“Yeah?”
Stanton flashed his badge. “We need to talk to the manager.”
“Which one?”
“Whoever is here the most and would recognize a regular.”
“I don’t have to let you in without a warrant.”
“Look,” Gunn said, “Slant-eyed Pete, don’t make me bust your fuckin’ head open and come in there. I’m sure I’m gonna find some coke, probably some illegal porn, maybe a gun or two though I know you fags don’t like the feel of a real man’s gun in your hand.”
“Fuck you.”
Before Stanton could stop him, Gunn had grabbed the man by the throat and slammed his head into the door. The man began to fight back and Gunn took out an extendable baton from his belt, opened it, and whacked the guy on the head twice before he grabbed his hand, pressed it on the door, and crushed two of his fingers with the baton. It happened so quickly Stanton couldn’t even respond in time.
The man was screaming as Stanton covered him with his body so Gunn couldn’t strike him again.
“What’s the matter with you?” Stanton shouted, pushing him away.
“Hey,” Gunn yelled, ignoring him, “Tommy Chang, you gonna have to fist your boyfriend with your left hand now.”
A woman stepped out from behind the door. She was wearing a sparkling tank-top and her long blond hair was pulled back. Her eyes went down to the badge clipped to Gunn’s hip. Then she called for someone to help her and they lifted the man off the floor and helped him inside.
“Take him to the emergency room,” she said calmly before stepping outside and shutting the door behind her. “I’m Shannon Gunther, the manager. Can I help you?” she said to Stanton.
“I’m sorry about your employee. We can pay for his ER visit and I’m sure the county can set him up for any lost wages.”
“I know how you cops are. If I were to sue the county next week my club would be raided and drugs would just happen to be found everywhere. So just tell me what the hell you want and be on your way.”
Gunn pulled out a photo of Cisneros. “You know this guy?”
“Yeah, that’s Mikey. I haven’t seen him in a long time, though.”
“He’s dead,” Gunn said. “His body was found with twenty air holes poked into it.”
Stanton said, “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Two weeks ago maybe. He was here every Friday night. It was hip-hop night and he liked coming then.”
“Did you see him leave with anybody that night?”
“Officer, everyone here leaves with somebody. I don’t keep track. I’m sorry he was killed. I liked him. But hundreds of people come through here on the weekends. I don’t think I can help you. Try the Trap Door, though. That’s where he was on Saturday nights. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a bouncer; looks like we’re gonna be one short tonight,” she said, looking at Gunn.
When she had gone back inside, Stanton turned to Gunn.
“You were out of line. You do that again and I’ll have to go to Childs.”
“Fuck him. My cousin died of AIDS and these queers were the ones that brought it here.”
“That man never did anything to you, and the manager knows more than she’s telling us but doesn’t want to help us now.”
He threw up his hands and turned to walk toward the car. Stanton followed and they drove in silence, heading down University Avenue and to the Trap Door.
The club also had a restaurant that was open until midnight. The restaurant was adjacent and the two shared a wall. Both were designed in blacks and golds. Couches and beds were throughout the space and the front wall was just glass, allowing those walking by to look in on what was happening.
Stanton went inside the restaurant. He looked to Gunn who appeared agitated. He was fidgeting as they sat down in the waiting area near the hostess podium.
“How many?” the hostess said to Stanton without looking up.
“I actually need to talk to the night manager of the restaurant and the manager of the club.”
“Can I ask him what you need?”
Stanton held up his badge. Without a word, the girl walked to the back of the room behind a bar where a man in a turtleneck with wire-frame glasses was doing an inventory of the liquor. He saw Stanton and swore under his breath as he walked over.
“What can I do for you, Officer? I promise our liquor license is in order and there’s no—”
“I’m not from the state.” He pulled out a picture of Cisneros. “Do you recognize this man?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even look at the picture. Please take a look.”
He sighed and then looked at the photo. “No.”
“He was murdered,” Gunn said loudly. “You sure you don’t recognize him?”
“Don’t recognize him. Sorry. Can I go now?”
Gunn stood up and Stanton stepped in front of him. Their eyes met and for a moment neither one of them said anything.
“Get the fuck outta my way,” Gunn said.
“I can smell the whiskey on your breath. You shouldn’t be on duty.”
“I said, get the fuck outta my way.”
Stanton hesitated, and then stepped to the side. Gunn began walking toward the manager when Stanton said, “If you touch him, you’re under arrest.”
Gunn laughed. He turned to Stanton and the two squared off again. The manager quietly snuck away.
“You don’t have the balls.”
“Go home, Stephen. I’ll cover the rest of the night.”
Gunn lit a cigarette. He took a long puff and then blew smoke in Stanton’s face. “You know what? I’m gonna have dinner here and then I’m callin’ a cab. Why don’t you just go back to your empty apartment and read your damn books? No wonder your wife left you.” Gunn turned toward the waitress. “Party of one.”
