Body on Pine

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  “Stop that fucker!” Bruno yelled, and I saw him jump down from the bar, just as the bartender threw Pete a towel to cover himself.

  I spotted a dark-haired young man, Pete’s iridescent green g-string held aloft in his hand. He pushed roughly through the crowd, shoving customers aside and spilling drinks as he ran for the door.

  Taking off after him, I managed to pin him against the wall until the bouncer arrived to take him upstairs where we’d decide how to handle the situation.

  When I turned back, the stranger was gone.

  Chapter 10

  I slipped out of bed and walked to the window. Nina still hadn’t called.

  “I guess this means I have to get up, too.” Luke yawned, still wrapped in the sheets.

  “No, I’m waiting for Nina to call. Can’t sleep.”

  “You don’t have to sleep. Just get back in and…” Luke wiggled his eyebrows. He’d met me at Bubbles before it closed and decided to spend the night.

  I moved back into the bed and cuddled with Luke.

  “I can feel the tension,” he said. “You’re like a rubber band stretched to the limit.”

  “It’s the case. And…”

  “I understand. I liked Brad, too.” Luke sat up. “Maybe I should make some tea. Sitting around worrying won’t make Nina call any faster.”

  “You’re right.” I was impatient. Though Nina had said finding Gibson wouldn’t be easy, I knew it was geek inflation talk. Nobody was Nina’s equal at ferreting out information on the Internet. “Tea sounds good.”

  I watched Luke stand and stretch by the side of the bed. He was sleek and his light-tan skin was smooth and supple.

  “Be back in a flash.” Luke said.

  I heard him working in the kitchen as I threw on a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt and walked out onto the balcony. The air felt clean and cool. The city was still not fully awake, and I enjoyed the quiet.

  “This’ll help.” Luke, dressed now, carried a tray with pot and cups out onto the balcony. Placing it on a table, he sat and looked up at me.

  “Gibson is the best lead I have. Can’t count Johnny. He’s just a name. No trail.”

  “Gibson was Brad’s old boyfriend?”

  “According to Emily. They were together way before any of us knew Brad.”

  “Is he the one who ki… did this?”

  “He’s at the top of my list. He’s practically the only one on the damned list.”

  “Hard to believe anybody can be so obsessed with someone,” Luke said as he poured the tea.

  “I’m not even sure about Gibson. All I have is an ear-witness who wasn’t certain about the name he heard.”

  “Not a lot to go on,” Luke said.

  “I’ve gotta check it out though. If I don’t and Gibson gets away…”

  “Not gonna happen, right? If he’s the one, you’ll get him. I know you.”

  “That’s the plan.” I sat across from Luke and took one of the cups.

  “What about the guy last night? At Bubbles? Could he be Gibson?”

  “The thought crossed my mind. I made calls yesterday to all the Gibsons in the book. None of them admitted knowing Brad, but people lie. One of them could have been the real Max Gibson. Would’ve been easy for him to find me at Bubbles.”

  “So, it could’ve been him last night?”

  “I don’t know what Gibson looks like, never saw a picture, and Emily’s description was so vague it fit the guy last night and a shitload of others.”

  “There’s no one else on your list?” Luke refilled our cups.

  “Unless you count this Johnny ghost, I’ve got zip else,” I said. “That’s the frustrating thing. No witnesses yet. The police most likely canvassed the neighborhood. I’ve gotta call the detective and see what I can get out of him. I’ll do my own canvass, if I have to.”

  “I can’t believe Giuliani will tell you anything.”

  “No. Of course she won’t. But the detective she put in charge of the case might.”

  “She’s not handling Brad’s case?”

  “Giuliani will take credit when it’s solved, depend on it. For now, the new guy’s in charge. She’ll be pulling his strings, but she’ll give him some leeway.”

  “What makes you think he’ll cooperate, if she’s still running the show?”

  “Just a feeling I got when I went with the detective to Emily’s place yesterday. He played tough but something about the case moved him. Besides, Detective Shim as much as said he wouldn’t mind having my help. Giuliani wouldn’t be caught dead uttering those words.”

