by Don Travis
Yarborough’s sunburned face turned redder. Even his pallid chest took on a slight hue. “You saying I’m queer, motherfucker?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I said calmly. “Bullies usually attack what frightens them the most. Throws others off the scent, I guess.”
That was too much for him. He lunged at me. But he telegraphed his move. I sidestepped and put a foot between his legs. He went over, banging against the wall of the trailer. The flimsy fiberboard cracked, leaving an impression of his head before he dropped to the floor.
Aggie went by me in a blur and wrenched a baseball bat out of Oscar’s hand. The guy just stared at him, openmouthed, as the taller man placed a hand against his face and pushed him back onto the sofa. The couch went over. The cheap carpet didn’t do much to cushion his skull.
Yarborough wasn’t finished. He rolled into me, almost sending me to the floor, but I backed away and stomped on his wrist as he grabbed for my ankle.
“Ow!” He clutched his injured arm to his chest.
I staggered like I was drunk, but it was only the unstable mobile home swaying beneath our feet. Trailers aren’t the place for fistfights and wrestling matches. If we weren’t careful, the damned thing would end up on its side like the sofa.
“Look, Yarborough, this isn’t necessary. Level with us, and we’ll leave,” I said into the sudden lull.
“Arright.” He rolled to his feet, nursing his sprained wrist. He’d likely lose a couple of days’ work. “Seen them two again the next night.”
“On Sunday?”
“Guess so.” He moved past me and took a chair opposite the overturned couch. Oscar lay as he was, his legs splayed in the air over the edge of the couch as he watched Aggie with a wary eye. Aggie still held the metal bat he’d taken from the man.
“Get the fuck up, Oscar,” Yarborough snarled. “And turn the couch upright.”
Oscar didn’t move until Aggie backed away. Nobody said a word as the furniture was put back in place. Aggie moved forward, and Oscar promptly sat down.
“So what happened Sunday?”
“Nothing. They came back, but they kept their distance from us. And then that kid came in. First thing I know, he’s sitting at their booth, and they’re laughing and talking and carrying on.”
“What kid?”
“The Penrod kid. Jazz. The town queer.”
“I hear he’s the town vamp,” I said. That earned a blank stare. “Never mind. So what happened?”
“They got in a fight.”
“With Penrod?”
“Naw. Nobody ever fights Jazz. They fight over him. Those two qu—uh, guys got to arguing over something. Maybe over Jazz. And he did what he always does, sat there and smiled, waiting to see who’d come out on top. The little shit.”
A note of longing haunted his voice, but there was no profit in baiting Bud Yarborough. “What happened after that?”
“They left. Penrod too. Piled in the car with both of them. That was some car, man.”
“And then?”
“And then we never saw them again.”
I came at him again and again with the same questions asked in different ways, but Yarborough stuck to his story. Finally I nodded at Aggie. It was time to go, but Lando’s brother wanted to get his dig in first.
“Tell me, Oscar,” he said, tossing the bat contemptuously on the sofa beside the man. “Who fucks who in this household? Or does it go both ways?”
I mentally rolled my eyes, but neither of the two roustabouts said a word. Their gazes met briefly, and then each man studied the floor in front of him. Answer enough in my book.
Aggie was quiet after we left the trailer park. At length he spoke. “Fucking bullies. They always turn out to be cowards when you face them down—unless they can gang up on you.”
“Not always. I’ve met a few who weren’t all bluff. Taken a beating or two in my life.”
“You believe Yarborough?”
“I don’t believe or disbelieve. He’s given us a little something, and now it’s up to us to confirm it and find out what happened next.”
“Like that old game of Clue. What’s next?”
“Tomorrow we’ll go see Dix Lee and talk some more about Bud Yarborough. Tonight we’ll see if we can find Jazz Penrod.”
Aggie checked the luminous dial on his watch. “Kinda late. Midnight.”
“It’s not late for a guy like Penrod. This is when he comes alive. The only problem is finding out where he does it. Let’s swing by his mom’s place again. See if she can tell us where her darling is.”