Stanton watched as he was seated. He began flirting with a table full of middle-aged women next to him. Stanton left the restaurant. The night air was cool and the moon was a bright crescent in the sky. He pulled out his phone and got the address for Playland again before getting into his car and pulling away, glancing inside the restaurant one more time to see a waitress place a wine bottle on Gunn’s table.
CHAPTER 22
Stanton drove to Playland with the windows down, enjoying the breeze coming over him. He thought about the charred remains of what had once been a family. They didn’t appear human. It reminded him of the ashen shells he’d seen at Vesuvius when he travelled to Italy as a graduate student for a summer.
He waited in his car a while and read the Brichard file that Gunn had uploaded onto the SDPD server. There were no outstanding debts other than some student loans Jesse Brichard still had with UNLV for his bachelor’s degree. Neither Jesse nor his wife Darlene had a criminal record and neither one had ever called the police on the other.
Stanton flipped through the preliminary report written by the Medical Examiner’s Office. The bodies had been so fragile they crumbled when an attempt was made to move them. Almost no physical evidence was gathered; everything biological had been burned away in the fire, except their teeth. Stanton regretted that they wouldn’t be able to tell if Darlene had been sexually assaulted; there was a massive difference between the motivations of someone that raped her before her death and someone that just lit them on fire to watch their suffering. He also couldn’t rule out a crime of opportunity: someone breaks in for a routine burglary, discovers the family’s still home, and has to deal with them. Based on that assumption, this would be a person they had to get off the street as quickly as possible.
A slight tinge of resentment tugged at his gut. This is the case he should be working right now, not Cisneros. He had a feeling that the person that killed Michael Cisneros was not as dangerous as the man who lit this fire. Gunn should’ve been at this club following up.
Stanton closed the file and stepped out of the car. He walked down to the main entrance and the large black door. Half of the door was
open. There was a large man with tattoos on his neck and arms standing in front of the door and a line had formed behind a velvet rope in front of him. Another bouncer was sitting on a stool with a list in his hand, letting in the VIPs.
Stanton flashed his badge and they let him through without a word. The interior of the club was beautifully decorated in silvers and reds and blacks. The dance floor wasn’t far from the entrance and though it wasn’t yet late, it was packed with drunks and those on ecstasy and other stimulants. Many of them would be dancing until five or six in the morning when they would go home to sleep, wake up in the evening, and head out to the clubs again for Saturday night.
He saw Shannon behind the bar and he pushed his way through the crowd to get there. One man whispered something in his ear and wrapped his arm around his waist and Stanton removed it and kept walking.
“Back for more?” Shannon said when she saw him. “I can’t spare any other employees to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”
“He’s got a fractured skull. He’s thinking about suing the County.”
“He should.”
“Do you really think he should?”
“No.”
“I knew I liked you,” she said. “Vice would be in here every night looking for any excuse to close me down, wouldn’t they?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “I gotta give it to you cops. You’re one hell of an organized gang.”
“We’re just a reflection of the society we live in. Live with sin,” he said, looking around, “and sin will enter your life.”
She took a shot of tequila that was offered to her by a woman on the other side of the bar. “So what can I do for you…is it Detective?”
“Just call me Jon.”
“What is it you need?”
“I want to talk to you about Michael Cisneros.”
“I already told you everything I know.”
“We both know that’s a lie.”
She looked at him, a slight smile parting her lips as she reached under the bar and came up with a slice of lime. She gently sucked on it before throwing it in a nearby trash bin. “Follow me.”
She walked around the bar to the dance floor and Stanton followed. As they approached the bodies that were packed tightly together, the smell of marijuana and cologne hit him like an invisible wall. The music was too loud to speak over so Stanton just stayed close to Shannon as she slid her way in between the moving bodies like a snake.
They came to the far side of the dance floor to a padded door with a bouncer in front; he opened the door for them and they stepped through.
The room was sound proof and the only thing you could hear from outside was a low thud from the bass. The room was entirely decorated in crimson; all the chairs, couches and even the bar. Several people were scattered throughout the space and two women were making out on one of the couches. Shannon grabbed two drinks from the bar with one hand and sat down next to them, running her other hand over one of their thighs.
“This is Donna. She’s my partner. Have a seat.”
Stanton sat next to her. “You knew Mike better than you let on.”
She tried to hand one of the drinks to Stanton and he turned it down. “Suit yourself.” She guzzled one and then leaned back on the couch, sipping the other. “He would house sit for me whenever I left town. Sometimes I’d hire him to tend bar when he was broke and needed cash. He was a good kid. His mother’s ill and he stayed home to take care of her rather than get his own place.”
“The last time you saw him, or even before, was he with anyone that hasn’t been back since?”
“Yeah, there’s someone.” She lifted the other drink. “But first you gotta take a drink,” she said, with a mischievous smile.
