted. Peter shook himself slightly and hoped this charade would soon be over. At that moment the minister took his place in the pulpit and began to intone what he hoped would be words of comfort for the assemblage.
The man obviously had never known Charles Hastings personally, or his words would have choked him. As the phrases “pillar of the community” and “august humanitarian”, slipped smoothly from his lips, Peter heard Emily give a short bark of laughter, covered by a pretended cough. Without hesitation, the minister continued his silky oration, but seemed extremely put out when his invitation for anyone to stand and eulogize the departed was totally ignored.
Clearing his throat hurriedly, he drew the ceremony to a conclusion, and with great relief everyone walked out into the sunny Californian afternoon. Peter stood off to one side as the few who had attended whispered their commiserations to Patricia then quickly departed. He watched with fascination as Anthony strode over to the man he had seen him glaring at earlier and blocking the man’s path as he tried to reach his car.
Anthony got in the man’s face. “You have some fucking gall showing up here, Doctor Tom.”
The doctor quailed under Anthony’s fury and tried to push past him.
“Anthony, please don’t.”
Peter hurried toward them, certain Anthony was going to strike the man, but Jerry and Johnny got there first. Jerry took Anthony’s arm and pulled him away from the trembling doctor.
“Don’t do this, Anthony.”
Johnny signaled for the doctor to leave. The man needed no second bidding, but darted into his car and sped off. Anthony stood silently seething with rage, watching the car disappear then he pulled himself free of Jerry’s grasp. For a moment, no one spoke. Jerry and Johnny looked awkwardly at each other, unsure of what to do. Peter motioned for Emily and Gloria to join them, Patricia following in their wake.
Peter put his hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” He could feel the rage emanating from the young man.
“Sorry,” Anthony muttered. “I lost it there for a moment.”
Patricia pushed herself in front of Peter, tugging at her son’s arm. “Take me home please, Anthony,” she whined. Anthony looked over her head at Peter with despair in his eyes.
“We’ll all take you home Mrs. Hastings,” Peter said. “I think we could all use a good drink right about now.”
§ § § §
Jeff entered Benny’s Bar just before three o’clock. He glanced around the dimly lit room, then sauntered over to the bar and ordered a beer. He over-tipped the bar tender, picked up his drink, walked over to a table, sat down, and waited. The bar was sparsely occupied. A man and woman at one table talking in low whispers—another man on his own sitting in a corner staring directly at Jeff. Could this be the contact or was the guy trying to pick him up? Jeff changed his mind on both counts when the man’s stare became a glare of intense dislike.
He drew in a quick breath of surprise as someone slid onto the seat next to him.
“Mr. Stevens?”
“That’s right.” The man pushed a card across the table to him then left. Jeff picked up the card. It had a phone number on it and a message…Ask the bar tender to dial this number. Jeff rose from his seat, again aware of the man in the corner’s hostile expression. He walked over to the bar and handed the card to the bar tender who immediately picked up the phone and dialed the number, then handed the phone over to Jeff. It was answered on the first ring.
“Mr. Stevens?”
“Yes.”
“You are interested in our product?”
“Yes, I am.”
“It will cost you fifteen hundred dollars. Are you still inte
rested?”
“Yes.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw a young blonde girl climb on to a bar stool next to him. She ordered a drink, then turned and smiled at him.
“Remain in the bar,” the voice continued. “You will be contacted.” The line went dead. Jeff smiled at the young woman as he walked back to his table. A moment later she sat opposite him.
“You looking for some company?”
“You could say that.” Jeff wondered for a moment if she could be the contact.
“Cost you a hundred.”
Jeff dismissed the likelihood that she was the go between. No, just a hooker on the make.
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Fifty, then. You’re a good looking guy. I’ll cut you a deal.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Jeff said. “But I’m waiting for someone.”
“Screw you!” Offended, the blonde lurched to her feet and stomped off somewhat shakily on dangerously high platform shoes.
