SEVENTEEN
Pumping Iron
THE AIR WAS CHILL, THE morning traffic snarl just beginning, when Dan arrived at the lobby of the downtown YMCA. The young woman at the desk was unwilling to give him any information on the attendance of a fellow member until he produced his investigator’s licence. On seeing it, she stiffened as though he’d pulled a handgun and demanded cash.
“I’ll have to see the manager,” she said, turning to a back office.
An older woman in a beige sweater and wool skirt emerged, smiling, everybody’s favourite aunt, and asked whether he was with the police. If I were, Dan thought, I’d have pulled out a badge instead of this card. He took stock of her appearance: tidy, composed, and sure of her place in the world. Threatening her with a warrant wasn’t going to work, though she might stop short of telling him to “bring it on” if he dared. When he told her that the member in question, Nabil Ahmad, was missing, and that he was looking into the disappearance for Nabil’s brothers, her demeanour changed.
“I remember him. Nice man. I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Is it serious?”
How to answer that? he wondered. Did she mean “serious” as in the difference between a head cold and cancer? There was no such thing as a partial disappearance, so yes, it was serious, but he refrained from saying so.
Instead, he smiled and assured her they were simply following all leads at present. Her expression said she wanted to ask more, but she hesitated, perhaps out of politeness.
She smiled lightly then said, “I hope this has nothing to do with the posters I’ve been seeing around the neighbourhood, the ones with the other missing men.”
“We hope not, too.” It was the best reassurance Dan could give at present.
A quick look at her records showed Nabil had not been to the Y since two Fridays ago, the day of his disappearance. This jibed with what Prabin had said and with Nabil’s online calendar. Until then, however, he’d been in nearly every day for as far back as the records indicated. A devoted bodybuilder. It showed in the photos Dan had seen.
He thanked her for her co-operation. She nodded, concern written on her face, but clearly hopeful that would be the full quotient of excitement she had to face that day.
Dan found Prabin upstairs dressed in workout clothes. No slacker, he’d been at it for half an hour already. His efforts showed in the dark patches beneath his arms and the sheen on his forehead. Normally clean-shaven, he was sporting a two-day growth of facial hair. It looked good on him.
The tinny beat of dance music competed with the clank of metal as members lumbered between benches and machines, pumping and pushing their way to perfection before heading off to offices and cubicles and the everyday, imperfect world of work. While the rest of humanity lay in bed, these juggernauts rode the pilgrimage to physical supremacy, desired by many but achieved by few, forsaking sleep and rest in their efforts to attain the ideals of the Greeks. All that just to look good on a beach.
Prabin had snagged a prime corner where they could talk without being overheard. Dan spotted him while he hefted a monster barbell.
They talked between sets. Prabin was adamant: the bottom line was that he wanted to help Dan in his search for Nabil and the other missing men.
“If the chief were serious,” he said, “he’d let the public know they’re looking for three gay Muslims, not just one guy who disappeared from the Church-Wellesley neighbourhood six months ago.”
“Not necessarily. We don’t even know if all the men are still missing. It’s possible they’ve shown up elsewhere. Their friends claim they disappeared, but what if one of them got nabbed for selling drugs and ended up in jail? There could be plenty of reasons why they didn’t announce their departures. We still don’t even know their full names.”
Prabin looked unconvinced.
“There’s also the possibility that the chief might not have been able to secure permission from the men’s families to bring the matter to public attention. Nabil’s brothers don’t want him to be outed, especially if he turns up and suddenly finds all his friends and relations now know he’s gay.”
“But that’s not helping things.”
Dan shook his head. “No, it’s not. But in a perfect world where we can be who and what we are without fear of consequences, there wouldn’t be gay kidnappings and killings.”
A trainer in a torn T-shirt and worn jeans strained beneath a barbell, his muscles ripped as he demonstrated proper form to a skinny man who’d come dressed in a pricey blue track suit. The women in the room looked overly serious in this male-dominated world. The others, mostly men in their twenties and thirties, sweated through their workouts. Three of them sported facial hair. They might have been Muslim. Any one of them could have been the man behind the disappearances.
“I guess that’s where we come in,” Prabin said.
“Maybe,” Dan said. “I still don’t like the idea of deceiving Donny. It puts me in a difficult position personally.”
Prabin shrugged. “I’ll square it with Donny when the time comes. This is my decision. I’d prefer not to do it on my own, but I will if I have to.”
Dan sighed. Talking to Prabin was a bit like arguing with Ked. “Then let’s strategize. I still don’t know how to go about setting you up to be potentially abducted in a bar full of strangers. How do we know who’s interested in meeting Muslim men?”
Prabin grinned. “If you weren’t so white you would know it’s not that hard. When I go out to bars, I can tell instantly who’s interested in a brown boy like me and who is not. You know the expression ‘fats and femmes need not apply’? That goes for non-whites, too. I’m aware that I am not to everyone’s taste, but conversely I’m also very aware when I am. It’s in the eyes.”
“So, should I assume anyone who doesn’t look at me is not interested in white guys?”
Prabin’s grin faltered. “Touché.”