  “Shim. Sounds Korean. A friend in college had the same name. He was a hottie.”

  “Shim is kind of cute. More than cute. Not what you’d expect in a police detective. He’s not flashy, but he’s not drab either. Sort of trendy fashionable. He’s tall and slender. Thick black hair and deep eyes. Got a face that makes him look like he left the Academy yesterday, except he was just promoted to detective, and that takes a few years.”

  “Doesn’t the fact that he’s Giuliani’s man deter you at all?”

  “Deter me? From what? What makes you think…”

  “There’s this look in your eyes. And I’ve heard that tone of voice. I know you, remember? Poor guy. Maybe I should call and warn him.”

  “Think you know me that well.”

  “I do. Doesn’t mean you can’t surprise me now and then. Just not this time.”

  “Whatever happens, happens. As long as Shim sends some information my way. I want them to solve this case.”

  Luke nodded.

  I sipped the tea and the bitter taste it left matched my mood. Brad was dead and I was nibbling around bits of information that so far led nowhere.

  “Like the tea?” Luke asked as if his self esteem depended on it.

  “It’s great. I’m edgy. I’d rather be down on the streets finding answers.” I peered out over the city which, from this height, was splayed out like a map.

  “It all feels even worse because Brad was a friend.”

  Before I could say anything, my cell phone rang.

  “Nina. You find anything?”

  “An address. Wasn’t easy. Had to hack my way into some tight spots. If this is the guy you’re looking for, then this is his address.”

  “You’re amazing!”

  I jotted down the information and stared at it. He lived on Parrish Street in a tough, troubled area of the city called Brewerytown.

  “She found him?”

  “That’s what I’m gonna find out right now.”

  “I’d tag along, but I promised I’d meet my cousin Chunxue at her place. She wants me to meet somebody. Business or something.”

  “I can handle this. Anyway, if Gibson is as bad a boy as he thinks he is, it could get dicey, and I don’t want you hurt.” I pulled Luke in and gave him a hug. “You mean too much to me.”

  Luke nuzzled my neck then lifted his face to mine and kissed me. “That’s for luck. Come back in one piece.”

  Chapter 11

  If you wanted to lose yourself and make sure no one knew you existed, taking up residence in some parts of North Philly was one way to do it. You could live off the grid and stay hidden for a while. It was easy, but it wasn’t safe. Brewerytown was a poor neighborhood and one the city didn’t pay much attention to. Developers and young couples, though, had decided certain areas of North Philly needed gentrifying and they’d begun the long slog toward making headway into some neighborhoods. They had a lengthy fight ahead, and Brewerytown wouldn’t be easy. It was a rambling neighborhood and parts had a seedy, dangerous quality. Just the kind of place where a guy could be anonymous, even invisible.

  If this was where he lived, Gibson liked flying under the radar.

  I drove up, parked my car a block away, and approached the property on foot. Parrish Street jumbled together the shabby and the neat in a messy way. Red brick houses, mostly ramshackle affairs, looked tired. In fact, the whole neighborhood had a drowsy feel. As
if this end of Brewerytown had nothing to do and nowhere to go. Evidence of gentrification was scant. Maybe neighborhood newbies didn’t want to draw too much attention and the crime that comes with it.

  Gibson lived in one of the red brick, two stories that looked in need of a lot of work. “Rundown” didn’t even begin to describe it. I stepped onto the dirty marble stoop and pressed a buzzer. Just in case that wasn’t working, I banged on the front door rattling its dried out frame.

  There wasn’t a sound in the air. No kids playing on the street, no cars, the neighborhood was as dead as it was dreary. I listened for some sign of life or noise coming from within the house but heard nothing.

  I thumped the wooden door again. Faded paint chips flaked off, floated down. A few stuck to my fist.

  Just as I was about to abandon the place and head back to my car, I heard a shuffling inside the house. Then the door edged inward, and I saw an ineffectual chain bolt stretched across the dark slit of the opening. Slowly, from the shadows within, a face, or what I could see of a face, appeared through the narrow opening. One eye stared out at me.

