Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2)

by Susan Mac Nicol

  Clay huffed. “A little. Nothing we can’t handle.”

  The door behind burst open and a silver whirlwind entered the room.

  “Relio, why did you not tell me Tate and Clay were going to be here tonight? I had to find out from Fabian?” Tomas marched over to Aurelio and poked him in the chest. “And I knew because he took a secret picture of the two hotties he tried to get into a rotisserie with and showed it to me. Why did you not tell me they were coming?” He poked Aurelio again.

  Aurelio grasped Tomas’s hands and stilled him. “Enough, piccolo,” he growled. “Do not poke me so, it is rude. I meant for it to be a surprise, but I see Fabian has once again spoiled it. That young man needs to learn the meaning of discretion.”

  From the glower on Aurelio’s face, Tate had a feeling poor Fabian was in for some censure, perhaps disciplining. In all fairness, from what he’d gathered, he didn’t think it would be something the young man would mind though, given his spit roasting comment earlier. He was amused by Tomas’s use of the word rotisserie. It conjured up some filthy images.

  Tomas whirled around and hurled a huge smile at Tate, reaching his hands out to grasp Tate’s biceps and squeeze. Tate blinked. He wasn’t used to this sort of touchy-feely stuff from the usually irascible Tomas.

  “Wow, look at you, all sexed up,” Tomas exclaimed. “I had no idea you and Clay were into this sort of thing.” He bounced on his feet, a bundle of nervous energy.

  “We’re at a fetish club,” Clay remarked wryly. “It would be a little strange if we weren’t dressed for the occasion.” He too looked a little taken aback at Tomas’s behaviour. A chill ran across Tate’s skin like the soft blow of a cool wind. He ambled over to Tomas casually and took the young man’s face in his hands. Tomas stared at him, his pupils huge and the glittering blue eyes he was known for almost non-existent. Tate’s gut clenched.

  “Tomas, what have you taken?” He registered Aurelio’s curse and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw him come swiftly forward. Clay’s exclamation of concern followed.

  Tomas wrenched himself away and moved out of reach. “It is a nightclub. I was having a little fun. What’s wrong with that?”

  His defensive tone was one Tate had heard countless times before. “What did you take? Coke? Poppers? E? Tell me,” Tate demanded.

  The fear on Aurelio’s face spoke volumes as he reached out and touched Tomas’s face. “Tesoro, why would you do that to yourself? Have you no respect for your body, your mind?”

  Tomas giggled. “Why is everyone so serious? It was one little pink pill, some kind of legal high one of the guys had. I thought it might help me relax tonight.” His fingers reached out to caress Aurelio’s face. “You always tell me I’m wound too tight. This makes me feel…sociable. Like I could even have a friend or two.”

  Aurelio’s face was stricken with remorse. “I say that with affection, mio caro. It is what makes you Tomas.”

  Tate’s heart ached at Relio’s words. Tomas was difficult, yes, but as Aurelio said, it was part of what made him himself. Using recreational drugs to change that was a dangerous path. Legal highs were no longer allowed in the UK, and there was no way of knowing exactly what it was Tomas had ingested. During the days of his drug squad career, Tate had seen first-hand the pitfalls of drugs cut with other dangerous substances and goods that promised to deliver, but were no more than death traps waiting to happen.

  Anything could be procured on the dark web as well as in underground circles.

  Clay brushed past, gently reaching out and clasping Tomas’s shoulder. “I think Relio and Tate are worried about you more than judging what you did,” he murmured, with a stern glare at Aurelio. “How do you feel, everything okay in that noggin of yours?”

  Tomas smiled widely. “I feel great. Like I’m floating on clouds and I want to dance.” He grabbed Aurelio’s arm. “Come on, Relio, come dance with me.”

  Aurelio stared at him in disbelief. “I am not dancing with you like that,” he said fiercely. “You need to let whatever you took wear off, and then perhaps I will dance with you.”

  Tomas face darkened. “Then I’ll go find someone else to dance with,” he taunted. “That silver-haired man who felt me up earlier would love to get up close and personal, and I’m sure there are more out there who’d love to see me.” He swung around to leave.

