Heat

by R. W. Clinger

  Hard with morning wood, I needed to take a piss. Casey had other things in mind to accomplish with my boner. Soon his kisses fell to my torso and covered both pecs and the navel at my center. And thereafter his mouth and throat consumed my dick, and he started sucking me off.

  I rarely prevented sex from happening in my life; hence, the reason why I opened my legs for my boyfriend to have better access to my private parts. I served Casey breakfast, and he didn’t waste a second showing me affection.

  The sex became a blur to me because I couldn’t get my mind off the fire. I believed it could have been associated with the fire that burned down Peter Rotunda’s gay bar. As Casey licked, sucked, and toyed with my athletic build, accomplishing dirty deeds with a persistent tempo, my thoughts strayed to last night’s bizarre adventure at Sign Farm. I also recollected the burning pages of two Margo Pagino romance novels. While being banged numerous times, I wondered how the strange events were linked. When would I learn the arsonist’s identity? How much more time did I want to give the case until it grew into something unmanageable and out of my control?

  * * * *

  Casey and I lay sticky together on my mattress, staring up at the tray ceiling. He huffed and puffed, and his chest rose and fell in chaotic motion.

  Between breaths, he said, “Your heart wasn’t into our play, was it?”

  “I’m sorry. My mind is elsewhere. I can’t get this arson case out of my head.”

  We smelled of sex, which consisted of perspiration and mixed colognes. The morning steeped with a hot and thick humidity, which added to our strong aromas.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, holding me next to him, fingering one of my pert nipples.

  I did, but honestly didn’t know what to tell him. Beating a dead horse just happened to be out of the question. So was boring him with facts to the case that he had already heard a dozen or more times.

  “I can’t get a grip of the fires and murder. It’s all a twisting puzzle that I can’t unravel.”

  He turned on his side, kissed me, and pulled away. “In due time, you will find out who the arsonist is. Don’t get stressed over it, lover.”

  “Lover?” I questioned. “You never said that to me before.”

  “Does the truth hurt, Axle?”

  I nodded. “It does, but in a good way.”

  “I figure we’re beyond boyfriends now. The label of lovers seems more appropriate. Besides, I can’t hide the way I feel for you. You’re a great guy, and I don’t plan to let you go.” He climbed out of the bed, strutted his naked stuff to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. A few seconds ticked by, and he popped his head out of the bathroom. “You do want to be my lover, right?”

  “For a thousand years,” I replied, glowing, happy, and forgetting about arson and murder for the very first time in three days.

  Chapter 32: Burn and Visitors

  839 Treasure Gardens

  9:57 A.M.

  Casey Kalhoun, my lover, left my place to spend eight or more hours with his sidekick, Bruno. Casey left me upset that he hadn’t planned on spending the day with me, naked and sweaty together, just the two of us, pandering each other in heated sex until dusk. Casey had a job to do, and I had a case to solve. Life seemed unbearable when occupations tended to muddle things up.

  I showered, shaved, and had two cups of iced coffee. While enjoying my second cup, reviewing a list of notes that pertained to the fires and murder. Officer Cane Bishop and Fire Chief Darren Dawe. Both arrived in Officer Cane’s green-and-white cruiser, holding cups of coffee. Chief Dawe smelled like cinnamon donuts, which I didn’t mind in the slightest.

  I admit, they were something to see, almost freakish because Officer Cane looked like a pale and blond god, a complete contrast compared to Chief Dawe’s Hawaiian brown complexion, red suspenders, and horn-rimmed glasses. I wasn’t one to judge them an odd couple, though, and welcomed them into my tiny house.

  Cramped inside my living room, space that allowed for one person instead of three, Officer Cane said, “You’re in danger, Axle. I’m here as a professional to tell you that you need to drop this case and stop working for Peter Rotunda.”

  I shook my head, almost touching shoulders with him. “I’ve never dropped a case and don’t intend to now.”

  “Someone’s trying to burn you,” Chief Dawe interjected, facing me, and smelling donut-delectable.