  “Sorry for bothering you,” I said, unable to see if I was talking to a man or woman. “I’m trying to contact Max Gibson. He live here?”

  I saw the slightest shock wave pass through the eye peering at me from that shadowy face. It was momentary but real. I knew I had to be gentle, nonthreatening, and soothing. I softened my expression.

  “Sorry for the bother. I could really use your help.” I smiled. I’d been expecting resistance and instead met fear.

  The person said nothing. Didn’t slam the door in my face either. That was a good sign. Whoever it was seemed to be struggling with a decision: Was I good or bad, was I was trying to pull something over or being sincere? Probably most importantly, did I look like the type to use force if I didn’t get what I needed?

  I felt pity for the person behind that door.

  “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll be on my way.” I pulled out a card with my name and number and slowly, in a nonthreatening way, held it up for the person to see. No hand came out to take the card. I very gently placed it on the top step, squatting down so I could keep an eye on whoever it was behind the door. Can’t be too careful.

  “W-wait,” his voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken for a while. “D-don’t have… have to leave it there.”

  The door jiggled as the man behind it moved around. Then a hand, or the fingers of a hand in a white cast, appeared and he wiggled them. Signaling I should place the card between his fingers.

  I stood slowly then gently gave him the card. He withdrew his hand.The door remained open but still chained. After a moment, during which a musty odor wafted from within the house, I heard him clear his throat.

  “M-Max is… is away. He’s away for a while.”

  “Do you know where or when he’ll be back?”

  “H-He’ll wanna know… why you wanna see h-him. Why? W-what do I t-tell him?”

  “I’m working a case. I’m a private detective, and I could use his help. Could you tell him that?”

  “H-he won’t like that.”

  “Okay… then how about…”

  “I-I gotta go, Mister. I s-said too much. N-not supposed… I g-gotta go.”

  The door shut. He didn’t slam it but I heard him turning locks. Door like that, a kid could kick it in, locks or no locks.

  All the way back to my car, my imagination was on overdrive. All I could think was that this was another poor soul who Max Gibson had beaten and intimidated into thinking this was what a relationship was all about. The poor guy thought so little of himself that he bought Gibson’s version of reality.

  It was hard for me to swallow the idea that a guy would allow another guy to do this. I realized, if I was having a difficult time believing this could happen, you could bet your ass the police would never believe domestic violence existed in a same sex relationship.

  Of course, my suspicious nature led me to think Max Gibson was still in that house. The guy at the door was fearful because Gibson was probably not far behind, seeing and hearing everything.

  Either way, if he was out of town or hiding in the house, that didn’t make him look innocent. Didn’t mean he was guilty, either. I was determined to find out though.

  ***

  Intending to buy lunch before I returned to the office, I detoured down Locust Street to a new salad bar. You get what you want and pay by the pound. The kind of place where it didn’t pay to have eyes bigger than your stomach.

  I filled my Styrofoam box with steamed veggies and noodles and I noticed a customer across from me gingerly picking pieces of broccoli and cauliflower out of a pan. His face was blocked, but the expensive suit and svelte shape were familiar. Never one to pass up the sights, I toted my lunch around to get a better look.

  Josh Nolan, finished with the broccoli, was deciding between spicy chicken or Singapore noodles.

  “The chicken is great if you like things hot,” I said.

  Nolan spun around as if he’d been goosed. I couldn’t suppress a laugh.

  “You… you’re… I’m sorry… I remember meeting you but…”

  “Sounds like you use that line a lot.” I stuck out my hand. “Marco Fontana. We met at Bubbles.” I watched for his reaction.

  “Bubb… you’re mistak… oh, wait…” His face drained of color.

  “Coming back to you now? Lots of Long Island Iced Tea, lots of men, and some politicians.”

  “Right. Right!” Nolan looked relieved.

  “Have some time to talk?” There were still questions I had for Terrabito, and maybe Nolan could help.

  “T-talk? You mean now?”