  Aurelio planted himself firmly in the way, crossed his arms across his chest, and glared at Tomas. “Regardless of how angry you are with me, your inhibitions are lowered, and I am not allowing you to go out there in your situation,” he declared firmly. “I don’t care how good you feel. You aren’t leaving this room. This isn’t you, Tomas. You once told me you’d never, ever partake in drugs. You don’t even drink much. So letting you out there when you’re vulnerable isn’t going to happen. I care for you too much to do that.”

  “Fuck you,” Tomas spat. “You aren’t my keeper, Relio. Let me past, you bastard.”

  Aurelio stood his ground as Tomas tried to push his way out. Clay stood to one side, and Tate wondered whether he should get involved. The room grew louder with the sudden proliferation of Italian as the two men argued passionately.

  On Aurelio’s side there was a lot of hand waving and excited gesticulations toward not only Tomas, but Clay and Tate too. Tate waited patiently for it to be over, shooting glances at Clay every now and then. Clay blew out his cheeks and shrugged.

  “Let them get it out of their system,” he murmured. “I agree with Relio, though, Tomas shouldn’t go out there when he’s not in full control of his faculties. It might seem a little like strong-arming, but I don’t give a shit.”

  Finally the room grew quieter and Tate breathed a sigh of relief as Tomas walked over to another door leading off from Aurelio’s study and left, slamming the door behind him.

  Aurelio’s shoulders sagged in relief and he turned to Tate and Clay with a gesture of apology. “I am sorry about all the drama,” he said wearily. “Don’t worry. That door leads to my private chambers and there is no access to the club from there.

  “Allow me to translate. Apparently, Tomas only took a tablet tonight. He said he hadn’t done it before and I believe him. I don’t think we have much to worry about.” He looked down to the floor. “I blame myself,” he said, defeated. “It seems I have not done a good job of making Tomas feel welcome staying here, and I am too critical of his prickly temperament. He believed that the pill would make him more likeable to me.” Relio looked up and Tate saw the pain reflected there.

  Tate grunted. “Well, thank God this isn’t a regular occurrence. And I can’t speak as to how he feels, but perhaps the two of you can sort it out so he doesn’t feel so crap anymore.”

  Clay huffed. “I’m pleased this is a one-off. I’m all for people doing what they must, don’t get me wrong, but it’s different when it comes to someone you know. I don’t know how I’d react if I found out Jax was doing drugs. It would probably do my head in. I don’t think I could be objective in a scenario like that.”

  “Let us have a drink. I think we all need one.” Aurelio walked over to the palatial mini bar in the corner of the room. He poured three drinks, whisky for each, and handed the tumblers to Tate and Clay. Tate was dying to ask the question that had been building in his mind ever since Tomas had left. He knew Clay wouldn’t say anything, being a respecter of privacy and all, but Tate didn’t swing that way.

  “So you and Tomas are a thing now then?” He heard Clay clear his throat in warning and Tate smirked.

  Best to ask for forgiveness than permission, babe. I seem to remember you drilling that into me during the course of some of our investigations.

  He was only following the boss’s orders.

  Aurelio stilled and then gave a shrug of his suit-clad shoulders. “It is, how you say, a work in progress? Tomas is not an easy man to get along with. He and I have…bonded, shall we say, but it is still early days.”

  Tate opened his mouth to say he bet Tomas and Aurelio had
bonded, but was silenced by a stern glare from Clay. Tate pressed his lips together and moodily took a sip of his drink.

  I need to chat to that young man about his stupid drug taking. Something is really bothering him. He’s not usually into that sort of thing.

  Tate had a feeling it was the relationship with Aurelio that was driving Tomas crazy, and he resolved to try to get to the bottom of it soon.

  Aurelio motioned to the two easy chairs. “Please, sit.” He walked around to his desk and slumped down into the chair. “Tell me how the investigation is going. Have you managed to uncover anything with your psychic?”