  “It isn’t happening, gentleman. I’ve quit nothing in my life.”

  Officer Cane prattled about the two romance novels that were purposely soaked with gasoline and given to me as gifts at Casey’s bungalow. “Plus, whoever set last night’s fire knows that the owners weren’t at home and you were next door. Dawe is right. Someone’s trying to burn you. You have to take responsibility for yourself and end your case. Peter Rotunda will just have to wait for results from forensics and the HBPD concerning the fire at his bar.”

  “Peter is impatient,” I said.

  “Too bad for him. That isn’t my concern, Axle.” Officer Cane looked me up and down, maybe happy to see me, or still finding me attractive after our fling. He cleared his throat and added, “Your safety is my main concern, and I can’t protect you if you’re working for Peter. Does this make any sense to you?”

  “It does,” I replied. “I can’t promise you that I’ll end the case, though.”

  Officer Cane waved a finger at me and scolded, “I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to, Axle. I’m just saying that Hurricane Bay keeps me busy, which means that I won’t have time to babysit you. So if you do decide to keep Peter Rotunda as a client, I won’t always have your back.”

  “And neither will the fire department,” Chief Dawe added.

  I understood where both men were coming from. It didn’t mean that I could simply hand Peter’s money back to him and quit his case. Hadn’t I already comprised a valuable list of facts and details that could help me in determining who the arsonist and killer were? And hadn’t I put in a number of hours while playing detective to solve the case? It seemed preposterous to end my assignment and terminate Peter Rotunda as a client.

  “I’ll think about it, gentleman, but can’t promise either of you anything. Thank you for stopping by.”

  Enough said. The men left just as quickly as they arrived. Neither finished their coffee, leaving the cups behind.

  * * * *

  Not even ten minutes later, Edgar Sign arrived at my pad, which shocked the Jesus out of me. He wore the same outfit I had seen him wear before: Daisy Dukes and silver daggers from his earlobes. His handlebar mustache looked freshly waxed, and his hairy legs were shaved. I didn’t welcome him inside my home, fearing his visit. God only knew what he wanted, which could have entailed next to anything.

  “Mr. Dupree, I know you didn’t invite me here, but I felt it necessary to pay you a little visit, especially after your capers last night.” He didn’t blink, and his tone sounded weak, almost numb.

  “What capers?” I asked, ready to battle him, if need be, despite my stance against violence.

  “Your trip to my farm last night. Don’t think I didn’t see you. In fact, a number of my members saw you.”

  Intimidated by the man, I thought him strange and maybe dangerous. I held my ground, though, and showed no fear, just as I had accomplished many times before when confronted by a suspect. Ignoring his comment, I said, “Tell me why you set the Flaming Flamingo on fire and murdered Rudy Shower.”

  He huffed, grinned, and shook his head. “You’re out of your skull. If I had any inclination to murder that little sonofabitch, I would have poisoned him slowly and watched him die a horrible death. Much pain would have been involved for my pleasure.”

  “Tell me why you think he was a sonofabitch.”

  He ignored my comment, although I assumed he had heard it as clear as a bell. He closed the gap that parted us, pointed one of his index fingers against my chin, and said, “If you know what’s good for you, young man, you’ll stay off my
farm and away from Underground Spectacle. My people don’t deserve your harassment.”

  I backed away. “I want to know why you set Bungalow Fifteen on fire last night.”

  “This is just a warning, Mr. Axle Dupree. I don’t want to see you anywhere near my congregation. Do you understand me?”

  I did, but wasn’t about to confess that particular with him. “If you didn’t start the recent fires and murder Rudy Shower, you know who did. You or someone in your cult is responsible for those events. Don’t even think I don’t know that.”

  He sneered at me, showing off all of his teeth like a ghoul. His gums were red, and his canines were chipped. Before he turned and ended our little chat, he said, “Some things are right under our noses, Mr. Dupree, and we just can’t smell them.”

  I didn’t know what he had meant by that, nor did I care. I was just glad he left, swinging his Daisy Dukes a tad to the right, then to the left. He sashayed away and left me to my solace.

