A handful of patrons sat around the downstairs bar. Dan knew the type: pleasant, non-aggressive fixtures on the scene, always on the lookout for company or comfort. A good man or a full glass, it didn’t matter much, one served as well as the other on any given day. Half a dozen heads turned to clock Dan’s entry. From a few came a friendly nod. He returned the acknowledgement. That was all for the present. Come closing time, he’d no doubt be on several mental checklists with unspoken captions like, “Where did that sexy, dark-haired dude go?” Later on they might be glad to see him still standing in some corner or else perplexed that he’d got away without being noticed.
The place had recently been refurbished, transforming the Eagle’s interior from a derelict grunge bar to a sleek hangout, Manhattan-style. This was largely an older bunch, unlike the twinks at Woody’s or the flashier dance crowd at Crews & Tangos. When the Saddle closed, its patrons had washed up here, though the move wasn’t entirely willing. A simpler type of bar-goer, for whom a costume served as a personal greeting, they found the Eagle intimidating, too chi-chi despite its hardcore S&M roots. It was a matter of knowing your style. A latex bodysuit was not a substitute for denim and a riding crop. Still, the management didn’t turn patrons away for breaking any sort of unspoken dress code. It was a friendly bar, all things considered.
Dan sidled up to the counter, ordered a pint of Keith’s, then proceeded to tour the place. The second floor yielded a total of a dozen men, most of them planted on the outdoor patio to smoke. Inside, others listlessly watched porn in the wan afternoon light on oversized screens secured above the bar. The effect was unsettling. You might come in thinking of your grocery list or the chores you needed to accomplish that weekend, but you always left in a zombie-fied stupor, usually alone, thinking of sex. It was that simple. Addictions made easy.
Dan watched the screens for a while, then turned away. No matter the performer, the accoutrements or the setting, the story arc was always the same. There were just so many variations on desire before the theme got monotonous. He’d just finished his beer when an ethereal blonde caught his eye. Dan watched him approach, dreamy and distant. He waited to see if the man would lose his nerve and falter before veering off to the bathroom. Whatever he was on seemed to keep his will focused, even while his steps were unsteady. He walked up to Dan and put a hand out.
“Gerry.”
“Hi, Gerry. I’m Dan.”
Dan waited for him to make a quick excuse and bolt once he got a closer look at the unshaven face, the scar angling from his right eyebrow, but instead he stayed and his smile grew. Gerry seemed to have a taste for the darker things in life.
“Dan the Mysterious Cowboy.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Dan admitted.
“I hope you deserved it, whatever it was.”
Gerry reached out and groped him. Encountering no resistance, he went in for more, massaging Dan into a semi hard-on. Dan wondered why he even let this begin, since he was only going to break it off in a moment with no intention of carrying things on later.
Gerry increased the offensive. Dan felt a tightening in his groin, the one that said he might soon change his mind. Another thirty seconds and it would be a round of fellatio in the back room. He thought he’d put those days behind him.
He pulled away. Gerry’s expression was pure bliss, though Dan suspected it was at least partly chemically induced.
“Wow,” Gerry said. “I could do with a night of that. Hell, I could do with a lifetime supply.”
“You’re cute as hell,” Dan said. “We should set up a date some time when we both have a lot longer to hang around.”
“Ah.” Gerry looked disappointed. “I was hoping you were here to stay.”
Dan shook his head. “Nope. Just buzzing through. Looking to score, though.”
Gerry’s interested piqued again. “E? K? H?”
“All of the above. You know a guy name of Ziggy who might be able to fill my order?”
A smile flitted over Gerry’s face. He was obviously a devotee of the drug seller.
“That little cutie!” A frown followed. “I used to see him at the Saddle all the time. I don’t know where he hangs out now.”
Dan finished his beer and set it aside. “What about a Cuban named Santiago?”
“Nah. Haven’t seen him for a while, either. A piece of work, that one.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I can hook you up. Whatever you need.”
Chemical delights twitched and writhed at the edge of his mind like three lemons hanging over the visual field of a chronic gambler. Once you saw them, you could never erase the image.
“Got a number?” Gerry asked, running a tongue over his teeth.
Dan shook his head. He didn’t want Gerry calling to offer him anything in the dead of the night, as tempting as a cute, willing young man could be in times of need. But no. Not a good idea.
“Sorry. Just switching providers. How about you give me yours and I’ll call you in a couple days when I’m hooked up?”
Even stoned, Gerry could see through that one.
“Forget it. If you’re not interested now, you won’t be later.”
Dan watched him stagger back across the room. On reaching the doorway, Gerry turned and waved sadly, heartbroken, before heading down to the main floor.
Dan was conscious of being watched from another corner of the room. A face came into focus.
“What was wrong with him?” the bartender called out, wiping a glass on a towel.
Dan smiled. “Nothing. I’m not on the market today.”
“I’ve been trying to get a date with you for years. If he’s below your standards then I haven’t got a chance. The usual soda water for you?”
“Yes. Try not to blink.” Dan paused. “On the other hand, no. I’ll have a second Keith’s. Believe it not.”