  Clay stretched out his legs as he leaned back. “Not a lot,” he confessed. “We have a few things that weren’t particularly clear, but not much that makes sense. Rick and his team are still canvassing the area, trying to find more leads. He said he’d let us know if anything turned up.” He scowled. “The stuffed dick turned out to be a no-go. The lab couldn’t pick up any solid prints off it. Perhaps the person wore gloves.”

  “What kind of things did your spiritual friend tell you?” Aurelio’s eyes lit up with interest. As Clay filled him in on what Taylor had said, Tate zoned out a little and inspected the painting on the wall. Aurelio seemed to have a taste for the dark and macabre. The artwork was less grim that the one Tate had seen in the lounge, but was still rather an eye opener.

  He stood up to study it closer. Tate wasn’t a fan of the dark works, as he called them, preferring the artwork of Gustav Klimt and his “Death and Life” mural, which Tate had seen at the Leopold Museum in Vienna many years ago.

  This painting, also in oil, and probably done by the same artist who’d painted the Bosch copy, depicted scenes of death and destruction across what looked like the aftermath of war, a bloody landscape populated by what Tate thought were grim reapers. He peered at one of the corner images and grimaced. A dog ripped flesh off a human being, while a skeleton dressed in rags drew a bloody knife across the throat of a man on the ground. Someone, a man or woman, Tate wasn’t sure, lay on their back, legs spread on display, as all around them chaos reigned.

  It was a disturbing picture of a human psyche. For a split second, Tate wondered whether his own psyche would draw something similar if he ever chose to take up painting. He could probably give this one a run for its money, he reflected grimly, if he painted his experiences undercover.

  A whiff of Clay’s aftershave drifted across his nostrils.

  “Hideous depiction of what man can do to one another, isn’t it?” Clay murmured as he stared at the painting. “Shades of hell indeed.”

  Aurelio had joined them and he nodded. “The name of that painting is “The Triumph of Death.” It was painted in the mid fifteen hundreds by a man called Pieter Bruegel the Elder, a Dutch painter. He may have been Flemish. There is some question about where he was born. It is supposed to depict everyday life and death in the mid-sixteenth century, when of course plague was rife, as was the incidence of war and conquerors.”

  “You have a twisted sense of art appreciation, Aurelio,” Tate muttered. “Is it an Italian thing to have all this fascination with all things dead and dying? Doesn’t this depress you, seeing it on your wall every day?”

  Aurelio smiled. “On the contrary, my friend. I give thanks I live in more enlightened times and that I have more choices than those poor people ever had.” He waved at the picture. “Sometimes death is not about death. Sometimes it’s about life.”

  Tate squinted at him. “Have you been to a Buddhist temple or something recently, because, honestly, you’re sounding all Zen.”

  Clay burst into a guffaw. “I echo that, Relio. I don’t remember you being this mellow all those years ago.”

  Aurelio moved over to his desk and picked up his drink. He gave an enigmatic smile before taking a sip then placed the glass back on the desk. “I suppose age has a way of making one see things differently. I was saying to Tomas the other day—”

  He didn’t get to finish his sentence because someone knocked at the door then barged in unbidden. The interrupter was a man in his forties, dressed in a monk’s habit and sporting a cowl. His face was covered in piercings.

  Tate blinked at the unexpected sight and Clay seemed to do a double take too.

  The man garbled excitedly, “Sir, we have a problem. A fight’s broken out on the dance floor between some of the leather daddies. The bouncers are sorting it out but it might take a bit of your finesse to smooth things over.”

  Aurelio harrumphed in displeasure. “A fight in my club? No, no. That will never do.” He turned to Clay and Tate. “Please excuse me. It seems I am needed.”

  “Do you need any help?” Tate asked. “Because we’re there if you do.”

  Aurelio shook his head. “No, my friends, my men will manage the situation admirably. Clay, thank you for the update. Let me know if anything else transpires. Tate, thank you for your kind offer.”

  He turned to face the monk who was bouncing up and down on his feet like a boxer about to enter the ring. “Lead on, Alfred. And please take care to stay out of the way this time. Remember the last time? I had to rush you to the emergency room.”

  The two men left the office and the door shut behind them.

  Tate stared at Clay. “Well, that was weird. I didn’t know there was a monk’s convention in town.”

