Caesar's Fall

by Dorien Grey

  “Glad you did. Why don’t we go upstairs and have a drink?”

  Laying the roll of wire on the floor, Elliott said, “Good idea,” and followed him out, pausing to lock the door.

  “So, what do you think happened?” Steve asked as they settled down on the sofa.

  “Strictly conjecture, but from what Ricky told me and considering the timeline, it sounds like despite what Blanton said about Bruno only being ‘one of the investors,’ he was counting on him to come up with all or most of the money.”

  “I wonder why the agent called Bruno rather than Blanton.”

  “Just a guess, but maybe he wanted some earnest money immediately, which I doubt Blanton has. He probably mentioned Bruno and his money to stall for time. He might even have given the agent Bruno’s number, or the guy found it somehow and called to check if Blanton was telling the truth. Bruno probably—and rightly—became suspicious.

  “That Blanton cashed rather than deposited the check Bruno gave him shortly before Bruno died could mean he was afraid Bruno was going to stop payment on it. And Blanton was one of the people he took aside to talk to the night he died.”

  “I wonder how much of this the police know.”

  “I don’t have a clue, and that’s really frustrating. I can’t just ask them—well, I could, but they wouldn’t tell me, since it’s not really any of my business, and I don’t want them to think I’m butting in on their investigation, or that I think my brother-in-law’s being a policeman gives me any special privileges. The last thing I want is to get Brad in any kind of trouble with anyone on the force.”

  “Which leaves you where?”

  “Good question. I’ll just try to check in with Brad from time to time to see if he knows anything, and if we find out anything the police might not be aware of, I’ll have to figure some way to let them know.”

  “What’s next?”

  “Rudy, I think. I really don’t like the idea of contacting him, because sure as hell he’ll take it as an invitation to hook me into one of his scams.

  They finished their drinks, and Elliott declined the offer of another. “I’d better head on home—I might as well bite the bullet and see if I can get in touch with Rudy tonight.”

  *

  It took him a moment to find Rudy’s number after he got home, and while he had both cell phone and land-line numbers, his reluctance to talk with the man at all made him opt for the land line. He was frankly relieved to get an answering machine. He left a message and went into the kitchen to fix dinner.

  He was just getting ready for bed when Rudy returned his call.

  “Sorry I’m so late getting back to you, Elliott. I was meeting with a group of investors on a project that immediately made me think of you. I’d intended to call you earlier, but things have been moving so quickly. I’d really like to get together with you to discuss it.”

  “Well, I want to talk to you, too—about Bruno.”

  “Bruno? Ah, I still haven’t gotten over the shock of his death. I knew he had several serious problems, but I’d never have imagined he’d take his own life.”

  This was the second time someone had suggested Bruno might deliberately have gone off the balcony, and wondered how Rudy had come up with the idea.

  “He didn’t. And that’s what we need to talk about. When can we meet?”

  “Are you saying he was murdered? You can’t be serious!”

  “I’m afraid I am. We can talk about it when we meet.”

  “How about tomorrow, then? Seven thirty at Roscoe’s?”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  *

  Rudy was at the bar when Elliott walked in at seven twenty-five.

  “There’s a table over there,” Rudy said, gesturing with his head before Elliott reached him. “I’ll go grab it while you order.” He laid a twenty on the bar. “On me,” he added and moved off before Elliott could say anything.

  Elliott ordered, left a tip with his own money and joined Rudy at the table, placing the change from the drink in front of him.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Now, what’s this about Bruno being murdered?” Rudy asked, leaning forward. “The police said nothing about it…well, now that I think of it, I’d have to add ‘directly.’ They did ask about anyone Bruno may have been concerned about. I’ve talked with them twice.”

  “Did they mention anyone in particular?”

  “Cage, Ricky, his financial manager…Means?…that phony ‘doctor,’ Blanton, a couple other people.”

  “And what did you tell them?”

  Rudy took a sip of his drink and shrugged.

  “The truth. I frankly think every one of them contributed to Bruno’s death—I still can’t imagine it being murder. I’m very fond of Cage, but he’s young and can be very insensitive at times. They all were out to get whatever they could from Bruno. Don’t get me wrong, I really liked the man, but let’s face it—what would a sexy little hustler like Ricky really see in a forty-something chunk of total vanilla like Bruno, other than dollar signs? His financial manager was robbing him blind, and that Blanton character might as well have ‘con artist’ stamped across his forehead. And the others…well, again, they were all after Bruno’s money.”

  “Are you saying Ricky was a hustler?”

  “I don’t know it for a fact, but the town’s crawling with guys with pretty faces and hot bodies looking for a sugar daddy. I sure wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Elliott chalked that comment up to cynicism and moved on. He knew he was risking jeopardizing the chance to get any other information out of Rudy, but he couldn’t resist saying, “Well, your own interest in Bruno wasn’t exactly altruistic.”

  “Of course not. But I wasn’t out to screw him. I had a legitimate business proposition that could have added to his financial stability, not knocked the pins out from under it. And I have to say, you didn’t do him any favors by turning him off to my proposal.”

