I didn’t get home until after 2:00 A.M. I must have been exhausted because I slept though my mother’s departure for work. A phone cal woke me at 9:30.
Cal er ID told me it was Mrs. Cherry. “My darling,” she said when I picked up. “How is my most delicious boy?”
“Tired,” I told her.
“You sound it, dearest. Are you stil in bed?”
“Actual y, on the couch,” I said.
“Are you sleeping nude, pet? Or wearing tighty-whitey’s? Or are you letting it al hang loose in boxers and no shirt, or maybe… oh, I mustn’t, or your dear Auntie Cherry wil become too, too aroused!”
I smiled at her flirting. “You know I charge for a phone session,” I told her. “What’s up?”
“My angel, I was wondering if you might be available for a little morning thing. An out-of-towner from Boston. You were recommended by name.”
I was so tired, but I opened up my calendar and saw the day was open. “I don’t know. What’s he looking for?”
“You’re gonna love this… he just wants you to wear a bathing suit while he smel s your wet hair.
That’s it! Although he might be doing unspeakable things to himself during the process, it’s not a bad way to make a buck. If you’re up for it.”
Truth was, it was about al I was up to today. Other than the guy who wanted to play “salesman,” it was probably the easiest money I’d earn al week.
“Fine,” I said, “where and when?”
She told me the guy’s first name and where to meet him. I told her to let him know I could be there at 11:00.
Seconds after I hung up with Mrs. Cherry, the phone rang again. This time, the cal er ID made me happy.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Hey you,” Tony answered. “You got a minute?”
“More than that. I’m stil in bed. Wel, the couch.
You know what I mean.”
“You are? Lucky dog.”
“Yeah, and it’s nice and cozy in here. A little lonely, though.”
“Mmmm… what are you wearing?” Tony whispered
I’d only been awake ten minutes. Was I going to keep having the same conversation al day?
Of course, this one could take a different direction.
“My favorite underwear. Black boxer briefs with a nice pouch. They’re real y comfortable, especial y when I get, wel, you know. They’re not too tight, so there’s room to grow.”
“Uh-huh,” Tony said quietly. “Go on.”
“And I love the way they hug my ass. The material’s real y smooth, so it feels good when I rub my hand over it. Mmmm… that’s nice.”
“Shit.”
“I’m rubbing my bel y now, right by the waistband of my shorts. It feels real y nice. I wish this were your hand, rubbing me, touching me. Want me to put my hand lower?”
Tony said something I couldn’t hear.
“What’s that?”
“Yeah,” Tony whispered.
“OK, I’m slipping my hand under the waistband.
Just touching the top of my pubes. Rubbing my hand in little circles above my-hey, why are you whispering? Are you at work?”
“Yeah. Keep talking.”
“You want me to talk dirty to you while you’re at your desk?”
Tony growled. “Yeah.”
“At police headquarters?”
“Yeah.”
“Do me a favor,” I said.
“What?”
“Stand up.”
Tony laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” I teased.
“Let’s just say I don’t carry a Bil y club in my pants, so that excuse wouldn’t work.”
This time it was my turn to laugh. “I miss your Bil y club,” I said.
“That’s what I was cal ing about. How about I drop by later?”
“How about now?” I asked. Then, I remembered the appointment I’d just made with Mrs. Cherry.
“Scratch that. How about you come around one? My mom wil stil be at work.”
Boy, did saying that make me feel like a teenager again. Then again, so did being with Tony.
“You got it. Now, go back to what you were tel ing me before.”
I checked the clock. I was going to have to hustle, pardon the expression, to make my meeting on time.
“I’l save it til I can show you.”
“You better.”
“I wil and-oh!” I said, remembering, “I have to tel you who I saw at Sexbar last night!”
“Who?”
“I’l save that too,” I said. “See you at one.”
I took a quick shower, shaved everything that needed shaving, and washed down my medication with a protein shake. My client was a businessman staying at a nice hotel, so I got dressed in chinos and a white button-down shirt. I was just ready to leave my apartment when I remembered my client’s special request.
“Shit!” I rummaged through my drawers until I found an old blue Speedo. I took off the chinos, replaced my underwear with the bathing suit, and put the pants back on. I was just about to put on my shoes when I heard my instant messenger chime.
I looked at the computer screen and saw an IM from Marc Wilgus. “U there?”
I ran over to the computer. “Just heading out.”
“Got the results of the data mining program I was tel ing u about,” Marc typed back.
I looked at the clock. “I wanna hear it, but I gotta run. I’l cal you later.”
“K” Marc signed off.
I arrived at 11:00 at The Astor, the same hotel where I’d been working the night of Al en’s death. I tried not to take that as a bad sign.
I checked my iPhone. I was going to room 813. I avoided the front desk. Nosy desk clerks sometimes enjoyed making me as uncomfortable as possible.
Occupational hazard.
I took the elevator to the eighth floor. I knocked on the door of 813, but there was no answer. Strange.
Usual y, my clients wait anxiously by the door.
I knocked again. This time, the door swung open.
I stepped inside. “Hel o,” I cal ed out. “Hel o!”
