They Thought He was Safe

by P. D. Workman

  The traffic slowed to a crawl, which gave Zachary time to reconsider meeting there. He could call Santiago back and suggest that they meet somewhere else, since it was such a circus at La Rouge. He didn’t even have to use the reporters or protesters as a reason not to go. He could just say that he had run into traffic, or that something had come up.

  But he didn’t want to give himself an excuse to avoid the lounge and to reinforce to his brain that it was a dangerous place to be. By confronting it head on, he would teach himself that it was nothing to be afraid of. So he stayed in the lane inching toward La Rouge, texting Santiago that he was going to be late but would be there as soon as traffic allowed.

  Giving his car to the valet meant that he had to get out right in front of the reporters. There was no easy way to avoid them. He hadn’t planned for a trip to La Rouge; he didn’t have a tux or a black suit or any kind of fancy dress. He had a button-up shirt and a jacket, and had borrowed a tie from Pat, so he was dressed decently, but his face attracted immediate attention. Zachary heard a collective gasp when he got out of the car and handed the valet his keys, as people saw his bruised face and then started to talk to each other, pointing him out. It wasn’t long before he was hearing his name in their comments. They had clearly made the connection between his beaten and bruised face and the man in the news.

  A wave of reporters surged forward as he got close to the front doors, shouting their questions and holding up cameras. Security was already on hand and did their best to restrain and subdue the intruders, and one of them was quickly at Zachary’s side, sweeping him inside.

  “Sorry about that, sir. We don’t usually have this much trouble. Everyone is going crazy over the articles in the news today, about the possibility of a serial killer, did you hear?”

  He looked at Zachary and his eyes widened at the condition of Zachary’s face.

  “Uh… you look like you’ve already experienced worse than being harassed by reporters and Bible thumpers! Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, thanks. Sorry for all of the disruption.”

  “It’s not your fault.” The security guard passed him off to the maître d’, with a murmur of “Welcome to La Rouge, sir.”

  The maître d’ was skinny like a greyhound, with the same alert, quivering-with-expectation look. The guy was going to have a stroke by the time he was forty if he didn’t chill.

  “Welcome, sir, welcome. Are you meeting another party here today, or are you alone?”

  “I’m meeting someone. Santiago?”

  “Monsieur Santiago…” The maître d’ looked down at his appointment book and nodded vigorously. “Of course. You have a private dining room. I think you will find that quite acceptable. This way, sir.”

  Zachary followed the greyhound through the busy lounge until he came to a series of small, private dining areas. Each one had a room name beside the door, and the maître d’ stopped beside one labeled ‘Presidential.’ He knocked lightly on the door, waited two seconds, and then opened it a crack. He peered in through the crack, then swung the door wide for Zachary, giving a grand gesture. “There you go, sir.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Z

  achary entered the small, dark-paneled room. The lighting was dimmer than he had expected, but it wasn’t dark. There was a dining table, a sideboard with drinks, and various paintings and plaques on the wall. The man standing at the sideboard pouring himself a drink was, he assumed, Honore Santiago. He was a tall man, darker than the Hispanics but not as black as John. He was luxuriously dressed in clothing that Zachary was sure had designer names he wouldn’t even recognize. The thread count was probably higher than he could count, and it had all been hand-woven by children in some third-world country with twig-thin fingers. He was slender, but not whippet-thin like the maître d’.

  “Mr. Goldman,” Santiago said. “It is a pleasure.”

  He offered his hand to Zachary, but when Zachary held his hand out to shake, the tall black man instead grasped it with one hand and brought the other hand in to caress the back of Zachary’s hand, holding his sandwiched between them. Zachary jerked reflexively to pull away, but the older man held on, giving him a wide, bright smile and pressing Zachary’s hand between his own firmly. Zachary nodded, gave a little squeeze, and then managed to extricate himself from the man’s grip.

  “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Santiago. But you can just call me Zachary.”

