Jeffrey Stark wasn’t at all like that. He was all black leather, except his butt cheeks, which were pink and hairy, and he was a hard man for Gage to find, even with the DMV photo Spike had given him. Gage spent the evening searching for a twenty-five-year-old in a golf shirt, not realizing it was theme night at the Bootstrap on Folsom Street.
Gage wore slacks and a button-down blue shirt, trying to look like a closeted middle-aged suburban husband on the prowl. He was leaning against his car three spaces down from the club when Jeffrey walked out, led by a shirtless eighteen-year-old in a black vest and leather pants. The combination was absurd even by San Francisco standards and too early for Halloween. The kid looked like an elf leading a wolf.
Gage pushed himself off the car and stepped in their path as they approached.
“Mind if I hold the leash?” Gage said.
A heavy chrome chain hooked to a spiked leather collar around Jeffrey’s neck terminated in Elf’s left hand.
Elf’s eyes registered the ten-inch rise between his eyes and Gage’s. It caused him to a come to a stop one step sooner than Jeffrey, who bumped into his back.
Gage took the chain out of Elf’s hand and pointed at the Bootstrap.
“Maybe you should go back inside for a couple of minutes.”
Jeffrey’s eyes were red and his face was bleary from too much dancing, too much beer, and too much giving and receiving inside the jail cell arena, the service stalls, and the glory holes.
“I want to ask you about a client,” Gage said.
Gage’s presence registered.
Jeffrey struggled to put some words together. “I… I can’t talk about clients… because of… because of HIPAA. Confidentiality and all that.”
Gage glared down at Elf. “I asked you nicely.”
Elf looked up at Jeffrey, who shrugged and said, “Go. I’ll meet you when I’m done.”
They watched Elf walk to the entrance and glance back. The opening door released a thumping blast of music and a flood of light as he stepped inside.
Gage gave the chain a tug.
“Hey man, that’s not a-”
Gage smiled. “A leash?”
Jeffrey’s eyes flared. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m not asking about anybody’s medical condition. I just want to know what happened at Charlie Palmer’s house during the two days before he died.”
“Who are you?”
“Graham Gage. I’m a private investigator.”
“For who?”
“His wife.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Just what I said.” Gage tilted his head toward the club. “Didn’t you get enough dancing inside?”
Jeffrey bit at his thumbnail. “Nothing happened during the last two days.”
“The sun came up, the sun set… what do you mean nothing happened?”
“I mean nothing important.”
“You remember a plumber coming by the day before Charlie died?”
“Yeah, that happened.”
“How long was he there?”
“A couple of hours. He left before I did.”
“Anything else happen?”
A transvestite wearing a pink empire halter dress came clicking down the sidewalk in high heels. She stopped next to them and smiled at Gage holding the leash.
“Mm’mm. Room for a third?”
Gage shook his head. “Sorry. We’re monogamous.”
She shrugged and moved on.
Gage looked back at Jeffrey. “I was asking what else happened that day.”
“I don’t remember anything.”
“What about the day he died?”
“I didn’t even go inside the room. There was nothing for me to do. He was already dead when I showed up.”
Jeffrey put on a satisfied expression, like he was off the hook.
Gage circled back. “You remember anyone coming to visit Charlie?”
Jeffrey paused and then seemed to drift off.
Gage tugged the leash.
“Hey. I’m thinking… Yeah, a guy came by the day before he died. A Polish name nobody can pronounce. He claimed Charlie called him so I let him in.”
“What did he look like?”
“White guy, big. Sorta stooped over. Had a comb-over. Silliest thing I ever saw. I don’t know who he thought he was kidding.”
“You sure it was the day before?”
Jeffrey nodded. “Positive.”