No answer. Weird. I was just about to look in the bedroom when I was grabbed from behind. “What the…” I started to say, and then a hand gloved in smooth leather was covering my mouth. One finger slid briefly into my mouth before I closed it. It tasted like a new car smel s.
My first reaction was to panic and start screaming. But I’d taken enough self-defense classes to know that was exactly the wrong thing to do.
Focus Kevin, focus.
What do you know?
I could tel the guy was big, at least bigger than me. The chest against which he was holding me felt muscular. His arms were thick, too. He was strong enough to hold both my arms with one of his.
A weird client on an S amp;M kick. He wasn’t the first one I’ve come across, but he was the most aggressive.
Thing was, there was no way to know how this was going to go down. He might just be playing with me, or he might be genuinely dangerous.
Unfortunately, with his hand over my mouth, I wasn’t in a position to inquire.
Sorry, but there was no time to be subtle. If he was just playing, this wasn’t going to earn me much of a tip, but I couldn’t take the chance.
When your opponent is anticipating a right, my Krav Maga teacher used to say, throw a left. With that in mind, I let my body go limp, as if I fainted.
My client, expecting me to struggle, loosened his grip. That was al I needed.
I drove my elbows back with al my might. Hit him right in the solar plexus.
“Ooof,” he exhaled. Thinking that I was trying to push away, he took his hand off my mouth so that he could hold me with both arms.
Big mistake. In Krav Maga, we learn to hit with the hardest parts of our bodies. That’s why I led with my elbows. Now that my head was free, I had another weapon. I screamed, “Ah-yah!” threw my head back, and hit him on the chin.
A skul is very hard.
That sent him stepping backwards, giving me enough room to slip out of his grasp.
I spun around to confront him, ready to use another hard body part, my knee, where it would do the most good. We little guys fight dirty.
But by the time I pivoted, he was ready, too. He threw a punch that connected with my cheek. The pain was blinding. I tasted coppery blood in my mouth.
I stumbled back and got my first look at him. It was al going down so fast, I couldn’t take in much detail, except for the fact that he was wearing al black, including a black leather slave hood that had zippers over the eyes and the mouth.
The zippers over the eyes were open, but the zipper over his mouth was closed.
OK, I thought, this guy is weirder than I thought.
He advanced again, and I stepped back. He was big enough that I didn’t have a chance if he got too close. Unfortunately, he was blocking the door, and if I ran further into the room, he’d have me cornered.
He reached into his pocket and pul ed out a knife, OK, he was now official y the world’s worst client.
“Don fuffin moo,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask.
I cocked my head. “What?” I asked.
“Doan fuffin moof!”
“I don’t understand what you’re…” oh wait, I got it!
“Don’t fucking move?”
“Rie!” he answered.
If I weren’t so creeped out, it’d be laughable.
But this was no laughing matter. That punch he gave me hurt. And now he had a knife.
“Hey,” I said to him, “if this is just a joke, or some freaky SM thing, you better let me know right now.”
This time, the muffled sound that came from his mask was laughter. He started to head towards me.
Time for the oldest trick in the book.
“Fire!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “There’s a fire in here!”
The Masked Marvel turned around to look at the door. I knew he was trying to remember: In his haste to grab me, had he remembered to close it?
He had. But in the moment he turned away, I had time to reach into my pocket, too. When he turned back to face me, I took a step closer and raised my arm.
A stream of Mace squirted from the smal canister I always carried with me and hit him in the face. Told you we little guys fight dirty.
He jumped back quickly. I imagined the mask he was wearing protected him from the worst of it, but enough got into his eyes to get his attention.
“Fuffer,” he said through his mask. Then he turned and ran out of the room. By the time I fol owed him into the hal way, he had disappeared down the stairs.
I went back to the room, and, after deadbolting the door, sank down to the floor, exhausted. Now that the emergency was over, al the adrenaline drained from my body. A wave of nausea passed over me.
I also real y, real y needed to pee.
I used the bathroom and checked myself out in the mirror. Yup, there was a nice dark bruise along my cheekbone. By tomorrow, I might have a black eye. I spit into the sink. Traces of blood, but not too bad.
I looked around the room. Although Mrs. Cherry told me the client was from out of town, you’d never know it from the hotel room. There were no bags, no clothing, no personal belongings at al.
The client wasn’t staying at that hotel.
What to do next? I could cal hotel security and tel them… what? That I was a hustler whose trick had just gone mad? I’d probably be the one who got arrested.
Instead, I cal ed Mrs. Cherry. I told her what happened.
“My poor, poor, darling. He sounded so nice on the phone.”
I asked her for his ful name: Albert Foley. It sounded familiar, but I wasn’t sure from where.
“Are you al right?” Mrs. Cherry asked. “Do you need me to come get you?”
“No, I’m fine. But you’re going to have to cancel my appointments for the next few days. I got a nasty black and blue on my face.”
“Do you want Auntie Cherry to kiss it al better?”
I demurred.
“Darling, I want you to know this is entirely my fault.
I should be checking out your clients better than this.