  “Delighted. Won’t you have a drink?”

  “I can’t mix it with my medications,” Zachary said, indicating the bruises on his face. “Just something fizzy, no alcohol.”

  “Of course! Coke with a twist? Or do you prefer sparkling water?”

  “Coke is great.”

  He stood near Santiago’s elbow, not sure whether he was supposed to sit down, prepare his own drink, or stand there while Santiago prepared it. Apparently, the third was acceptable, and he took the cold glass from Santiago once it was prepared. Santiago then motioned to the table set with sparkling china and silverware.

  “Won’t you have a seat, my good man. I don’t imagine it’s good for you to be on your feet for too long after what you have been through.”

  “I’m fine, really. It’s worse than it looks.”

  “Not according to my sources. You’re lucky you didn’t have internal bleeding or a ruptured spleen or kidney. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

  Zachary sat down where Santiago had indicated and put the Coke by his plate. “I am taking it easy. I’m sitting down.”

  “You’re running all over town pursuing a serial killer. That’s not exactly taking it easy.”

  Zachary didn’t point out that the reason he was running around town was because of where Santiago wanted to meet with him. “I’m sitting down to talk with you. That’s all. Then I’ll go home and hit the hay before midnight.”

  “Ah, we’ll see about that. You really should stay and take in the floor show. At least part of it. I don’t know how many chances you will get to see the divine group that is playing today. The next time you hear of them, they’ll probably be on a world tour, sold out before it even starts.”

  Zachary shrugged. He didn’t have that much interest in music, or theater, or cabaret or whatever La Rouge was showing that night.

  “We really don’t need to do dinner,” Zachary said, gesturing to the plates. “I don’t have much appetite. I just thought we would have a discussion and then I’ll be on my way. You don’t need to entertain me or to feed me. Really.”

  “Nonsense. How could I not?” Santiago sat down and put down his old-fashioned glass. He leaned forward in his seat, lacing his fingers together with his elbows on the table. “Now, where has that naughty Pat been hiding you? You are the most fascinating person! He should have told us about you ages ago.”

  Zachary tried to ignore Santiago’s dramatic, flamboyant manner and just talk to him as if they were businessmen having a routine discussion. He didn’t want to get wound up by all of Santiago’s nervous energy and enthusiasm. If he did, he would either be exhausted once the night was over, or bouncing off the walls so hard that he wouldn’t be able to sleep for a week. He took a couple of deep breaths, mentally coaching himself before speaking.

  “I’ve known Pat for more than twenty years. He is my foster father’s partner.”

  “Ah, so Lorne…? I didn’t know that he fostered.”

  “It was a long time ago. While he was still married to… his wife. I was only with him for a little while, but we kept in touch, and I met Pat later on… when they moved in together. It was all a little shocking at the time.”

  “Back then? It would have been,” Santiago agreed. “And foster parenting. I don’t imagine his agency was too happy about that. Allowing homosexual men around children was a big no-no. Hard for them to be approved even now. People still have that prejudice that we’re all attracted to little boys and just won’t be able to help ourselves. Really.” He rolled his eyes. “As if we have no self-control
whatever.”

  Zachary nodded wordlessly, unable to think of any response to this.

  “Tell me,” Santiago said in a confidential tone. “In foster care, in your experience, did you never run into any predators? You were never abused?”

  Zachary caught his breath. He stared at Santiago, waiting for him to realize what an inappropriate question it was. Santiago waited. Zachary tried not to think about any of the men, women, and older children that he’d had to deal with during his growing-up years, defending himself against their abuse when he was far too small and weak and outclassed to succeed. He didn’t need to go back to any of those places in his memory and he certainly didn’t need to detail them to Santiago.

  “I would expect that anyone who spent any length of time in foster care has run into that kind of thing,” he said flatly, as if it were not an emotional topic at all.

  “Exactly,” Santiago agreed. “And were they gay men? Any of them?”

