Murder by Design

by J. P. Bowie

  “If we can get them to talk to us.”

  Sam slipped out of the car when another young man approached. He pulled out his badge. “Detective Sam Walker, LAPD. You have a minute?”

  The guy reared back in surprise. “What’s this about? I haven’t done anything.”

  “That’s okay, I just have a few questions. What’s your name?”

  “Rolando Lopez.” He was slim and dark-haired, wearing a skintight T-shirt and skinny jeans. A good-looking kid with fine features and light gray eyes.

  “Rolando, did you know Joey Carter?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. All of us around here knew Joey. He was a sweet kid, kinda crazy sometimes, but…” He broke off and swiped at his eyes. “Sorry, can’t believe he’s gone. You know who killed him?”

  “Not yet. We’re looking for leads, anything you can tell us.”

  “I’m surprised you cops are bothering to investigate. Guys get roughed up around here and no one gives a shit.”

  “This is murder, Rolando. We intend to find out who did it and put them away. Now, can you tell me who Joey was close to, apart from yourself?”

  “We weren’t that close really, but a kid called Mikey was pretty tight with Joey. I haven’t seen him around tonight.”

  “Mikey… He have a last name?”

  “Probably, but I don’t know it.”

  “Can you describe him for me?”

  “He’s kinda short, fair hair, got a pug nose, but he’s cute, I guess. Look, I have to get moving. Good luck finding the son of a bitch that killed Joey.” He took off before Sam could ask him anything else. Then again, he reckoned he’d gotten as much from the kid as he was likely to get.

  “He know anything?” Martin asked as Sam settled in the passenger seat.

  “Not really. There’s a kid called Mikey that Joey was tight with, according to Rolando, the guy I was talking to. Mikey’s short with fair hair and a pug nose.”

  Martin chuckled. “That’s some description. Maybe we should try the other side of the park, see if there’s more action over there. Seems like a slow night to me.”

  “Joey’s murder might have made some of the kids more cautious,” Sam said. Martin put the car in gear and cruised to the far side of the park. “We could check out one of their hang-out joints. That coffee shop on the corner looks likely.”

  “Okay.”

  When Sam and Martin entered Pete’s Coffee Place, a lot of wary gazes zeroed in on them. Sam could tell they’d been identified as cops regardless of the jeans and T-shirts they were wearing. Martin had told him he figured it was that in most people’s opinion guys as big as them were either cops or bad guys. Sam grinned when four men got up out of their booth and exited the coffee shop.

  “We’re bad for business,” he told Martin.

  A young Latino wearing some kind of uniform approached them. “Can I help you guys?”

  Sam pulled out his badge. “Detective Walker and this is Detective McCready. We want to talk to anyone who knew Joey Carter.” He said it loud enough for everyone in the small café to hear. “Anyone here knew Joey?”

  A blond kid sitting with two others in a booth put his hand up. “We knew Joey.”

  Sam and Martin approached the table and the kids eyed them both, blatantly checking them out. “Can you answer a few questions for us?” Sam asked.

  “Sure,” the blond said, dragging his gaze from Sam’s face to his crotch and back again.

  Martin growled. “You wanna join us at that bigger table over there.” He pointed to the corner of the café.

  The three crawled out of the booth and followed them over to the table. “So, wanna give us your names?” Sam flipped open his notebook.

  “I’m Armie Hammer.” The blond winked at Sam.

  “I’m Henry Cavill.” The second kid smiled at Martin.

  “And I’m Matt Damon.” The third one pushed his ass back into his seat and thrust his crotch upward.

  Martin slammed his meaty hand down on the table, hard, and made them all jump. ‘Matt’ almost fell off his seat. “And I’ve had enough of the bullshit,” Martin hissed, looking like a fierce Samuel L. Jackson. “You think this is a game? Your buddy, Joey, was murdered, strangled to death so hard his larynx was crushed. You think that’s funny, huh?”

  “No.” The blond flicked a nervous glance at Sam.

  “Okay, let’s have your real names this time.” Sam poised his pen over an open page.