  “Bruno was a big boy,” Elliott observed, “and he made his own decisions. I just told him, as I told you, that it wasn’t something I was interested in. The fact you were pretty evasive about the details I’m sure had a larger influence on his decision than I did.”

  Rudy swirled the ice around in his glass for a minute.

  “Yeah, I’ll have to give you that. But the owners really tied my hands by not letting me mention the name of the bar. I still think we could have made a fortune with the place if Bruno had been a little more trusting.”

  Elliott had to fight to keep a straight face and say nothing, but he managed.

  “I appreciate honest skepticism,” Rudy said. “It’s the mark of a good businessman. But a good businessman recognizes the line between caution and opportunity.

  “Which is why I wanted to talk to you about a project I’m lining up, a gay senior retirement complex. We’ll start off with one building—I’ve got my eye on a six-story twenty-four-unit. It needs a lot of work, but I know that’s your area of expertise. And here’s the kicker—you wouldn’t have to invest a dime. I’m lining up several investors, and we’ll all put in an equal amount of money. You just handle the reconstruction up to that amount. If it can be done for less, you’re still in for a full share. I don’t know much about construction costs, but I can’t see it being anything other than a win-win situation for everybody.”

  That he actually might consider such a proposal caught Elliott completely by surprise, but he recognized it as a knee-jerk reaction.

  “Well, I have to admit, it sounds like a worthwhile project. And I agree that gays and lesbians having their own retirement housing complex is an idea whose time has come. Still, there are a lot of factors to consider, not the least of which is the potential profitability of such a venture—I assume you’re intending to make a profit.

  “And as for me handling the reconstruction, I work with a small team, and we’ve never taken on a building with more than twelve units, and never wanted to. I concentrate on smaller, older apartment b
uildings with historical interest. If they don’t have character or something that sets them apart from their neighbors, I’m just not interested. A twenty-four-unit building would really be more than I’d be comfortable dealing with.”

  Rudy said nothing for several moments, lips pursed.

  “I see. And I understand. But what if we were to decide on a series of smaller buildings. Would that interest you?”

  “The problem there would be that, depending on the number of people involved in the project, while the contribution of each would be considerably smaller, the cost of renovations would undoubtedly far exceed the equivalent of my share of the purchase price. It could all get pretty complicated.”

  Rudy stared at him, his face frozen into a pursed-lips mask.

  “Well, let me think about it and see what we come up with.”

  “To get back to Bruno for a moment,” Elliott continued, “I’m curious about why he invited you to the party the night he died. I’d understood you and he had already talked about his limiting his spending.”

  “We had, and he asked me to the party to show me his decision wasn’t personal. I never thought it was.”

  “I know Bruno took several guys into the den to talk to them. If you already knew what the party was all about, why did he call you in for a talk?”

  “To let me know he was reconsidering his position on the bar deal, and that he thought Means was wrong in not letting him in on it. I was going to see if I could get the other investors back in, and set up a meeting with everyone that following week. But when he died, the whole deal pretty much fell apart again. I lost a potential fortune.”

  Elliott was sure Rudy couldn’t actually think he was dumb enough to believe that, but the story couldn’t hurt if Rudy were constructing a scenario to deflect being considered a suspect.

  “I do know he took Clifford Blanton in for a talk because he finally realized Blanton was screwing him on that so-called retreat, plus Blanton wanted Bruno to back a series of TV infomercials. I tried to warn him from the minute I heard about the deal.

  “I mean, why would he invest in a glorified infomercial that would air at three in the morning and a ‘retreat’ eight thousand miles from nowhere that might be used once a month in the summer when he could get in on one of the hottest bars in Chicago that’s packed every night of the week? It was a no-brainer, as far as I was concerned, and I think I finally convinced Bruno.”

  “I’m surprised, actually, that he was considering either option. Walter Means was very much against the bar idea, and I can’t imagine he’d be any more enthused about the retreat.”

  “Like I said, Bruno realized Means didn’t have his best interests at heart, and was on his way out. I kept telling him it was his money and he could do whatever he damned well pleased with it.”

  Elliott resisted pointing out that people sometimes hired financial managers to protect them from themselves.

  “And you know, I’ve been thinking about what you said about Bruno’s maybe having been murdered, and the more I think about it, the more I think Means might have done it. Maybe he knew Bruno was going to dump him, and he’d lose that hefty monthly billing and control of all of Bruno’s money. If not him, Blanton. Take your pick.”

  Elliott mentally noted Rudy did not include either Cage or himself in the list of suspects—himself for obvious reasons and Cage because he probably assumed Cage would get control of Bruno’s money and thereby leave the door open for him to step in.

  “What about Cage? He had a lot to gain by Bruno’s death.”

  “Cage? No, I sincerely doubt it. He’s a nice kid, but strictly between you and me, he’s not the spiciest gingersnap in the tin. Frankly, I can’t imagine his having the balls to kill anyone. Besides, Bruno left all his money to his sister-in-law, nothing at all to Cage.”

  Elliott didn’t have to ask how Rudy might have come by that information, and why he had omitted mentioning the obvious fact that Cage’s parents’ health would likely put most of Bruno’s money directly or indirectly into his hands before too long.