  Clay chuckled. “This place continues to surprise even me.” He shook his head. “Relio certainly has his hands full, that’s for sure.” He walked away. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Perhaps we can stop at Maccy D’s on the way home. I’m in the mood for something meaty.” He gave Tate a wink and disappeared out of the door.

  Tate refrained from making his usual “I’ll give you something meaty” comment and followed Clay out. Tonight had certainly been interesting. Tomorrow he thought he’d call Tomas and find out exactly what was going on between him and the nightclub boss, given tonight’s revelations.

  After all, as Tomas’s handler, Tate needed to know what was going on, right?

  Chapter 9

  Clay was working in the home office when his mobile rang. As it was an unknown caller, he let it go to message. He’d check it later. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he contemplated the email from Rick on his computer screen.

  Hi Clay.

  I thought I’d let you know that things have stalled a bit on the JJ Baxter case. To be fair, it’s only been a couple of months. The team are still working on it, but we’ve been called in to assist with another case, so efforts will be shared and things may not move too quickly.

  Let me know if you and Tate get any further with any of your leads. I’m starting to despair we’ll ever get the person who did it, but we aren’t going to stop trying.

  Rick.

  It had been two weeks since the last visit to Graffiato Animé and things seemed to have stalled with their investigation too. It didn’t help that business had gotten even crazier and Tate was currently in Madrid on one of their new cases involving an antiques smuggler. He was due back the following day, unless he decided to extend his stay to visit the well-known local street art area. It was on his bucket list to do the urban art street tour, and Clay had a feeling Tate wouldn’t let the opportunity slip by. Clay supposed he’d find out later tonight when they Skyped.

  His mobile rang again with another unknown caller. Clay sighed and answered. “Clay Mortimer.”

  “This is Simon Shaw from the shop. I have some news for you.” Shaw’s voice was muffled and it sounded as if he was talking to someone else at the same time. “Be careful with that, it’s worth a fucking fortune.”

  Clay frowned. “Shaw, are you talking to me?”

  Simon snorted. “No, to the idiots trying to move this damned bear out of my shop. I finally got rid of the thing to a new home somewhere in the Lake District. I’ll be glad to see the back of the moth-eaten thing. I have a spot for the new bird collection now.”

  Clay stared at his phone in confusion. “Is that why you called m
e? To tell me the bear had gone?”

  Simon laughed loudly. “No, mate. I called you to tell you we found the inhaler that was missing. It was underneath the fuzzy bastard. Must have rolled there at some time.”

  A prickle of excitement trickled down Clay’s spine. “That’s a plus. I’ll get someone to come around and collect it.” He crossed his fingers. “Please tell me you didn’t touch the item much. I know you’ll have to have picked it up.”

  Otherwise we’ll have to fingerprint everyone in the shop to clear them.

  Shaw made a tutting sound. “Mate, I wasn’t born yesterday. I watch CSI. I didn’t let anyone near it and I used a plastic baggie to pick it up. It’s in my office safe, waiting for you.”

  “Have you called the police to let them know?” Clay asked.

  Simon scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, we don’t deal with the likes of police down here. You and your man are one thing, you’re friends of Mr Borese. Bods in uniform—we aren’t fond of them sort.”

  Clay puffed out his cheeks in relief. “That’s great news. Thanks, I’ll arrange for one of the police team to come by and fetch it. It’ll have to go to their lab to be tested for fingerprints.”

  He wasn’t sure whether the inhaler would give them a lead, but who knew. Perhaps JJ’s killer had touched it. The fact it had rolled underneath the grizzly on the day of the murder should count for something.

  He felt he was clutching at straws, but in his experience, the silliest things sometimes solved a case.

  “Yeah, no problem. Tell them to ask for me. No, you wanker, don’t take it out the fucking door that way, you’re going to damage the ears.” The phone went dead as Shaw rang off to no doubt go save his bear.

  Clay pinged off a reply email to Rick, asking him to send someone round to Stuffed for Choice. Then he girded his loins to call Ingrid Vos again and schedule a follow-up visit.