Cops and Comix

by Rhys Ford

  The coffee was good. It was always good, and Alex let the caffeine work through him, wishing he’d worn something warmer since the air cut right through his sweater and shirt. Although, he realized, Castillo seemed quite the heater, and Alex shifted in his chair, angling his legs to leech off as much of the man’s warmth as he could without looking like a perv.

  Castillo didn’t appear to mind Alex’s proximity. In fact, he turned his chair and blocked off most of the wind coming through the mall’s curved adobe-plastered columns.

  “Thanks. It’s a bit cold,” Alex admitted. “The coffee really helps.”

  “That could be shock too,” Castillo replied gently. “You’ve gone through a traumatic experience. Let’s start at the beginning and see what we can find out.”

  “Sure.” He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “I was late this morning….”

  It didn’t take him very long to tell the detective what he’d done and what he saw. Castillo was exacting, going over several points in Alex’s story and then inquiring about his staff. Alex’s brain short-circuited at the thought of someone on his staff being able to—being willing to—drag a dead body in the store, and he said as much, bringing a smile to the detective’s sexy mouth.

  “Sometimes people do odd things.” Castillo jiggled his coffee cup, stirring its contents in a swirling motion with his wrist. “I’m not saying that someone on your crew is responsible for this, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask.”

  Alex nodded and shivered again, caught in a gust of wind. “I understand.”

  “Much like I have to ask you this.” The man must have practiced his little-boy-lost look in a mirror, because his brandy-brown gaze cut through Alex much like the wintery chill had a few moments earlier. It was a begging-forgiveness instead of an asking-permission glance, the kind of look guaranteed to get a man out of trouble—or into another man’s bed. “Where were you last night?”

  “You think I did this?” Alex gaped at the man, his outrage rolling over any burgeoning desire for the handsome detective. “I could never—hell, I can’t even kill the spiders in my house. I just leave the door open and hope they go outside.”

  “I have to ask, Alex.” Castillo rolled over his name, wrapping it in velvet and heat. “It’s just procedure.”

  “I was at home.” He sniffed, suddenly disgruntled. He spent most of his nights alone, much to his disgust.

  It wasn’t that he felt ugly. At the very least, Alex thought he could pull off cute if absolutely necessary, but what he couldn’t fake was interest in hitting a club and drinking himself silly. Any friends he had—and he did have friends—were either married with children or lived too far away to spend an evening with. His social life mostly included trips to conventions or film festivals—perfectly acceptable activities, he reminded himself, except they seemed to be severely lacking in hot gay men.

  Glancing up at Castillo, Alex briefly wondered what the supposedly gay detective did for a social life. When his mind eagerly provided graphic and vivid images of backroom sex orgies and lines of young men willing to suck the detective off, Alex struggled to contain the blush he felt burning up his face.

  “Can anyone corroborate that?” The detective looked sincerely apologetic for having to ask, but Alex wasn’t sure he believed the man.

  “Other than my cat, no.” Alex shook his head. “No.”

  “What did you do? Alone. You and the cat?” The man’s odd phrasing made Alex look up, and Castillo grinned widely. “Watch television? Read?”

  “I don’t see—” He cut himself off and swallowed reflexively. “I was watching Sherlock. The new season’s out, so I wanted to catch up. Mrs. Who doesn’t have much say about what’s on the television.”

  “Mrs. Who being the cat?” Castillo sipped at his coffee.

  “Yeah.” Alex looked over to where a large dark blue van pulled up in front of Planet X. “Is that… forensics?”

  “Coroner’s.” Castillo followed his gaze. “A couple of the forensics techs will be along in a few. We should have you open again tomorrow. Day after by the latest.”

  “God, I’ve got to call everyone on shift.” He realized he didn’t have a clue about what to do when the business was closed for a dead body. They’d never even been held up, although he did have his accountant set up a pay code for his staff if there was a robbery. “I’ll have to arrange to pay everyone for time lost, I think. Hell, who the hell plans for shit like this? God, and that poor guy. Jesus.”