“Testing your limits?”
“What have I got to lose?”
“Not your virginity, I’ll bet.”
Dan gave him a wry smile. “You know what they say: it comes back after seven years. I’m due for a return.”
The bartender pulled a pint of gold-and-cream froth, set it on the counter and shook his head when Dan offered to pay.
“Tuesdays virgins drink for free.”
Dan smiled and thanked him, then wandered off to the patio where several men eyed him warily, though none approached. That was fine, as far as he was concerned. There was no sign of Ziggy or anyone else selling drugs.
He finished his drink and wandered back inside, shaking his head when the bartender nodded to his glass for another.
“Back to the soda water.”
“So how are you these days, sexy?” the bartender asked, setting a glass in front of him, again declining his cash.
“Good enough,” Dan said, toying with the drink. “Do you know what I do for a living?”
The bartender looked him over and shrugged. “I heard you’re some kind of private eye.”
“That’s pretty much it. I find missing people.”
“I go missing once in a while. I’d love you to come and find me.”
Dan stopped to take stock of the situation. Here he was, being flirted with by a highly attractive man who seemed to have his head screwed on straight. Muscular chest, longish hair, goatee: he was just the right degree of scruffy.
He held out his hand. “Dan.”
“Hank.”
They shook.
“Been in the business long?”
“Ten years.”
“Did you know Yuri Malevski?”
“Sure. We all knew Yuri.”
“What did you think of him?”
He shrugged. “Nice enough, though he had a temper, I hear. Always ready with a handout for a worthy cause.”
“Any ideas what might have got him killed?”
Hank lowered his voice. “Word on the street is that his boyfriend was leaving him for a woman.”
“The Cuban?”
“That’s what I he
ard. He was bucking to get married for citizenship. I guess he got tired of waiting for Yuri to pop the question. What have you heard?”
“I heard he was being pressed for kickbacks. Do you ever get approached for payments so your bar isn’t inspected on certain nights? Anything like that?”
Hank gave him an assessing gaze. He ran a hand through his hair. It had just the right bounce.
“You’re talking about the police, I assume?”
Dan nodded.
Hank looked away again. “Not something I feel comfortable talking about in the bar …”
Dan nodded. “It’s okay. I get it —”
Hank cut him off. “I need a smoke. Meet me on the patio in two minutes.”
Dan smiled. “Sounds good.”
A few minutes later, Hank handed him a cup of coffee as he came through the door. They sat on stainless steel chairs at the far end, away from the other patrons.
“I remember you from way back,” Hank was saying. “I used to see you around a lot more back in the day.”
“That was a long time ago. No real desire to come downtown these days.”
“Married?”
“No, though I’ve been in and out of relationships. Just bored, mostly. You reach an age. You know. And I’ve got a teenage son.”
Hank gave him an assessing look. “Cool.”
Dan fingered his coffee cup. “Why do you remember me?”
“Besides your sex appeal? Your edge.”
“My edge?”
“Back in the day, everyone had attitude. You know — we were all too good for this, too good for that. Always wanting more. Learning a little about life along the way didn’t help either. It only made us want what we didn’t have. I know people who are still bitter, thinking that life overlooked them. But that wasn’t you. You never had that kind of vibe. You never got bitter. To me, you just seemed in a permanent state of anger. Even when you stood off by yourself in a corner, it shone like an angry halo.”
Dan laughed. “An angry halo. That sounds like me. I’m sure my son would agree. Maybe I shouldn’t find it so funny.”
“It was sexy. It said, ‘I’m dangerous — don’t get too close to me.’ So, of course we all wanted to.”
Dan nodded. “I haven’t been very good at letting people in. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.”
Hank winked. “It’s not too late.”
“Maybe I’m just a work in progress.”
Now Hank laughed out loud. “Aren’t we all!”
“Speaking of danger,” Dan ventured. “Care to share what you know about protection money?”
Hank looked around, noting that all the others were absorbed in conversation. “I assume you’re asking for professional reasons and not just to make small talk?”
Dan nodded.
“All right. Then I can share a bit, though I keep my head down and my nose clean for the most part. If there’s something a little too spicy going on in the bar, I just duck behind the counter till it blows over. But yeah — shit gets said, and I overhear it now and then.”
He paused. Dan felt himself leaning forward, a boy anticipating a secret revelation.
“There are guys — I’m pretty sure they’re cops — who come in every once in a while. Never in uniform, of course. When they show up, the owners give me a look that says I need to disappear. I usually go down to the basement and count cases of beer. When I come back up, the till is a little emptier and the owners are a little more sombre, like they’ve just had a scare and aren’t ready to talk about it.”
“Do they ever ask you to give anything out if they’re not around? Maybe an envelope?”
Hank made a face. “No. And I hope they don’t ask.”
“Why do you think the guys who come in are cops?”
Hank gave a rueful shrug. “Because every time they come in, the owners get slack about the head count for the next few weekends. Like they’ve been told they don’t have to bother with all the bodies in the place. Meaning they can let a lot more people in. Sometimes we go over the legal limit, which in turn means more beer sold, which also means they can start to make up for whatever payments they just handed out.”