“I don’t understand something. I thought the legal drinking age in this state was twenty-one. If I remember right, Dix Lee said the Penrod kid is eighteen. So how does he get in the bars around here?”
“Same way you did when you were underage. Learned which ones will let him in on the sly. The Sidewinder’s at the edge of town, so they probably turn a blind eye. If some of the gay trade comes there, he’s probably a draw for them.”
“Okay, another question. If the management at the Sidewinder puts up with gay trade, why do they let bullies like Bud and Oscar in?”
“The Four Corners is a place of contradictions. Given the makeup of the population, Native Americans, hard-hat miners, and oilfield workers, it’s predisposed to conflict. So long as the patrons take their disputes outside, management will let them all in and count their money. In a perverse way, that reputation probably draws more people than it repels.”
“Weird.”
“And Castro Street isn’t?”
“Point taken.”
Darkness cloaked the Penrods’ small home, making it seem less shabby. Foliage blurred the boxy outlines of the house. A light burning over the stoop cast a golden glow, turning the ivory trellis roses into faint gray splotches in the darkness. A Dodge Ram pickup in the circular drive almost blocked the house from view.
“Bet that’s her brother’s. Jazz would want something sportier,” I said.
As if in confirmation of my guess, a man I took to be Riley Penrod answered my knock. A big man, he made an intimidating silhouette in the doorway.
“Help you?” His tone indicated he wasn’t willing to go very far in the pursuit of that goal.
“We’re looking for Jazz. Is he home?”
Penrod stepped out into the night and closed the door behind him. I pegged him at six two and around two twenty or better. He carried a beer belly, but no one in his right mind would consider the man flabby.
“You got a lot of balls looking for the kid at his mama’s front door this time of night. Ain’t you guys got no shame? Who are you, anyway?”
I made the introductions, confining it to names and the fact I was a PI wanting to talk to Jazz as a possible witness to an incident at the Sidewinder on Sunday the twelfth.
“Jazz ain’t here, and I don’t know where he is. Probably out on the Big Rez. If he’s there, good luck finding him.”
Beyond leaving my name and asking that Jazz call me at the Trail’s End, there wasn’t much else we could do.
“This is taking a lot of time,” Aggie observed as we pulled away from the curb in the rental. “And I’ve got a feeling Lando and Dana don’t have much time.”
Unfortunately I agreed with his assessment.
CREATED BY JUTOH - PLEASE REGISTER TO REMOVE THIS LINE
Chapter 11
AGGIE AND I located Jazz Penrod the next morning, but not because of any clever sleuthing on my part. Just as we pulled out of the Trail’s End headed for the police station to see if Dix Lee was working on a Saturday morning, a tall, slender young man strolling down the sidewalk on the south side of Main caught my eye. I immediately threw the car into reverse and eased back into a parking spot at the motel.
“Forget something?” Aggie asked.
“Look across the street. The kid walking west.”
“It’s him. It’s the Penrod kid, isn’t it?”
“Think so, but I can’t be sure.”
“Let’s go talk to him.”
I pulled out and turned back toward our rooms. “We will. But I don’t want to spook him.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The kid’s gay. He’s receptive to the attention of presentable men, so—”
“Hell, we’re presentable. Let’s go.”
“Not we. Me. You look too much like your brother. You wait in my room while I try to pick him up. If I can, I’ll bring him back for a chat.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I let Aggie into my room and drove onto Main. For a moment I thought I’d lost Penrod, but then I spotted him far down the street. That long-legged gait ate up the distance.
I drove past, confirming it was Jazz. Pulling a U in full view of him, I approached at a crawl. His stride shortened as he eyed the car. I halted ten paces in front of him and leaned across the seat so he could get a good look at me.
The “stare” is a standard move for a lot of gays on the make, but in New Mexico it is a complicated maneuver. Many Native American cultures have an eye-avoidance custom, considering it rude. Gangbangers take it as dissing, a challenge to their machismo. A lot of straights feel it’s an invasion of their space. It makes them uncomfortable. Jazz Penrod didn’t have a problem with it. His gaze locked onto mine.