  Chapter 33: Merman’s Bar & Grille

  Downtown Hurricane Bay

  Merman’s Bar & Grille

  11:49 A.M.

  I sat at a two-person table in Merman’s Bar & Grille. The eatery had the most interesting history. When it first opened in 1993, I remembered it being called M’s. The place catered to an uppity straight group of drinking yuppies who snorted cocaine, and attempted to obey the laws of dating the opposite sex. M’s went into the red, losing money, night after night, until Tony Monchello purchased the place in 1995 with his business partner and lover, Leo Danza.

  They hired Felice Trepindore of Naples to redesign the bar. Floor-to-ceiling aquariums were installed, underwater male dancers in Speedos were added to the water, disco balls were constructed into bar seats, and the bar looked like a giant tailfin. M’s became Merman’s almost overnight and one of Hurricane Bay’s happening bars. The queers showed up in droves, and Merman’s turned successful.

  Ten-plus years later, the bar and grille still did well. Tony had died and Leo, now in his fifties, still ran Merman’s. He lived with a rent boy by the name of Chad Mostrelli. Felice Trepindore lived in Venice, decorating villas. Nothing had really changed in the bar in the last ten years; a happening place for the queens. Monday nights were gay trivia nights, Tuesdays served an all-you-can-eat taco bar with drag queen performers, Wednesdays offered male striptease artists, Thursday nights were gay karaoke nights, Fridays were wet G-string nights, and Saturday nights were live band and anything goes nights.

  Rebecca rushed to my table, sat down, and took a long sip of my iced tea. She looked frazzled, sounded out of breath, and overfilled with pent drama that she needed to share with me. “You will never guess what happened to me this morning.”

  “Your clothes are wrinkled, and your hair looks as if you’ve battled a hurricane. What have you been up to?”

  “Clifton Monigal decided to seduce me in a men’s restroom.”

  Appalled and interested at the same time, the queen came out in me, and I snapped, “Tell me everything.”

  Her tale concluded as being simple and enjoyable: they had breakfast at Carlita’s Sunshine Restaurant after waking up together inside Rebecca’s condo, ate, and left the place.

  “Clifton swooped me into the men’s room at a nearby marina store and had his way with me.”

  “And you loved every minute of it.”

  She blushed. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “Oh, but you are. Don’t you even go there. I know of your past, Rebecca. I’ve studied the sexy guys you’ve slept with throughout the years between your husbands.”

  “Those were flings,” she admitted. “I think I’m a little more serious about the cowboy.”

  I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh. She didn’t have a serious bone in her body about any of her affiliations. Men had come and gone in her life like the common winter’s cold. Shameless, she had had quite a lot of dick in her days, not that I judged her. Some of those guys I would have liked to have slept with, but they were all straight, give or take a few, of course.

  A doll swam past our table in one of the massive aquariums. He had a pale, slim, and hairless body. He also sported cropped white hair and had diamonds in his earlobes. The Speedo clung tight around his private parts, and he glided like a merman through the underwater Gulf scene, being paid to do just that.

  Rebecca said, “I need to tell you something that’s important to me, Axle.” The last time she had said that line had to be in 2010 when thinking about adopting a child. Children and Rebecca didn’t mix well, and thank God I talked her out of it. Good for me.

  “What this time?”

  She wasn’t at all boring like some lunch dates I shared with friends.

  A beefy waiter named Henrey, with the thickest neck, stepped up to our table. He winked at me, and I winked back at him for no apparent reason. It could have been a reaction, right? Whatever.

  Rebecca ordered a rum and Coke. She told Henrey, “Heavy on the rum, sweets. Don’t be shy about bringing me two.”

  I ordered a chef salad and second iced tea.

  The waiter left us to our conversation.

  Another merman swam by our table. This one had thick black hair and beautiful brown skin. He looked like a superhero in a comic book with his bulging muscles and dainty, canary yellow Speedo that left nothing to my imagination.

  Once the beautiful black merman swam away from our table, she said, “What, no alcohol today?”