Jeff slipped further down in his chair and looked around the gloomy interior. One or two other patrons had sidled in, ordered drinks, and had taken up various positions in the bar. The man who had stared at him with such dislike earlier was still there and still glaring at him. Jeff studied him briefly. About forty years old, dark brown hair receding from his temples. Not a happy guy, Jeff thought as the man continued to cast a cold look in his direction.
He was just about to go over and ask what the deal was when another man sat down at the table.
“Mr. Stevens?”
Jeff locked eyes with a swarthy middle aged man.
“Yes. And you are?”
The man was about forty five, thickset, and Jeff guessed him to be Middle Eastern, probably Iranian.
“My name doesn’t matter.” His voice was thickly accented. “You wish to buy from us?”
“Yes.”
“Boy or girl?”
Jeff struggled to keep his voice calm as he answered. “A girl.”
“You are a young man—and fine looking.” The contact looked Jeff over with suspicion, and at the same time licked his lips suggestively. “Why would you need our services?”
Jeff fought down his revulsion, and his urge to punch the man’s face. “I prefer paying for my pleasure. And only with very young girls.”
“Very well, we can help you there.” The man’s thick lips parted in a mirthless smile. “We will make the arrangements for you, Mr. Stevens. Then we will contact you with the time and the place. The money will be paid in advance, of course.”
“I understand. Will it be soon?”
“Tomorrow night. Is that convenient?”
“Yes.”
The man stood then left the bar. Jeff sat for a few minutes before walking out into the welcoming sunlight. As he got into his car, his cell phone rang. It was McKenna.
“Success?” he asked dryly.
“Where are you?”
“Across the parking lot in the burgundy Buick.”
Jeff squinted through his side window and made out the car with the two detectives sitting in it. “I see you. Yeah, I made contact. They’re going to deliver tomorrow night. They’ll call with the time and place.”
“Anything else in there?”
“The bartender’s in on it and some dude kept giving me the evil eye the whole time I was in there. Not your friendly neighborhood bar.”
McKenna chuckled. “Okay, keep us informed.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
Jeff put his car in gear and eased out on to Harbor Boulevard heading for the freeway, and home. He felt dirty. The seediness of the bar, the revulsion he’d felt during his exchange with the contact now crawled on his skin.
God, I hate these people. Their trafficking in the bodies of young children was to him, the worst possible sin. He had seen the end result of the damage done to the victims so many times. Kids on drugs, selling their bodies for another hit to help them escape into oblivion. Kids lying in doorways and alleys unable to find their way back, unloved, unwanted, and ignored by a seemingly ignorant society. Once they had fulfilled their purpose, they were cast out, like so much refuse.
His determination to put a stop to this particular vice ring had now even superseded his need to find Charles Hastings’ murderer. As far as he was concerned, Hastings had earned his fate. Whoever had killed him and for whatever reason would eventually become clear, but for now, hopefully with McKenna’s help, he would put an end to this obscene operation.
He was relieved not to see Peter’s car in the garage as he pulled in. He would have time to shed these clothes and take a shower, thus avoiding any explanations. He still didn’t want to let Peter in on what he was doing. When it was over, he’d tell him. He began pulling off his clothes as he climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Throwing his shirt and underwear into the laundry basket, he stuffed his suit into a dry cleaning bag. All of it needed the residue of this afternoon removed.
He stepped under the scalding water and rubbed vigorously at his skin, trying to wash away the pervading feeling of sliminess. He was overreacting, he thought, as he stood beneath the powerful spray, but he could not wash away the images of children being used for nefarious purposes. Pedophilia, in any shape or form, was abhorrent to him, and he deemed himself too close to this to remain unemotional. The shower helped clear his head, however, and his heart lifted as heard Peter’s voice call him from downstairs.
“Just getting out of the shower,” he answered. “Come on up.” He heard Peter bound up the stairs then he entered the bathroom, all smiles.