But when he said you came recommended by Al en Harrington, I thought he was safe.”
Thanks a lot, Al en.
“No problem,” I said.
“Now listen, my dove, I insist on paying you for the next few days. Think of it as sick time. I’l send a messenger over with some cash when you’re feeling better.”
“OK,” I said. Wel, at least I’d have some time off.
“And, darling, I hate to be indelicate, but you have to know that you can’t be in the business I’m in without dealing with some, let’s just say, questionable partners. Now, it’s nothing you need to know about, but rest assured that I will be fol owing up with Mr. Foley.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’l cal you when I’m presentable again.”
I had some time to kil, and a lot of nervous energy to burn off, so I decided to walk for awhile before hailing a cab home.
I supposed I was lucky that after a few years of hustling, this was the worst I had to show for it. But maybe it was a sign. With the money from Al en’s wil, I didn’t have to do this anymore. I could go back to school and live off his bequest until I graduated.
Besides, I thought, I didn’t think Tony would approve.
But then again, who was he to judge? He was married, for Christ’s sake. If I could overlook that, surely, he could accept my job.
Tony. I’d be seeing him again in less than an hour.
My body flushed with pleasure and I got a stupid grin on my face.
And, in the pit of my stomach, the wonderful/terrible squishy feeling that meant I was in deep.
But something stil bothered me. Albert Foley.
Why did that name seem so familiar? I had a feeling that it was important I remembered.
I thought about the names I had heard or said recently. Had I read it somewhere? Saw it on television? Was it someone I met?
Focus, Kevin, focus.
Then, it came to me.
It was a name I read to Marc Wilgus..
I pul ed the list Tony gave me from my wal et.
There it was: Albert Foley.
He committed suicide two weeks ago.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel very safe at al anymore.
The squishy feeling in my stomach was replaced by the dul ache of anxiety.
Assuming Albert hadn’t resurrected himself to bash me, someone was setting me up. Someone who felt free to use Albert’s name, which meant he probably knew Albert was dead. He used Al en’s name, too.
Was there a connection after al?
But who would want to see me hurt… or worse?
Was it Michael Harrington? The guy in the hotel room looked to be about his size, but it al happened so fast, it was hard to say.
Michael knew I had gone by his business to snoop him out. He seemed like he wanted to hurt me the other night. Plus, he real y hated gay people.
But he didn’t seem like the type to wear a slave mask.
Then there was the younger brother, Paul. What was it Freddy said?
“Sometimes, people with secrets are wil ing to kil to protect them.”
Would Paul kil to keep his secret safe? It seemed suspiciously coincidental that I had just seen him at a sex club last night.
Of course, I didn’t know that the guy in the hotel room wanted to kil me. He might have just been sending me a message: Back off.
As if.
Everything had gone down so quickly I couldn’t tel if the guy was closer in size to Michael or Paul. Or it could have been neither of them. Maybe it was someone they hired to rough me up. Maybe like Mrs.
Cherry, the Harrington brothers knew some
“questionable” people.
How come everyone seemed to have criminal friends except for me?
Then I realized that, given my profession, I was a criminal.
I real y needed to rethink my life. Which, given the fact that I just chased off a knife-wielding assailant, wasn’t looking too long.
It might be time to get some help.
When I arrived at my building, Tony was once again standing outside. He looked so good that I forgot how bad I must have looked, until I saw his look of concern.
“What happened?” he asked, reaching out to gently touch my swol en cheek. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s a long story.”
“Did you get mugged? Did you cal it in?”
“No and no. Come upstairs and I’l tel you.”
As soon as we got into my apartment, I gave Tony a nice, long kiss. He tried to push me away.
“Kevin, I’m serious. Tel me what happened. What can I do?”
“Two more minutes of this, just to flush the bad stuff away,” I said. “Then, I’l tel you everything.”
After a while, I felt his body start to respond. His breathing quickened, his hands moved down to my ass, cupping, kneading. Then he pushed me away again.
“That’s it,” he said sternly. “Sit. Talk.”
So I did.
I wanted Tony to reach his own conclusions, so I started with the visit Freddy and I paid to Michael Harrington at The Center for Creative Empowerment Therapy. Then I told him about running into Paul at Sexbar.
“So, you hurt your cheek when the wal fel down?”
Paul asked, pul ing me closer on the couch to him.
“Poor baby.” He kissed my neck. I cuddled closer.
Then he smacked me on the head. “But what are you playing at? I told you, al the evidence points towards your friend’s death being a suicide. Putting yourself in front of Michael like that was dangerous.”
“If he didn’t have anything to do with Al en’s death,” I asked, “why was it dangerous?”
“Because he sounds crazy,” Tony said. “They al do!”
“That’s my point exactly. With that many nuts running around, one of them’s bound to be a kil er.”
“This is New York City!” Tony yel ed. “Half the fucking population belongs in a straightjacket.”
“There’s more,” I said.
“What more could there be?”
“I think someone might be trying to kil me.”
“You haven’t told me everything, have you?”
“Not yet.” I sat up. “Here comes the hard part.”