“Morning.”
“Morning.” His smile displayed a row of straight, sparkling white teeth. “Can I help you?”
“Maybe you can. I’m new in town. Just here for a couple of days. You look like a fellow who can tell me where the action is.”
“Depends on what kind of action you’re looking for.”
“Why don’t you get in the car and we’ll discuss it. Maybe we can go back to my motel room to talk at leisure.”
“Where you staying?”
I motioned with my head. “Down the street. Trail’s End.”
He did a half turn and looked toward the motel. “Don’t see why not.” He stepped off the curb, grasped the door handle, and slid into the passenger’s seat. “My name’s Jazz.”
I accepted the handshake, noting the strength of his grip, which argued Jazz Penrod worked for his living, although exactly what kind of work seemed to be a mystery.
“BJ. Up from Albuquerque for a visit.”
“BJ. Like the initials?”
I nodded.
“Here on business?”
“In a way.”
As I pulled out onto the street, his eyes raked me. “Go in the back way,” he directed. “I know the girl who works in the office there.”
“You mean Melissa? She seems like a decent sort.”
“She is, but….” He left the rest unsaid.
I turned away from the office and circled around behind the building in order to reach my room. Jazz got out of the car and waited until I unlocked the door. As I moved aside, he stepped into the room where he abruptly halted.
“What is this?” He backed up, bumping into me. “I don’t do threesomes.”
“Not asking you to.” I applied pressure to his broad shoulders. “Just want to talk to you for a few minutes.”
“No, thanks. I gotta be someplace.”
I managed to close the door and lean against it, blocking his way. “Hear me out, and then you can leave if you want. Won’t take but a minute.”
Jazz stepped forward, giving me some room. He motioned toward Aggie sitting on the edge of the bed. “I know you. Well, I mean….”
“Looks just like his brother, doesn’t he?”
“You’re Lando’s brother?”
“I’m Aggie Alfano.”
“Look, man, Lando and Dana came on to me. I didn’t—”
“Nobody’s pissed, Jazz,” I assured him. “We just need some answers. Dana and Lando are missing, and we’re trying to find out what happened to them.”
“Missing?”
“Yes, and their car went over the Rio Grande Gorge near Taos the other day, although neither of them was in it.”
“No shit? That Porsche? Man, that was a bitchin’ ride.”
“Sit down.” I indicated one of the two chairs at a small table. “Let’s see if we can figure out a couple of things.”
I examined the young man as he strolled to the table and settled into a seat. Although the photo Dix Lee had shown us looked vaguely androgynous, the flesh and blood Jazz Penrod exuded a powerful masculinity. But there was something else at work too. Some sense of vulnerability, approachability. This guy could probably raise the pulse rate of half the men and women in town. He tossed his head, throwing his shoulder-length hair back. Seductive as hell, and he wasn’t even trying.
“When did you meet Lando and Dana?” I asked.
“I don’t remember the exact date, but I know it was a Sunday night a couple of weeks ago.” His voice was a light baritone with a husky quality. The inflection on some of his words was different—he almost swallowed the final syllables. Yet he came across loud and clear.
I took out the calendar I’d worked up for Lando’s trip and made a notation. “That would have been August 12, right?”
He shrugged. “I guess. I know they’d gone to the Aztec Ruins that day because they talked about it.”
“You met them at the Sidewinder?”
“Yeah. We got to talking, and they bought me a drink or two.”
“We understand Lando and Dana got into an argument at the bar. Was that over you?”
Jazz smiled. “Nope. They were arguing about where to go the next day. Lando wanted to go see the Bisti badlands, but Dana wanted to try the Salmon Ruins.”
“That was it? That caused an argument?”
“Not really an argument, but—” Jazz cut his eyes to where Aggie sat on the bed. “—Lando did this Italian thing. You know, getting earnest when he talked.”
Aggie chuckled aloud. “You got him down pat, Jazz. That’s my brother. Italian.”
“So did you go back to the motel with them when they left the bar?” I asked.