Dan nodded. “A nice, clean system. So in the end, nobody really loses out.”
“You might say it’s a win-win situation.”
“Until there’s a fire. But so far as you know, the payments have always been made?”
Hank’s brow wrinkled. “Couple of years ago, when things were slow, I know we weren’t doing so well. I think the payments were smaller. The bar was fined a few times. Once it was a long weekend. We had a full house. Wall to wall people. We got closed for a week for overcrowding, but I got the feeling they were just testing us. Just showing us what it would be like if we didn’t go along with their scheme.”
“It sounds like what was going on at the Saddle. What about the other bars? Are they getting tapped, too?”
Hank’s smile was grim. “I think we all are. But the Saddle, especially. They were always over the limit and everyone knew it. It wasn’t just luck that they got away with it again and again.”
“You think they pick on gay bars in particular?”
Hank gave him a funny look. “You mean, because we’re minorities the cops think we must be knock-overs? That sort of thing?”
Dan waited.
“I guess it might be true, but then again we’re known as a successful bar. If they were after minorities, they’d be hitting up some of those small Jamaican bars on Vaughan Road. But they don’t, unless they’re making money. Why squeeze someone who isn’t worth tapping into, right?”
Another of the bartenders came out to the patio, knocking butts into a pail. He glanced at Hank, nodded, and left.
“One of your big fans from downstairs,” Hank said with a laugh. “You should start a club. Or maybe I’ll start one for you.”
Dan grinned. “Did you ever recognize any of the cops who came in to the bar?”
Hank looked away for a long while then turned to face Dan.
“There’s one who comes in sometimes. Not often. I haven’t seen him in months, but I wouldn’t forget him. Thin, muscular. Wiry build. Intense black eyes. He made a scene one night. I remember he was very drunk. That’s when I learned he was a cop. He looked as though he could get out of hand if you pushed him. One of those mean drunks you hear about.”
“Was his name Trposki?”
Hank thought it over. “Yeah, that sounds right. Take my advice — stay as far away from him as you can.” He stubbed out his cigarette and stood. “Gotta get back, sorry.”
“Thanks for your time.”
Hank nodded. “I could probably find out more, if you’re interested. Of course, you’d have to come over to my place for supper to continue the conversation.”
Dan smiled and looked at Hank’s muscular forearms, his facial hair. “I wouldn’t say no to a dinner date.”
Nine
The Approach
Dan left the bar thinking about everything he’d just learned. A lot of fingers seemed to be pointing to an Officer Trposki of the Toronto Police. A gay cop hitting up a gay bar for protection. He took out his wallet and fiddled with the blue-and-white-striped card he kept hidden in its soft folds. So far he hadn’t used it, but once the chief of police had asked for his help. With reluctance, Dan had given it. Maybe it was time to ask for a favour in return.
He pulled out his cellphone.
Not exactly friends, still they were allies in an undefined way. The conversation was brief. Dan had no hesitation saying precisely what was on his mind: police officers were taking kickbacks from bars in the gay ghetto.
The chief didn’t insult him by denying it. In fact, he surprised Dan by being forthright.
“Does this have anything to do with the Yuri Malevski case?”
“That’s it,” Dan told him.
“Quid pro quo. What do you know about it?”
“Not much, but I’ve been told the official investigation
may run into some roadblocks because of the bribery allegations. Cops don’t rat on cops.”
“You know I don’t like hearing that kind of talk.”
“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.”
The chief mulled this one over.
“I’d like you to talk to someone,” he said at last. “Have you got a pen?”
“Shoot.”
Dan wrote down the name and number.
“One of my best. She’s in charge of an internal investigation into police corruption. You can talk straight with her. She’ll treat you the same.”
Dan hung up and left a message with Inspector Lydia Johnston. She phoned back within five minutes, asking to meet. Half an hour later he was sitting across from an attractive, forty-something woman with shoulder-length brown hair, sporty build. She beamed confidence. They were at Fran’s Restaurant on College, one of Toronto’s culinary institutions whether you were a connoisseur of diners or not. Johnston glanced around at the other customers. “I like to chat here,” she said. “It’s always so loud and busy that no one can overhear you.”
Dan smiled. He’d wondered about the wisdom of talking in public, but she was right. The buzz was deafening. The only drawback, as far as he knew, was that the coffee was nearly undrinkable. “Burned” and “scorched” seemed to be the only noticeable flavours it possessed.
Inspector Johnston put him at ease at once. She didn’t carry that tough outer persona most cops projected on the job, and which more often than not seeped through to their private lives until friends and family found it difficult to distinguish one from the other. But he’d been given access to her through the chief of police, so perhaps she felt it was in her best interests to impress him.
Dan told her the little he knew: word on the street was the police had been taking bribes from the Saddle and Bridle, milking Yuri Malevski through various employees designated to put money in other hands for a dubious form of protection.
After the Horses Page 7