“Hey there, you.” Jeff opened his arms to him.
“Oh, now you’re making me regret my natural hospitality.” Peter sighed and pressed himself against Jeff’s still damp body.
“What do you mean?” Jeff asked, kissing Peter’s neck.
“Anthony’s on his way over. He’ll be here in a sec. He was so down after the funeral I asked him if he’d like to have dinner with us here, and to my surprise he said yes.”
“That’s okay…you can take care of this later.” They both looked ruefully at Jeff’s burgeoning erection just as the doorbell rang.
“Damn,” Peter sighed.
Jeff chuckled. “Go answer that while I make myself presentable.”
Peter ran downstairs and flung the door open. “Come on in, Anthony. Jeff will be down in a moment.”
“Thanks for inviting me over.” Anthony stepped down into the living room. “You guys have such a neat place—feels like a home should.”
“Thanks, we love it here. Can I make you a drink?”
“Just a beer, if you have one.”
“Sure thing.” Peter ambled into the kitchen, Anthony following.
“So you and Jeff have been together how long?” he asked as Peter opened the fridge and brought out a can of beer.
“Well, we got off to a rocky start, actually. But he eventually moved in Christmas Eve last year.”
“What do you mean; rocky start?”
Peter related the story of how he and Jeff had first met when Jeff had been approached to investigate Phillip’s death. “He was pressuring me into reading about the attack on Phillip and me, something I hadn’t been able to do. Of course, he meant it for all the best reasons, but at the time I was overly sensitive about the whole deal. We got into a shouting match—well, I did the shouting and told him to leave.”
“You’re kidding me.”
Peter’s smile was rueful. “Sounds stupid now. Anyway, Jeff being the kind of guy he is, didn’t give up on me. He came back to the house. My mother was there, and she kind of smoothed things over—gave me time to calm down. Jeff apologized for being so forceful. We talked some more. I read the reports of the attack, made a fool of myself crying like a baby. Jeff was really compassionate and understanding. I didn’t know it then, but when I think back on it, that was when I started to fall in love with him.”
Anthony listened enthralled. “And you found the guy who
killed Phillip?”
“Yes, guys actually—two of them. Cops, if you can believe it.”
“Jeez. What happened to them?”
“They’re both dead. But that’s another installment. Ah, here’s the light of my life now.”
Jeff entered the kitchen, handsome in khaki shorts and a white polo shirt that complemented his tan. “Hi, Anthony.” He greeted their guest with a friendly hug. “Bit of a grueling day for you, I expect.”
“It’s better now, thanks to Peter. He’s been telling me all about how you guys met.”
“Oh, that tired old story.”
“Excuse me?” Peter exclaimed with mock indignation. “I rather think of it as the love affair of the century.”
“Well, you might just have something there.” They exchanged smiles and Anthony coughed politely.
“Uh, would you guys like to be alone?”
“No. Please excuse our bad manners. We’re very happy to have you here. Peter just has to learn how to behave himself in front of guests.”
“Well, I’m very happy to be here,” Anthony said, enjoying the playful banter of his two new friends. “I really couldn’t have faced another evening with my mother pretending she’s heart-broken over Dad’s death.”
Jeff perched himself on a barstool next to Anthony while Peter prepared his usual Scotch and water on the rocks. He listened as Anthony continued.
“Then, on top of it all, that creep, Dr. Tom Watt, the guy who raped me all those years ago, showed up. I could have beaten the shit out of him and probably would have if Jerry hadn’t stopped me.”
God, what a day, Jeff thought, knowing he couldn’t share his story at this moment. “So…” He accepted his drink from Peter. “The doctor and your father must still have been friends.”
“I guess so.” Anthony downed half his beer in one gulp. “But he should have stayed the hell away.”
“Well, it’s over now,” Peter said. “You’ll probably never see him again.”
“That’ll be fine with me. It just creeps me out to think that slime ball is out there, supposedly treating sick people—and he’s the sickest of them all.”