  “Uh, I’m Albie…Albie Schenk. This is Phil and Randy.”

  “Last names.” He wrote them down as they recited Johnson and McGarry. “Okay, so how well did you know Joey?”

  Albie shrugged. “He hung out with us some nights if we weren’t y’know, uh, busy. He was a bit of a loner though.”

  “Him and Mikey were better buds,” the one called Phil said. “And Clyde. They roomed together when they had the money.”

  “Have you seen Mikey tonight?” Martin asked.

  They all shook their heads. “He goes to other parks, well, we all do really,” Albie said. “Sometimes it gets rough around here and we have to move on, stay out of the way of the gangs that want to beat the shit out of us.”

  Sam sighed. “Did Joey have any enemies?”

  “Don’t think so, apart from like the ones we all have,” Phil told him. “Those fuckin’ thugs that come around now and then. Punk kids just lookin’ to bash a fag. Bastards.”

  They left the boys in the café without much to work on. Sam hadn’t really been expecting to get a lead to the killer from them. If anything, they seemed to take his death as unsurprising in a way. A danger that all of them faced by having sex with complete strangers, getting into cars without knowing the driver’s identity, perhaps being beaten by some self-loathing closet case. Sam’s gut twisted at the thought of it all.

  There but for the grace of the God I don’t believe in, go I…

  “So, call it a night?” Martin shifted restlessly in his seat.

  “Yeah, guess so. We can come back tomorrow night and look for this Mikey kid everyone seems to think was Joey’s closest friend. I’ll drop you off home.”

  “Thank you, my man, very generous of you.”

  They chuckled together as Sam pulled the car away from the curb.

  Chapter Four

  After he’d delivered Martin to his front door, Sam wondered if Justin would still be up…maybe for just another conversation, and this time, he told himself, Control your libido! Never thought I’d have to tell myself that…

  He punched in Justin’s saved number.

  “Hey, Sam.” Justin sounded pleased to hear from him and that made Sam feel kinda warm inside.

  “Did your day get any better?”

  “Not really, but I don’t want to talk about that. Sounds like so much whining really.”

  “You can whine on me,” Sam said, chuckling.

  “I can think of better things to do on you, Detective.” Just the sound of that husky voice in his ear was enough to get him going. But not while driving…

  “Uh, yeah, about that, I guess it’s too late for us to get together, uh, for a drink or something?”

  “No, it’s not too late. You wanna come over to my place?”

  “Uh, yeah I’d like that, but it might be better if we met like in a bar or coffee place.” Beads of sweat formed on Sam’s forehead. “You know, get to know each other a little better before uh…”

  “Doing the nasty?” Justin laughed that throaty laugh of his.

  “Well, not exactly, but you know…”

  “I didn’t take you for a shy guy, Sam.”

  You have no idea. “Not shy really, just uh, careful, I guess.”

  “Okay, there’s a wine bar in WeHo on the corner of Adams and Werner just off Melrose. It’s open till eleven. You know it?”

  “I’ll find it. I’m pretty close to that area right now.”

  “Okay, give me about fifteen minutes and I’ll meet you there.”

  “See you there.�
�� Sam relaxed a little now that he’d managed to divert the inevitable moment when he’d be alone with Justin. God, you are an idiot, Walker. A grown man getting panicky by just imagining it. But he’d never been any good with a one on one. Lack of self-esteem, his therapist had told him.

  The irony was he craved it, longed for the contact, the affection that could come from it, but every time he got close to a man, kissed him—or started to anyway—he just dried up. Nothing happened down there. No excitement, no stirring of the blood. It used to drive Daryl up the wall. Shit, the fights they’d had about that.

  ’What is wrong with you?’ Daryl had screamed at him.

  ’I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t find you attractive. I do, I just don’t know what causes this.’

  But he did know. Liz thought that Daryl had done a number on him. He hadn’t been the most supportive of boyfriends but the real reason for his lack of sexual drive had happened years before. He knew what the problem was—he just couldn’t talk to Daryl about it. Nor did he want to relive what had happened to him. He was eighteen years old when just about the worst sexual experience anyone could ever have had been inflicted on him.