“More to the point, you’re saying we should go out to the bars and let you get picked up by total strangers? I think Donny would crucify me for doing that no matter what the intention.”
“Not just any bars. We’ll go to the bars where the men were last seen. That way at least we’d get an idea of who is interested in me. I’ll leave the rest up to you as my chaperone.”
“As your pimp, you mean. Then what?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you have some sixth sense giving you spidery tingles that tell you when you’ve been approached by a killer?”
Dan shook his head. “If I didn’t know you were an intelligent man, you might have me wondering.”
“But I am intelligent. Look — I grew a beard.”
“Ah, that’s the reason. I thought maybe your razor was rusty. Still, it’s going to take more than facial hair to convince someone you’re Muslim.”
“What else can we do? If I’m approached and it feels a bit dicey, I’ll just play it cool and see what the guy suggests. If he asks for a name and number to set up a coffee date then he’s probably legit. But if he asks to meet me in some dark dungeon, then sure as shooting, that’s our guy.”
“Unless he’s an S&M master. In which case he’ll
just want to torture you, not kill you. Then where would you be?”
“True, but if we’re right in assuming the guy we’re looking for is Muslim, too, then it should be easier to narrow down.”
“Even if he is, not every Muslim is going to look like a stereotypical Muslim.”
“Domingo agrees with you on that.”
“You want Domingo to give us a physical description? That’s a little far out for me, but if you want to give it a try then go ahead.”
“I already asked her.”
Dan stared. Prabin nodded.
“She said our guy is a shape-shifter. He appears as whatever you want him to be. Young to the old, old to the young. She said he’s a man without a soul. He takes the form of whatever’s around him.”
“Then maybe what we need is a mirror to see if he cast
s a reflection.”
“That’s vampires.”
“In any case, this is out of my league. I deal in hard-core facts.”
Prabin hefted a hundred-pound barbell as though it were a Popsicle stick. He carried it over to the bench and placed it on the frame. “I’m counting on you to take me seriously, Dan. This one’s for Randy.”
“Hold on a second. This is not about payback time. You are not an action hero.”
Prabin looked hurt.
“If we do this, I’ve got your back. But you have to assure me you understand this is not a game.”
Prabin nodded. “I understand perfectly.”
“Good. Then we’ll have to figure out when and where to begin the hunt for this mysterious abductor.”
“Hunt for a killer, you mean,” Prabin said. “I think it’s time to call him a killer. I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think those men are coming back. Maybe not even Nabil.”
He grabbed the bar and pressed.
Dan was at his office by ten o’clock. There were three messages waiting. The first was from the leader of Almusawa. She’d seen the news item about Joe the previous evening. This time she left her name — Khaleda — and a request for him to call back.
The second message was from Nabil’s brother Amir. He and Mustafa were hoping for further news. Dan knew to interpret that as saying they wanted him to give them something hopeful to cling to.
The final message came from Domingo to say she’d mentioned Dan to someone named John, who would contact him to set up an appointment. She made it sound like a consultation for hair removal or a dental treatment. John might seem a little eccentric, she warned, but he was very good-looking. I don’t give points for looks, Dan caught himself thinking.
He phoned Khaleda first. It was the same off-putting voice he remembered from the previous day, only this time it was less strident. She told him that on seeing the news report she’d called her group members to discuss the matter. They were willing to give Dan a chance to tell them what he knew. Their next meeting was that afternoon. It was short notice, she realized, but would he like to join them? Yes, he would do that.
He phoned Nabil’s brothers next. Amir answered. As he’d anticipated, they were anxious to hear any news Dan had of their brother. They, too, had seen the report and were more concerned than ever. Did he think Nabil should be added to an official missing-persons list?
“That’s up to you,” Dan said. “I can still keep looking for him even if you choose to inform the police. They won’t be as discreet, but they can certainly help widen the search.”
“We will discuss it, my brother and I. In the meantime, Mustafa has transferred the information from Nabil’s computer to his own. You may take it with you, if you like.”
“Yes, I would. I’ll drop by this afternoon to get it.”
He turned to his laptop and checked his email. Most of what tumbled from out of the ether appeared to be junk, which was par for most of his work days. He sorted through the garbage, sending it to spam, the IT version of purgatory. At the bottom he found a message from Domingo’s latest project: John.
John had included a picture. Domingo had been right — he was impressive-looking. A bodybuilder with massive pectorals and ripped abs, he was wrapped only in a plush white towel. His tongue wagged flirtatiously at the side of his mouth as he held up the camera to a mirror. Evidently he enjoyed posing as a sex kitten. Dan’s expectations were plummeting, but he made the call.
The voice that answered sounded distrustful. Dan was reminded of his initial conversation with Khaleda. For Domingo’s sake, however, he was willing to give the guy a chance.
“What do you do again?” John demanded.
“I’m a private investigator.”
There was a pause. “What do you investigate?”
“Whatever I agree to take on.”
“Like my ex-boyfriend, for instance?”
Humour? Possibly.
“We could discuss it.”
“You might come in handy. Is Dan your real name?”
“Of course. Isn’t John yours?”
“No. I never give out my real name till the third date. If there is one.”