  “Probably not the guy in there—plan for this, I mean,” Castillo said, jerking his thumb toward the store. “But it’s decent of you to pay your guys. Can you afford it?”

  “What?” Alex looked up from his phone where he kept the store’s schedule. “Yeah, the store’s… good. I make more money on rare comics and collectibles than subscriptions, but the shop’s been pretty solid.”

  “So money isn’t an issue, then?”

  “No, it’s….” Alex scowled at the man. “What are you asking me? Is this about the man in the shop? Do you think I’m connected to him somehow?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Alex,” the detective admitted softly. “Most people are killed for money or relationships. If the man in there isn’t connected to you, then I have to find out who he is connected to, but I’m always going to start off where a body’s been found. Essentially, it’s ground zero. If I’m lucky, I can find a trail back to who killed him, but in order to do that, I have to eliminate everyone else—and that includes you.”

  HE FLUSTERED Alex Martin. If there was one thing James knew, it was men, and the owner of Planet X definitely was flustered. After a few more minutes of questioning and securing the names and contact information of Martin’s staff, he cut the man loose and watched him as he walked back to the shop, arms tucked in tight against his body to ward off the cold.

  A few hours later and covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs he’d gotten from climbing through tight attic spaces, James was lost in thought as he sat in front of the coffee shop when the table rattled under his elbow. He looked up to see his partner, Lois Washington, easing into the chair Martin had vacated a few hours before. Lois placed what would be his third cup of coffee in as many hours in front of him, and James took it gratefully as she joined him.

  A pleasant-faced black woman from East LA, Washington’d been his partner for nearly three years, and they’d hit it off nearly immediately. He admired her doggedness, and she tolerated his leaps of intuition, providing of course he could find evidence to back them up. Their close rate was good—quite good—and he’d been touched when she asked him to give her away at her wedding. He’d accepted on the stipulation he didn’t have to do a father-daughter dance with her. He did it anyway and embarrassed the hell out of her with his rendition of the mashed potato.

  Thankfully, she’d decided to forgive him by the time she and her husband, Raoul, got back from their honeymoon.

  “Came with the meat wagon?” he asked, giving her time to swallow from her own cup. “I thought you were going to be out until the afternoon.”

  “It’s two thirty,” she growled over her coffee. “Close enough. What was the deal with the owner? Uniforms say he’s shaken but not too bad.”

  “I cut him loose. One of the uniforms will call him when he can lock up.”

  Lois eyed her partner. “Is he good for the kill?”

  “Did you see the DB? Heavy guy. I don’t think Martin could have gotten him up into the ceiling to stash him there, and the DB was definitely up there.”

  “Yeah, so not recent. From the looks of things, I’d say a few days dead. Maybe even more. Bloated, and there’s insect activity.”

  “Yeah, Martin said the victim’s side burst open. I’m guessing parasitical expulsion. I don’t think he did it. Too… clean. Not meek but gentle. Besides, I saw the guy on the floor. Even with bloat, he was a big guy. I don’t think Martin ever saw the ceiling tiles were missing.”

  “He didn’
t mention the missing ceiling tiles?” Lois cocked her head. “Not even to ask where they were? Because they weren’t under the DB. Someone’d left them up there. Moved them out of the way. I’d say he was shoved out from the hole.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t think Martin actually looked up. He said he checked the DB, then went outside to toss his guts. So the question is, who moved the tiles, and how did the body get up there?”

  “Stored up there? Odd place to put a kill, but we’ve seen odder.” She contemplated the mall’s exterior. “All of the shops share walls, but you saw the pass-through break between the right part of the curve and the rest of the place.”

  “So if he came from the ceiling, then there’s only a few shops he could come from,” James concluded. “The comic book shop is just one of them.”

  “Want to make a wager?” Lois looked innocent, but he’d been her partner long enough to know her round-cheeked guilelessness hid a cunning mind. His wallet still whimpered when he thought of the first time they’d joined Raoul’s monthly poker night and she’d cleaned them all out with a wink and a smile.