  Zachary shrugged. He had never put himself into the heads of those predators. He didn’t know what turned them on, whether it had anything to do with his gender or just his helplessness. He didn’t know whether it was a physical attraction or the desire to bully and control someone, to torture him and own him completely.

  “No. I don’t know.”

  “That’s right. They think that by keeping gay men from becoming foster parents that they are protecting the children? When you look at their track record over the last hundred years or however long the foster care system has been around it should become blazingly obvious that it isn’t gay men who are perpetrating the crime.”

  “No,” Zachary agreed. “Now if we could get on to the topic at hand…”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to take us so far off-track. It’s just so interesting that you got to know Pat and Lorne as father figures. That’s just so fascinating to me. I’ve never seen them that way. It’s a whole different perspective that I had never considered.”

  Zachary nodded, hoping to move things alone. “They’ve both always been great examples. Even though they weren’t the ones taking care of me, they were so kind and patient and caring… to each other and to me. I suppose it would have been different if I had been their foster child. I wasn’t easy to get along with, and they probably would have had too much of me before very long. But as it was, just having them around when I needed some help or someone to talk to… They’ve been very good to me.”

  “What was your biological father like? How well did you know him?”

  “I was with him until I was ten. Him and my mom.”

  Santiago nodded encouragingly.

  “He was… physically abusive. Didn’t have much use for kids. We pretty much just tried to stay out of the way when he was home.”

  “Nothing like Pat and Lorne.”

  “No. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard either one of them raise his voice, much less his hand, in anger.”

  Santiago smiled and nodded, looking happy with that comment. “I’ve always thought they were a very nice couple. Never a cross word to each other. Almost too good to be true.”

  Zachary shrugged. He knew that Mr. Peterson and Pat still got on each other’s nerves just like any heterosexual couple. They weren’t perfect and were sometimes irritable and cross. One of them might be stubborn and the other hurt, but in the end, they always made up, and they never had to apologize for physical harm or to try to take back cruel, hurtful words.

  “Why don’t you tell me about Jose?” he pressed Santiago, trying to get back on topic. “Tell me what your relationship with him was like.”

  “Oh, you’re rushing me. This should be an after-dinner discussion, not something that we’re rushing through now.”

  Zachary knew that no one had promised Santiago that Zachary would have dinner with him, and he should just make that point and get on with it. He took a breath. “I’m not here to eat. Why don’t we—”

  “You must have something. What’s the point of my booking a private dining room if I have to eat by myself? You have to at least allow me that.”

  “I’m not up for much. My stomach really isn’t recovered yet from yesterday.” Zachary touched his side with an exaggerated wince.

  “We’ll just get a couple of appetizers, then. That’s not a problem.”

  Santiago pressed a button recessed in the table, and in a moment, a waiter opened the door and entered.

  “Gentlemen, you are ready to order?”

  “Just some light fare,” Santiago said. “A variety of canapés and amuse-bouches. If you would.”

  “Certainly, sir. Anything specific for either of you?”

  “No,” Santiago shook his head and looked at Zachary. “Escargot? Caviar?”

  “Nothing rich,” Zachary protested. “Just… crackers, fruit…”

  Santiago rolled his eyes. “A cheese platter too, then, and some berry parfaits, bowls of grapes…”

  The waiter nodded. “It will be just a few minutes then,” he agreed. He scribbled down his notes and withdrew from the room.

  “You really should have thought of something more challenging,” Santiago said. “I’m always trying to stump the chef.” He laughed. “It’s so much fun.”

  Zachary nodded. He was starting to understand that they were not going to get to the topic of Jose and Santiago’s relationship until Santiago was good and ready. If he said they would have to eat first, then Zachary would have to wait until the various canapés and amuse-bouches arrived. Then they’d get down to brass tacks.

  “So what is it you do?” he asked. “I didn’t ask Pat about your background.”