Stanton pulled out his handcuffs and placed them on her wrist. Standing her up, he said, “Shannon Gunther, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice in the homicide investigation of Michael Cisneros. You have the right to remain silent. Should you choose to waive that right, anything you say can and will—”
“Easy, easy, I was just playing. I’ll help you.”
Stanton removed the cuffs. “No games. I want a name right now.”
“We called him Big Harry. His first name was Henry. I don’t know what his last name was. Honestly, I don’t.”
“Would you recognize him in a photo line-up?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s a meal ticket.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s an older guy that buys things for his younger lovers. Takes care of them. He bought Mikey a new watch last month.”
“Do you have any information about where he lives or what he does?”
“We don’t scan IDs in the VIP section, not yet anyway. But I think Mikey mentioned once that he was a pharmacist.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“That’s it. Other than he likes younger men.”
Stanton glanced around and noticed that the room was filling up now. Various couples were making out on couches and the two canopied beds that took up the corner. Drinks were served to them on side tables along with small white pills that he guessed were ecstasy. This was an orgy room.
“I may need you to identify him later in a photo or live line-up.”
“Sure,” she said, taking a drink. “Why don’t you stay the night here, though? I think you’ll have a life altering experience.” She reached over to one of the women and pinched her nipple. “My girlfriend and I could show you things you couldn’t even dream of.”
Stanton smiled. “Make sure to answer my call. If I have to come back down here you’re leaving in a police car.”
As he turned to walk away she shouted, “Detective, life is too short to be so restrictive. I think you’ll find that in your last days you’ll wish you joined us.”
“It’s not this life I’m worried about. Just make sure to answer your phone when I call.”
CHAPTER 23
A noise invaded her dreams. It grated against her consciousness and she tried to shrug it off. She saw herself on a beach with her mother and brother. Her father was on the porch of the old house with the dilapidated roof. Sand crabs were before her, crawling in their funny sideways walk across the sand as she stood barefoot before them, her brother squealing as he threw stones at them, and her mother asking him to stop as they were God’s creatures.
The sunshine was so bright that her mother forced her to wear sunglasses and a ridiculous amount of sunblock. Her brother was several years older and didn’t have to use as much but he always got burnt. Her parents never seemed to mind.
Her father was trying to say something to her. She turned to him and tried to hear but couldn’t because the surf was too loud. He stood in his shorts and striped shirt, smoking his pipe and he held it up in an expressive motion as he yelled to her but she still couldn’t hear him and the surf grew louder and louder. It was hurting her ears and she put her hands up to them and screamed.
Monique jumped up in bed. The light of a dying sun was coming through the open window and she could hear children playing outside. Her shirt clung to her with sweat but the cool breeze coming through the window calmed her and she stared at the dust that swirled in the beams of light that she watched slowly begin to fade.
She heard a sound and turned to see the man sitting on a chair in the corner. He was eating out of a carton with one hand and playing with an hourglass filled with sand with his other. He was completely enveloped and didn’t notice that she had waked. When he saw her, he lifted another carton that was on the floor along with a bottle of Gatorade and placed it next to her on the bed before sitting back down and continuing his play.
Monique lifted the top of the carton. She had refused food the past two days but she couldn’t refuse anymore. Her stomach ached and her tongue felt swollen and dry from lack of moisture. She took a long drink from the bottle and
then dug into the food in the carton; a gyro and French fries with a side salad.
“It’s good to see you eating,” he said without looking at her.
She shoved several fries in her mouth but didn’t respond. She ate quietly and swigged half the bottle of the Gatorade in one gulp.
“You should slow down. You’ll get a tummy ache.”
He turned to her. His face…it would’ve been handsome except for the deep scruff and the constant sheen of glistening sweat. His cheeks were red, almost as if he had applied make up, but there was something manly in his jaw and neck that balanced the effect.
“You haven’t killed me,” she said. “You haven’t raped me. What are you gonna do with me?”
“I could do those things. Our relationship is still young.”
“Do you want to kill me?”
He shrugged. “That, my young girl, was the right question. Anyone else would’ve asked if I was going to kill them. You asked about my desire. As a reward, I’ll answer you and answer you honestly; no, I don’t want to kill you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Why do you think? And be honest because if you lie I can tell.”
She bit into her gyro and wiped her hands on her jeans. “I think you need a place to stay. If there was an old man in this house instead of me, I think he’d be tied up here.”
He curled his lower lip and nodded. “Not entirely false, but not entirely true either.”
“Then why did you choose here of all places?”
“I saw you, at the bookstore.”
Monique quickly scanned her memory of the last bookstore she’d been in. A Barnes & Noble near Carmel Mountain Road. Had she seen him anywhere? She sat in the café perusing a few books and then made a purchase. She didn’t remember him there; would she have remembered seeing someone like him?
Arsonist Page 9