  “No, I’d like to be able to put my mother in a nice nursing home at some point.” He rocked back in his chair.

  “So what do you think happened?” she pressed him. “No bet involved. Just, you know… a guess.”

  “I don’t know, but I sure as hell want to find out.” James wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Because the sooner I do that, the sooner I can hit on our lead witness.”

  IT’S MADDENING—the not knowing, Alex grumbled to himself. Also, if he had to listen to “The Time Warp” one more time over the shop’s speakers, he’d go insane. One of his business classes had suggested a good owner allowed his employees to take ownership of their environment, and he’d initially thought having each employee determine the music selection for two hours during their shift was a good idea—providing there was little to no profanity.

  He just hadn’t expected show tunes. Just ten songs. On an endless loop. For two straight hours.

  A communicator chirrup announced the store’s latest visitor, but Alex didn’t look up from his filing of misplaced comics. He’d just gotten to putting away yet another stack of Lady Death when Giselle called out to him over the squeak of Columbia’s singing voice.

  Detective James Castillo nodded a hello to him, as suave as if he walked into Planet X on a daily basis just to grace them with his sexiness.

  From the openmouthed expression on Giselle’s face, Alex figured she wouldn’t mind at all if Castillo made the store a pit stop in his daily routine. He almost handed her one of the shop’s dusting rags to catch her drool before she slobbered all over the glass spotlight case, but he thought better of it.

  Mostly because he might need it himself.

  Alex couldn’t imagine how he’d forgotten how buff the man was. Or how hot. But it’d been nearly three weeks, and Alex figured he’d romanticized the man in his mind, adding a layer of sexiness he couldn’t possibly have possessed.

  No, he corrected. He obviously couldn’t handle the detective the last time, and his mind had gone the other way, washing a layer of doubt over the actual article so his brain could continue to function. He was paying for it now, because the sight of the detective framed by the lit-up, sized-down Stargate he’d had built into the long wall for decoration was enough to make him weep.

  Castillo wore the same leather jacket Alex’d first seen him in, but his jeans were now faded blue Levi’s, and the shirt was a heather gray Henley, its buttons undone and the flap pulled open enough for Alex to catch a good peek at Castillo’s tanned chest and collarbone.

  God, he apparently also had a thing about collarbones.

  “How are you doing, Alex?” Castillo smiled, turning the sexy up to a dangerous level. “Do you have a minute? Maybe grab some coffee?”

  “Sure. We can talk in my office.” He looked toward the back where he’d set up a coffee machine. “Um, I can make a pot.”

  “Just made one,” Giselle called out sweetly from where she’d been eavesdropping.

  “Okay, then.” Alex clapped his hands, instantly regretting doing so. Nothing said gay man like a Teletubbies impersonation. “Um, follow me.”

  He walked a few feet ahead of Castillo, but Alex could have sworn he felt the man’s heat on his back and thighs. Opening the door to his office, he motioned the detective in and asked, “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Black’s fine,” Castillo answered, sliding up past Alex close enough he could smell the detective’s faint cologne mingled with the leather he was wearing.

  Separated by mere inches, Alex stood against the office door and brought his hands to his sides. He clenched his fingers in, steadfastly refusing to even accidentally brush the man’s body. He needn’t have worried. Castillo did it for him, with a gentle brush of fingers along Alex’s thigh as he went in.

  After clearing his throat—because suddenly there was a lump of something in it—Alex said shakily, “I’ll be right back. Um… the couch is comfortable. Sit wherever you want.”

  Retreating back up a few feet to the break room, Alex almost jumped out of his skin when Giselle hissed into his ear, “Holy shit, he’s hot. New guy? Hell, did you have an old guy?”

  “Why are you back here?” Alex muttered back. “Suppose there are customers?”

  “I’d hear that chirping thing go off.” The young woman rested her chin on Alex’s shoulder, watching him as he doctored up his own coffee after filling up two mugs. “You’re going to go in there with those dorky transporter cups? Dude, no one wants to watch old-school Kirk and Spock disappear as they drink coffee. So not sexy.”