  “I’m sure you would have been very amused if you had! Yes, I’m a bit of a black sheep around here.” He indicated his cheek to point out his skin tone, in case Zachary didn’t notice the pun. “There are really not enough non-whites in circulation. It can be a little frustrating if your tastes run to dark meat. But I digress. I am an entrepreneur. A business owner. I have my own little kingdom, with hundreds of men under me.”

  “Oh…? What is it you do?”

  Santiago grinned, showing off his brilliantly white teeth again. “I own and run the Peaceful Retreat Funeral Home and Cemetery.”

  Zachary stared at him, slowly processing the words. It was so unexpected; his brain was puttering along behind him and hadn’t caught up. He stared at Santiago. “A… cemetery? You run a…”

  “I run a cemetery. A graveyard. A boneyard. Yes, sir. That’s me. I have many men under me. You see?”

  Zachary barely refrained from groaning. But even though his brain seemed to be running on super slow speed, it was still generating all kinds of possibilities.

  A cemetery? A funeral home? What better way to dispose of men you never wanted found again? He could dispose of the remains so completely that no one would ever find them. If the funeral home also had a crematorium, he could burn up all of the evidence, and then bury the ashes in the graveyard. How could anyone ever find any sign of them again?

  Even without a crematorium, how easy would it be to dump a body in a grave and bury it? Who would ever know the difference?

  Santiago was chuckling to himself, pleased at having surprised Zachary.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  S

  antiago was still laughing when the appetizers arrived. He helped himself, and Zachary put a few on his plate. They didn’t actually look too bad. He wasn’t hungry, but the little bites looked interesting and tasty and he wouldn’t be required to get down a full meal. He popped one little canapé in his mouth and chewed, nodding at Santiago.

  “It’s good.”

  He didn’t ask what it was. After Santiago’s suggestion of escargot or caviar, he didn’t want to know what he was eating. The fruit that accompanied the other platters was cool and fresh and he popped a couple of grapes into his mouth.

  “So, tell me about Jose,” he suggested.

  Santiago sighed. He stretched and leaned on the table plucking up various different fruits and canap
és throughout the conversation.

  “Jose was a very pleasant companion to pass the time with,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard from others that he was easy to get along with, friendly, a good conversationalist. He spoke English well and blended easily with most company. He was… open to new experiences, to trying new things. Enjoyed music, food, nice clothing, and jewelry. For a working-class illegal immigrant, he was surprisingly well-educated and up on the latest news and trends. He didn’t come across like a farmer or a janitor.”

  Zachary nodded. “And how long had the two of you been seeing each other?”

  “Some months. I really couldn’t put a date on it… between six and ten, maybe?” He shook his head. “I’m not always good with timelines.”

  “You knew that he had other partners.”

  “Oh, of course.” Santiago waved the question away as if it were of no concern. “No one expected him to be exclusive. Nor am I.”

  Santiago was not part of Pat and Lorne’s circle of friends, though obviously Santiago was familiar enough to comment on their character. Pat had said that most of their group of friends were stable couples. Unsurprisingly, Santiago didn’t fit in as part of that group. What was surprising was that Jose did, when it was apparent that he had multiple partners and no interest in settling down.

  “Was there anyone that he was seeing that… concerned you? Maybe you thought they weren’t right for each other, or that he might be in danger?”

  “No. I wouldn’t have interfered with his social life. He could see who he wanted. I wasn’t jealous, if that’s what you are getting at.”

  “Was anyone else? Maybe someone who did want to be exclusive?”

  “I didn’t get involved in his other relationships. We didn’t discuss it.”

  Not quite Naylor’s ‘off-limits,’ but close enough.

  “And you don’t think there was anyone who was interested in him who might have been resentful because they were rejected or had broken up?”

  “I can’t think of anyone. I don’t know who his exes are. When we were together… it was just the two of us. Not all of those other relationships. We just focused on one another.”