  * * * *

  ‘Hey, faggot!’

  Sam had kept on walking away from the small hardware store he’d had a part-time job at. Since his father had thrown him out, he’d been staying at Kenny Murphy’s house. Kenny’s parents had been appalled when he’d told them what had happened. Kenny’s dad had even called Sam’s father, trying to make him see reason. He’d been cursed out for interfering and a visibly shaken Mr. Murphy had told Sam not to worry, he could stay as long as he needed to.

  ‘Better you never go back to that house again.’

  Sam had quickened his pace when he’d heard heavy running feet behind him. This hadn’t been the first time he’d been singled out for a beating. Sam was no lightweight. At eighteen, his quarterback height and wide shoulders had been beginning to fill out and he’d exercised regularly. His dream had been to play for the NFL, but he hadn’t been selected and now it looked like the police academy was a more viable choice.

  The last time he’d been attacked, it had been by two bruisers, linebackers in one of the local school teams. He’d been fortunate that a police cruiser had happened by just as he’d been kicked to the ground. The creeps had taken off at the sound of the siren. He’d taken up more strength training since then and had felt confident he could take care of himself when necessary. He’d glanced behind him to see what he might be up against.

  Four of them…shit. Two he could manage, three at a push, but four? Hmm. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to run. They’d come at him all at the same time. He’d gone down under the sheer weight of four big bodies, his head hitting the sidewalk with a resounding crack and making him see stars. Before he could recover, he’d been dragged into an alley, stomped on, his clothes ripped from him, his jeans yanked down to his knees.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he’d screamed at them. The pain when they’d shoved whatever it was they were using up his ass had been excruciating. Their laughter had been like something out of a nightmare, high-pitched, out of control, almost inhuman. Sounds he’d known would haunt him for the rest of his life. They’d spat on him, pissed on him, rubbed his face in the alley filth. They’d left him there, most likely not caring if he lived or died.

  In the hospital, he’d been treated for shock and various injuries both external and internal. The police had been amazingly sympathetic, but the four thugs had never been reprimanded. It was then that Sam had decided he had to leave Westhaven, Texas, and head for Los Angeles. Kenny and his mother had been against his leaving, but Sam had remembered Kenny’s dad and the long look of understanding that told Sam he was doing the right thing.

  * * * *

  That had been a long time ago and sometimes he thought he was over it for the most part, but the memory of trauma such as he’d suffered never, in fact, went away. Over the years he’d learned to live with it, thinking about it only in bleak times, except in the dreams he’d had no control over and which had haunted him almost every night for years. Sometimes they still did, even now that he was an adult, no longer a kid hurting both mentally and physically. The therapist had told him his lack of a sexual drive was only natural and in his opinion would improve as time went by. Perhaps if there had been someone there he could talk to, really talk to, it just might have helped. Not Daryl with his short-fuse temper.

  Sometimes he still felt guilty about his and Daryl’s relationship and the manner in which it had ended. Daryl had cheated, yes, but when he recalled the reasons Daryl had screamed at him, he could understand it in a way.

  ’You make me feel like I’m ugly, undesirable, worthless, and I can’t live with that. So, I’ve been with someone else…so what? At least he can show me he wants me, not like you, staying limp every time I try to bring you pleasure. If I’d known you were going to lose interest so quickly I would never have agreed to move in with you…’

  The pleasure I try to bring you… Sam sighed. Daryl’s version of bringing him pleasure had been presenting his ass to Sam for a quick fuck with little or no foreplay. Kissing and caressing, the things that Sam craved, were rarely there. There was no rapport, no warmth between them. He’d wondered if the man Daryl left him for didn’t care about such things.