  Finishing his drink, he said, “Well, I’ve got to be getting home. It was nice talking with you, Rudy.”

  “Same here,” Rudy replied, reaching across the table to shake hands. “I’ll be in touch about the seniors’ project. I’m sure it could be a really profitable venture. There are a lot of well-to-do older gays and lesbians out there. A virtually untapped market.”

  Elliott got up, smiled, said, “Later,” and left.

  *

  One step forward, two steps back.

  Meaning?

  I told you Bruno was pulling himself together—figuratively speaking—but that there were some dark areas involving Clifford Blanton. I gather he knows what you’ve been doing and what you’ve found out about the retreat idea. He regressed to his cyclone stage, and there’s really a lot of unambiguous anger directed at Blanton. There’s a strong sense of betrayal, and some of his anger seems directed at himself, probably for having trusted Blanton in the first place.

  Have you tried to calm him down?

  There’s really not much I can do. We were making progress toward establishing a more direct communication, but that’s been overwhelmed for now. All I can do is wait.

  Well I hope it isn’t too long. There’s a lot I need to know only he can provide.

  I know, and I’ll keep trying to get that through to him.

  *

  One definite advantage to Steve’s knowing about John, Elliott decided, was that he didn’t have to keep everything to himself, and could bounce ideas off someone with a pulse. He felt he really needed some idea-bouncing to try to sort out the pile of bits and pieces of information and conjecture that had been piling up over the past several days. He called Steve early Wednesday morning before work and suggested dinner, to which Steve readily agreed.

  “I’ll make a quick stop at the store and pick up a couple of steaks on my way home,” he volunteered.

  “No, don’t go to all that bother. We can either go out or order in.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’ll see you when you get home.” By Wednesday night, both offices and the bathroom had been wired and wallboarded and wiring of the main space had begun. Elliott was very pleased with the results, as was Steve when he came in after work.

  They spent a few minutes walking around the space with the schematic Arnie had drawn up showing Steve’s suggested placement of electric outlets and track lighting, then went up to Steve’s apartment.

  “So, in or out for dinner?” Steve asked as they climbed the stairs.

  “How about Thai take-out?”

  “Sounds good,” Steve said, opening his door. “I’ll fix us a drink, then we can order. I got a flier in the mail from a new place that looks interesting, and they deliver.”

  They were halfway through dinner before Elliott said, “Had a talk with John last night.”

  Steve took another crab rangoon from the container. “I was curious as to whether you’d heard from him, but figured you’d tell me when you did.”

  “Yeah, well, I did.”

  He proceeded to tell Steve everything he’d not had a chance to mention before about his meeting with Rudy, John’s report on Bruno’s situation, and his various speculations on just who might have been responsible for Bruno’s death.

  “I knew before I even met with him he was going to try to con me into something, which he did. I noted that, while he was pretty quick to point a finger at Blanton—even at Ricky—he dismissed the idea that Cage might have done it. Rudy’s no dummy, and if he thought he might be a suspect, it would be natural for him to also promote Cage as a suspect. But he didn’t.

  “Which got me wondering whether he and Cage might be in cahoots, and that maybe both of them were responsible for Bruno’s death. Rudy made it clear he doesn’t think much of Cage, but with as much money as Cage will probably be coming into, I’m sure he’s plotting just how he can get to it. I don’t know if Cage is
smart enough to plan and carry out a murder, but I don’t doubt Rudy is. I’m just wondering if Rudy might not have convinced Cage the shortest route to Bruno’s money would be over the balcony.”

  He paused for a moment and took a hearty swallow from his drink.

  “But then, he might just be avoiding trying to implicate Cage because he knows that if Cage were convicted of killing Bruno, he couldn’t get to the money. Damn, I hate having all these questions and no way to find out the answers.”

  Steve shrugged. “Well, that’s not exactly true. There are ways—just not easy ones.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. If Bruno would just get his act together and start working with John, it would be a hell of a lot easier.”

  They finished eating in relative silence, and as they were taking the empty cartons and their plates into the kitchen, Steve said, “This may be a big stretch, but as long as you’re considering people, what about Ricky?”

  Pausing in the act of dropping the cartons into the trash, Elliott looked at him. “Right. You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Hey, I said it was a stretch. I like Ricky, and think he’s a sweet kid, but what do you really know about him? What did Bruno really know about him? They were together, what…a couple of months? Isn’t it possible Bruno could have told him about the stamps…or that he figured it out for himself? He had no way of knowing Bruno was going to give them to him. Or maybe he did and just wanted to hasten the process.”

  “But Ricky is the one who called attention to the stamps being missing. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d taken them himself.”

  “Hmm. True.”

  They returned to the living room and sat on the couch, Elliott largely lost in thought until he felt Steve’s hand on his thigh. Pulling himself back into the moment, he said, “Sorry, my mind wandered off. I’d better be getting home.”

  Steve’s hand began a slow movement toward Elliott’s crotch. “Did I ever mention thinking makes me horny?”

  Elliott grinned. “Me, too, now that you mention it.”

  They got up from the couch and headed for the bedroom.

  For somebody who was so laid-back in life, your friend Bruno sure is pretty volatile on this side of the fence.