Jazz shook his head. “No.”
“Look, we need the truth, okay?”
“Uh-uh, I didn’t go to the motel with them, but they gave me a ride back to town and dropped me off at my place. It was their decision, not mine,” he added. “They were pretty much into each other—that night, anyway.”
“But you saw them again and decided to get between them.”
“Not exactly. I mean, I saw them again. I went to the Salmon Ruins with them the next day, but I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.”
“But that’s the way it turned out, right?” I asked. The skin around those expressive black eyes tightened. I recognized stubbornness when I saw it. “Jazz, those guys might be in real trouble. We need to know everything that happened. Some trivial little detail might turn out to be important. You caused some trouble between them—right or wrong?”
“Okay. Yeah, Lando caught me flirting with Dana at the pueblo. Pissed him off, but he got mad at Dana, not me.”
I decided to push. “Come on, Lando was a good-looking guy. He owned the car, and he was the guy with the money.”
Jazz came halfway out of his seat. “Hey, man, I’m no whore. I only go with guys I like.”
I nodded at Aggie. “What’s not to like? And from the picture I’ve seen, Lando’s even better looking than his brother.”
“Yeah,” the kid said, settling back in his chair again. “He was fucking beautiful. But Dana was too. And I like guys who don’t look like me. You know, with the same dark hair, dark eyes—like me.” With a sideways look at Aggie, he gave a grin. “I’d go for you before him. That’s cool hair. Brown, but not really brown either. Reminds me of coffee with cream in it. And I like green eyes—you know, like emeralds.”
“Thanks for the compliment. I understand how it went now. So Lando got steamed?”
“Yeah. They got in an argument—a real one this time. I guess I shoulda felt bad, but I didn’t.”
“You like two good-looking guys fighting over you?”
“Wel
l, yeah. Who wouldn’t? But it wasn’t like that. Lando didn’t get his nose outa joint because I didn’t come on to him. He just didn’t want Dana to get with me. They argued all the way back to town. But you know, after a while I got the feeling they weren’t really arguing about me. Something was bothering them all right, but it wasn’t me.”
“They never said what it was?” He shook his head. “But you went back to the motel with them, didn’t you?” I said.
“Yeah. I got out in front of the motel to walk home, but I heard Lando say he was going down the street to take care of some business at a gallery. Something about a painting he wanted to buy.”
“And he left you alone with Dana.”
“Not really. Like I said, I got out in front of the motel and started up the street, but when Lando pulled out alone, I went back—you know, to apologize to Dana. He invited me inside.”
“So you got together with Dana?” Aggie’s voice held a trace of anger.
The insolent grin returned. “Yeah, we did it.”
“And Lando caught you?” Aggie pressed.
“No, but it took longer than we planned, and I was just walking up the street when the Porsche came back. Lando might have seen me on the sidewalk, but I’m not really sure.”
Aggie and I exchanged glances. That explained the fight that almost came to blows Melissa described.
“Did you see either one of them again?”
Jazz shook his head. “Nope. I came by once, but the car wasn’t there, so I didn’t stop.”
“Tell us about Bud Yarborough,” I said.
A spot of color touched Jazz’s cheeks. “That trailer trash likes to bait gays and beat up on them. Him and his buddies. But you know what? I think him and his roomie get it on after they beat up on queers. Gets them hot.”
“I think you’re right,” I agreed. “He had a run-in with Lando and Dana, didn’t he?”
“I wasn’t at the Sidewinder that night, but I heard about it. Bud tried to bait Lando and Dana. They wouldn’t bite, but that didn’t stop Bud and his buddies from waylaying them when they left the bar. Heard some fists got tossed.”
“Cops were called, weren’t they?”
“They get called out there all the time. They just usually separate the two sides and send them home. Too lazy to throw anybody in jail—takes too much paperwork. The Sidewinder’s right on the city limits, and sometimes it’s the cops and sometimes it’s the sheriff’s department. Anyway, I heard Lando and Dana did okay. Held their own against Bud and two of his friends.”