  “Yeah. I’m not hitting on you. I’m investigating a murder. Got some questions for your boss and you.”

  “Murder? What are you talking about?”

  “You probably haven’t heard about it.” I wasn’t so sure he hadn’t. “A friend of mine was murdered. Double murder in center city, actually. One of his clients was also killed.” I waited for a reaction. Nothing.

  “A client? What did your friend do?”

  “He was a masseur. Owned the DreamSpa,” I said. I imagined Nolan was conjuring up happy ending scenarios. “He ran a legitimate operation.”

  “Of course,” he said almost too quickly.

  “I’m running down a few leads.”

  “What’s this have to do with Senator Terrabito… or me?” He drew into himself protectively.

  “Not sure, exactly,” I said wanting to knock him off kilter. “You and your boss were at Bubbles on Friday.”

  “Yes,” he said, drawing the word out. Caution signs popping up.

  “That’s when the murder occurred. Friday night.”

  “Well, as you just said, we were at Bubbles.”

  “Right. You there sopping up the booze.”

  “So I guess that proves…”

  “Nothing much. You were there, but not your boss. Terrabito came running in late looking all rumpled.”

  “Look… Who sent you? The Kelley campaign? You’re working for them, right?”

  “I’m investigating a…”

  “You were pretty cozy with the StonewallVotes woman. They hire you to smear the Senator?”

  “My client couldn’t care less about Kelley or Terrabito. She wants her brother’s killer caught.”

  Nolan was edgy. “You… you can understand if I’m suspicious.”

  “Yeah, campaigns can be dirty.”

  “The Senator’s a good man. Kelley is trying to dig up anything he can.”

  “That’s not me. I’m trying to find out who killed my friend.”

  “It wasn’t the Senator. He’s… you don’t know the man. He couldn’t do anything like that.”

  “I need to talk with him.”

  “The campaign’s not going well. He’s got a 24/7 schedule.”

  “It could help him, y’know? If I clear him. Nobody can touch him.”

  “M
aybe. I don’t want to see him lose. He’s a good man. I’d do anything to see him win…” He looked embarrassed, as if he knew just how that’d sounded.

  “Get him to talk to me. I’m not trying to scuttle his campaign.”

  Nolan didn’t respond.

  We finished lunch and I watched Nolan walk back to his campaign offices. He reminded me of a ranch hand. An expensively dressed ranch hand but with the same confidently masculine stride, the same set of the shoulders ready for anything.

  ***

  I didn’t have to show up at Bubbles but I went anyway. Something about that poor guy behind the door had sucked all the joy out of me and sitting alone at home was not an option. Nobody’d be in the bar either. The show was hours off and I’d still be sitting alone. So I opted to sit at Café Bubbles and cheer myself up with dessert.

  Moving through a gossipy group of smokers outside, I stepped into the café and looked for a place to sit.

  “Marco! Hey Marco!”

  I recognized the accent and turned to see Jean-Claude waving me over to his table. As I moved closer, I saw an embarrassed-looking Anton sitting across from Jean-Claude. Interesting. Of course, they could always be discussing business. Who was I kidding?

  “Marco, we were just talking about you,” Jean-Claude said.

  “Oh? What’s the verdict?”

  “On what?” Anton said, his face flushing.

  “Me.”

  “We were just trying…” Anton started but he stopped as if suddenly shy and reticent.

  “We were wondering how you were doing. And how the case is going.” Jean-Claude said. “You know I can help if you need.”

  “I know, Jean-Claude.” His constant requests to help were beginning to work. I decided to put him on something to keep him busy. “I’ve been giving it some thought, and I can use you.” Except I didn’t know for what yet.

  “Oh, fantastique! This is so cool!” Jean-Claude laughed. I also noted the way he patted Anton’s hand. How Anton didn’t move that hand. More and more interesting.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow. Right now I need coffee.”

  “Why don’t you sit with us?” Anton offered. It was sincere. I’ve known him long enough to know that. I also took it as a sign that maybe I was wrong about what was going on between them.