Dan considered several choice answers, but thought of Domingo and held his tongue. “Well, I guess I’ll have to wait and see then.”
“Who else are you dating?”
“Listen, why don’t we get together to discuss these things?”
“Okay. I can schedule you in for next Friday at two.”
“That’s a week and a half away,” Dan said.
“My workout regime is very demanding.”
Dan slumped in his chair. He looked over the sleek torso and that salacious tongue. “Not a good time for me,” he said.
“When are you free?” John inquired.
“Probably not for a while. Let’s just leave it open for now.”
“Something pressing going on in the investigating world?”
“Actually, it’s my part-time gig,” Dan said.
“What’s that?”
“Led Zeppelin tribute band. I’ve got rehearsals coming up.”
There was a suspicious silence. John sniffed. “Really?”
“Sure. I’m a dead ringer for Jimmy Page. What say I give you a call when my schedule settles down?”
The line clicked off.
EIGHTEEN
Blunders
MUSTAFA MET HIM AT THE door and ushered him in with the barest of greetings. Amir emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray set with a pot of tea and three cups. He smiled on seeing Dan. As before, the brothers sat side by side on the couch, with Dan across from them in a straight-backed chair. Eyes met and held across the table.
Mustafa waved the cup aside when Amir offered it to him. Perhaps he didn’t drink tea with non-believers. Or maybe just not with gay private investigators. Dan was beginning to dislike his quiet, sour looks. At least he could deal with Amir.
“We have considered your request for a list of places our brother may have frequented,” said the elder brother. “I am afraid it is very short. There is a mosque we
all attend on Danforth Avenue near Donlands Avenue.” He hesitated. “Though Nabil was less inclined to go the last year.”
“I know it,” Dan said. “That’s not far from my neighbourhood. I will check in there.”
“As well, we know he attends a gym in the downtown area, but we do not know which one.”
“It’s the YMCA. That is where he met Prabin. I’ve been there already. He hasn’t been seen since the day you last heard from him. I will keep checking, however, in case he turns up.”
He quickly brought them up to date, detailing his visit to the Mr. Leatherman contest, but leaving them to figure out the cultural context. Next he told them of his breakfast with the chief of police and how that meeting had resulted in the news item they watched on television. From their expressions, Dan couldn’t tell if they were impressed or frightened.
The brothers exchanged a few words in Arabic, their faces impossible to read. Amir might have been instructing Mustafa on how to make tea or he might have been saying they couldn’t trust Dan now that they knew he was friendly with the chief.
“I should also let you know,” Dan began, “that on looking into Nabil’s business affairs, it seems he was operating some websites —”
“Yes, yes — we know of these,” Amir said hastily. “He was tutoring young students.”
“No,” Dan said. “He was operating sites where he posed for money.”
Mustafa looked perplexed.
“Sex sites,” Dan explained. “People paid to see him show his body on camera.”
Mustafa’s face struggled to contain his emotions. “These are not the actions of a decent Muslim,” he said at last.
“Is it true?” Amir asked.
“Yes, it is,” Dan told him. “The only reason I mention it is that his disappearance may be connected to someone he met on one of the sites. There would be records of c
redit card transactions. That may be beyond my scope to investigate, but the police would be able to look into it. I’m also looking into a man named Hanani Sheikh. He was the designer who created the sites your brother worked on.”
“And who is he, apart from being a web designer?” Amir asked.
“Nobody special, as far as I can tell, but he seemed to have an interest in your brother that extended beyond his business affairs.”
The brother sat, digesting these revelations. Neither spoke for a moment.
“There’s one other thing,” Dan said. “I found a reference to a gay prayer group in Nabil’s journal. Almusawa. I spoke with the leader, but she didn’t recognize his name. He probably used a pseudonym. I have a meeting with them this afternoon. I’d like to show Nabil’s photograph to the members to see if anyone recognizes him.”
Amir nodded. “Then, yes. It must be done. My brother and I have discussed this already. Please, do whatever you can. It is now more than a week since we have heard from Nabil. We are beginning to give up hope. Every day we wake up to an empty house.”
“I understand what you’re going through,” Dan said.
He followed them down the hall to Nabil’s room. Inside, nothing looked as though it had changed since his last visit.
The computer was on. He touched the mouse and the screensaver vanished. As he pointed the cursor to the power button to turn it off, something caught his eye. The desktop configuration looked different.
The folder containing Nabil’s photographs was missing.
“Did some of the files get moved around?” Dan asked.
“Mustafa removed all our personal information, but nothing else,” Amir said with a glance at his brother.
“I seem to recall some photos from the other day that aren’t here now,” Dan told them. Mustafa fidgeted nervously under his gaze. “Pictures of Nabil.”
Amir said something to Mustafa in Arabic then turned to Dan. “Perhaps they are in another folder. Or else you mistook one directory for another. We all make these blunders from time to time.”
Dan shrugged. “Possibly.”
His eye caught on the silver ta’wiz. He picked it up by the cord, letting the amulet rest in his palm. Along one side, a sickle moon cradled three five-pointed stars within the open end of the sickle. A slender piece of hope.
Shadow Puppet Page 13