  He’d tried to express all this to the therapist, who seemed as uncomfortable as Sam was talking to the guy about not being able to maintain an erection, never minding getting it up in the first place. That was why he’d found it so amazing that he’d kissed Justin in the Blue Bar. He wasn’t the type to start something he knew he couldn’t finish. Yes, he’d been drunk, but he’d been drunk before and never laid one on a complete stranger, even a stranger as hot as Justin. And maybe it hadn’t been such a bad kiss if Justin wanted to do it again.

  The crazy element was Justin. This guy he’d never even met—well, not that he remembered with complete clarity—could get him going with the mere sound of his voice. How was that possible? He didn’t want to jinx this. It already felt too good to be true, but maybe if they took it real slow he could psyche himself into thinking that he could really do it.

  * * * *

  The wine bar Justin had mentioned had an inviting atmosphere. Low lighting, some nice jazz piano in the background, candles on the tables and Justin sitting at one, smiling at him, and looking way better than the photo of him Sam had kept on his phone. He was wearing a light green polo shirt that might have been a size too small, the way it molded so perfectly across his chest. Still smiling, Justin patted the seat beside him.

  “Hi there.”

  “Hi.” Sam sat down awkwardly, knocking the table with his knee as he did so. “Sorry…clumsy.”

  “You seem nervous,” Justin said. “I don’t bite or anything, at least not in public.”

  Sam chuckled then looked up when a handsome guy approached their table and asked what he could bring them.

  “I’d like a pinot noir, please,” Justin said.

  Wow, so polite. “I’ll have the same, thanks.” To Justin he said after the waiter left, “It’s nice to really see you now that I’m completely sober. You must’ve thought I was a total slob the other night.”

  “I thought you were cute—sloppy, but cute.” Sam grimaced and Justin chuckled. “Cute is kinda the wrong word for a guy who’s big like you, but the expression on your face when you were trying so hard to form coherent sentences was really cute.”

  “Oh my God,” Sam groaned. “And you actually wanted to see me again.”

  “The kiss is what did it. I’d never been kissed so thoroughly before in my life.” He tilted his face toward Sam. “It was obvious you enjoy kissing. I’d like to think it was because it was me on the receiving end—and I can’t wait for another one just like it.”

  Sam gripped the edge of the table to stop himself from diving on top of Justin and giving him what he’d just asked for. That would go over well in he
re. Justin’s eyes widened as he seemed to understand Sam’s intent.

  “Your pinot noirs, sirs,” the waiter announced, setting the glasses in front of them then pouring from the bottle balanced skillfully in his hand. Sam cleared his throat and paid attention while the waiter asked if there was anything else he could bring them. “A snack, perhaps? We have a nice selection. I can bring you a menu if you wish.”

  Justin flashed him a smile. “Nothing for me. How about you, Sam?”

  “I’m good,” Sam said, also smiling at the waiter.

  “I bet you are,” the waiter murmured and winked at Sam before taking off again.

  “He totally flirted with you,” Justin exclaimed. “There goes his tip.”

  Sam laughed. The story of my life. Dozens of guys flirted with him, but he reckoned he was probably the most sex-starved guy he knew.

  “Not that I blame him.” Justin gazed at him for a long moment. “You really are one helluva good-looking dude. How come you’re single?”

  “It’s easier. I don’t have to come up to anyone else’s expectations.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Sam sighed. “It means I’m a bad conversationalist and should be regaling you with lighthearted banter. You said you had a bad day and I’m not helping to make it better.”

  “Just being here with you makes it better.”

  Sam raised his glass. “Thanks, and thanks also for agreeing to meet me tonight.”

  Justin clinked his glass against Sam’s and their eyes met. Justin’s green eyes gleamed in the reflected light from the candle on the table and Sam’s chest quickened. “So, I should ask you the same question, Justin. How come you don’t have a boyfriend?”

  Justin grimaced. “I used to, but it’s a bit of a long story and not a pretty one. Maybe, like you, I’ve been thinking it’s easier being single.” His smile was like quicksilver in its return. “That’s not to say I can’t be tempted by the right man.”

  After they’d taken sips of the wine, he added, “I wish you’d agreed to come over to my place. I’d really like to kiss you right now.”