  “I’m not trying—will you get off my shoulder?” Alex nudged her back with his elbow. “He’s probably here about the dead guy. Remember that?”

  “God, how can I forget? Best two days of not-working I’ve done in my life,” she said gleefully, tousling her bright red hair. “Went to the beach. Got a pedicure—”

  “If working here’s a problem, we can cure that,” Alex jibed playfully. “Especially since you’re supposed to be work-working right now.”

  “Well, shit, give me the details when you’re done.” She pouted. “Or better yet, lock the office door, and I promise to keep everyone out for at least an hour. If you yell loud enough, you can even make it two.”

  “God, I’m going to fire you one day,” he promised without much heat. “Go back up front. Now.”

  Juggling the mugs, he made it back to the office without spilling anything on the floor only to find Castillo up on his feet and studying the items Alex’d shoved into the bookcases lining one side of his office walls. He was fondling a blown-glass dragon when Alex walked in, turning the creature over to watch the opal chips suspended in glycerin bob about in its hollow belly.

  The area was originally used to store collectibles, but Alex had converted it into his office when he took over Planet X, opening up the space in the front as a break room for his employees. Spacious enough to hold a desk and a short couch, it was a place for Alex to relax in while he did the books. Furnished mainly for comfort, the office resembled more of a family room than a place of serious business. He needed that bit of comfort, especially since he used the office to flee the employee-empowered musical program if the tunes got too much for him.

  “This is pretty,” Castillo remarked, carefully returning the dragon to its original spot. Alex felt the detective’s gaze follow him as he sat down on the wide chair near the couch, and when he looked up, Castillo’s amber eyes caught him as neatly as if he were an insect on a tree. “But then, so are you.”

  Alex fumbled his coffee cup, splashing a few drops into his lap. Staring up at the cop, he patted away the liquid, wondering if he had heard correctly. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

  “Yeah, I’ll get back to that,” Castillo promised as he sat down on the couch. “I suppose I have to take care of official business before anything else.”

  “I’m sorry, but
I’m really confused right now,” Alex admitted.

  “Let me help with that.” The detective pulled out a small notepad from the inside pocket of his jacket. “We’ve discovered who the dead body was and, more importantly, found out how he got in your shop.”

  Alex had to put his mug down. His hands were shaking, and he didn’t trust himself not to drop his coffee. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Okay. What happened?”

  “First, I wish you’d told me your father invented air or something.” Castillo’s rueful look was back. “We—my partner and I—were surprised by how much cash flow you’ve got. It sent up a couple of red flags for a few days until we got it all figured out.”

  “My father didn’t invent air. He just sort of figured out a couple of ways to make—look, what does that have to do with anything?” Alex frowned. “I didn’t think my financial situation had anything to do with me finding a dead man in the middle of my shop.”

  “No, but it did help us get to why that man was there,” the detective replied. “Apparently part of your shop’s services include acquiring expensive collectibles.”

  “Well, yeah, but none of that’s stored here.” Alex shrugged. “My cousin is—well, I don’t know what you’d call him exactly, but he deals in antiques and collectibles. Geeky stuff, mostly. He offers me first bid if it’s something he thinks I’d be interested in. I have a list of clients who are interested in a lot of things but mostly pop culture stuff.”

  “And you store those items where? Not here, right?”

  “No, at his warehouse. If I buy an item, I rent the space it’s in until it is purchased. He’s got a staff there who’ll box it up and ship it out for me. I mean, I do go look at the items. I don’t ever purchase anything blind.”

  “And these items—those would be the ones listed on your website?” Castillo referred to his notes when Alex nodded. “Some of these things are worth a lot of cash and aren’t too big, right?”

  “Some,” he agreed with a shrug. “Price is all dependent on rarity. Sometimes the smallest things are worth the most, because people threw away a lot of props from early movies. A near-mint lobby card of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula sold for over twenty thousand dollars. You’d be surprised at what people have stashed up in their closets or attics. Why?”