  “I have work to do. The firebug and murderer in this town aren’t going to be caught unless I do something about it. You know I respect and adore Officer Cane, but he’s quite lax about solving Hurricane Bay’s recent crimes.”

  “Which brings me right back to the important thing I want to tell you.”

  “I’m ready anytime you are, Rebecca.”

  She sat straight in her chair, played with her mussed hair, and blurted out, “I want you to get to know Clifton better. And don’t put him on your suspect list because his grandmother had issues with arson in her past.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t promise you that.”

  “Axle.” She leaned over the table and whispered, “I’m your best friend. Clifton is important to me. Do me a favor and don’t put him in your criminal spotlight.”

  Beefy Henrey placed two rum and Cokes in front of Rebecca. After he scuttled away, I watched her drink half of one.

  “You should slow down with those, dear. You’ll be bombed in a few seconds.”

  “I do believe that’s my intention, and none of your business.”

  “Suit yourself.” I took a drink of the iced tea in front of me, clicked ice cubes against my front teeth, cringed, and eventually returned the beverage to the table. “You have to know that Clifton is not the only person on my suspect list.”

  “I figured as much. I just don’t want him to be at the top of the list.”

  “He’s not,” I confirmed. “I can’t say the same thing for his grandmother, Laura, but Clifton is in the clear as of now since nothing has surfaced about the man.”

  “So no one is attached to the two fires and the murder of Rudy Shower, right?”

  “Everyone is attached to the crimes, and guilty, until I attest otherwise. This includes Clifton,” I clarified.

  She sucked down the remaining portion of liquid that comprised her cocktail, attempted to smile, and said, “I can live with that.”

  “Of course you can. It’s why we’re best friends.”

  “Don’t push it,” she said in a somber tone. She glared at me with playfulness and retrieved her second rum and Coke, having every intention of enjoying a liquid lunch with me.

  Chapter 34: Better Luck Next Time

  Downtown Hurricane Bay

  Coral Street

  1:37 P.M.

  I needed to find a little more out about Rudy Shower. To accomplish that task, I ended up perusing the apartment building where he lived, scouting his neighbors and passersby. I sat in front of the seven-floor buildin
g on Coral Street in my Mercedes and parked near a Dumpster. Sunglasses rested on the bridge of my nose, blocking out the blistering rays of light. I took in the clean street, two seagulls on the sidewalk, and weak-looking palms next to city garbage receptacles. The day felt muggy, warm, and offered no sign of rain in the near future.

  Approximately fifteen minutes passed, and I yawned a dozen or more times out of boredom before any action unfolded at the apartment building. Sunshine Dane and Calvin Bow, Rudy’s coworkers at the Flaming Flamingo, walked down Coral and entered the building. The scene wasn’t news to me because they both lived in the building on the fifth floor, just as Rudy had. What ended up being front page news occurred six minutes later, just as I dozed off. Edgar Sign walked down Coral in his Daisy Dukes and made a right, entering the apartment building.

  “So you want to be followed, huh?”

  I escaped the Mercedes, crossed the street, and entered the apartment building behind the cult leader.

  * * * *

  Sign ended up on the fourth floor and made a left down the narrow, battleship-gray hallway. I followed him as closely as I could without being seen. He stood in front of apartment 4-B, rapped on the door two times with his knuckles, and had been let inside by a young blond female with doe-like eyes and a smooth complexion.

  Once he was behind the closed door, I took residence outside the apartment and tried to listen to the conversation that occurred inside. I pressed my right ear against the white pine door. I heard mumbles inside the apartment, but I couldn’t place words or sentences together. There were two voices. One belonged to Sign and the other belonged to a woman, but it sounded much older than the young blonde who had answered the door.

  It seemed a wasted trip to the apartment building because I couldn’t hear anything being said through the door. Better luck next time, I guessed, and decided to leave before I threw away more minutes of my day.

  I backtracked from where I had come: down the hall and four flights of stairs. I ended up in the building’s lobby, which smelled of violets. Two glass doors opened on Coral Street, and I headed in their direction.