Crimes on Latimer: From the Early Cases of Marco Fontana
Page 26
Carl had managed everything almost perfectly. Sammy had dumped him, now Sammy was dead. Press had tried to dump Carl, had maybe even humiliated him. Now Press faced the prospect of spending the rest of his life behind bars. And Marty, poor Marty. He’d dumped Carl, too. Now Martin Van effectively no longer existed. I suppose Carl had really wanted Marty to get whacked by the mob. But, I think the actual result for Marty, with the size of his ego, the actual result was probably worse than a set of cement shoes. He’d lost his identity. Permanently. With it went everything he’d built up, everything he’d managed to accrue to himself. Wherever he’d decided to hide, Marty probably felt that he might as well be dead. Bad as he was, I hoped he’d start over and make a new life for himself.
Then there was Carl. He’d no doubt get a heavy sentence, but I feared his mob connections would see to it that something could be worked out for him. After all, he’d done them a service. Neither Sammy’s research nor Marty’s investigation would ever see the light of day.
I dreaded the day Carl got out of prison and felt sorry for anyone who crossed his path when he was released.
Stopping in my office, I found Olga wiping tears away and realized she’d heard the news of Sammy’s death. She didn’t say anything, but from the way she looked at me I knew everything she might want to say.
There was no sense of victory in this case. Justice maybe. But no cause for celebrating.
I called Luke at his office and told him what had happened. He urged me to get out, to meet him at a café and relax. He knew I needed to be around people. I knew it myself. Shutting myself away to review the details of the case would be counterproductive. There was nothing more I could do.
We met at the Village Brew. The people and the music and the noise felt good. The aroma of coffee and the taste of sweet pastry helped ease me back into a more gentle reality. Luke said there’d be no talk of the case the rest of the night. Instead, he led me home and we consoled ourselves in each other. I realized how important he was to me and how nice it felt being right where I was.
Pride is a Drag
Losing track of someone in the throngs packing the streets of New York during Pride is almost inevitable. Which is only one reason crowds are not among my favorite things. But I’d agreed to take a break from work and trek up to the Big Apple to celebrate and recharge.
I’d just cracked a strange case back in Philly and needed the change in scenery. When both Luke and Anton suggested it, celebrating Pride in New York seemed like just the right antidote to what I’d gone through. When we got there and encountered the crush of spectators and gawkers, the good idea seemed less good. It was exhilarating and rubbing up against so many hunks all packed together wasn’t bad at all. The party atmosphere of the Pride festivities and the exuberant feelings all around combined to form an explosive combination. No matter what you were feeling, it gave you a boost.
Luke, Anton, and I strolled down the Avenue and with each block the crowd grew larger. Men, women, drag queens, men in leather, people in amazing costumes, and all the rest flooded the sidewalks sometimes making it difficult to move. Rainbow flags were everywhere. All the businesses got into the act, displaying “Happy Pride” signs or flags along with hastily constructed signs for “Pride Specials” hanging in windows. Street vendors, who didn’t care what the occasion or whose money they collected, hawked water, energy drinks, and generic parade junk.
Once we’d taken a spot on the sidewalk near Twenty-Fifth Street, the three of us settled in and watched the floats sail by. Hunks on skates, bare-breasted lesbians on motorcycles, and just about anything else you could imagine made appearances. There were even sightings of politicians who’d come to let everyone see how accepting and noble they were.
“Gotta go,” Anton said. “I promised to shoot some video of Marsha and the Dragettes.” He held up his new camera, a gift from an admirer. “Hey, I can bring this along next time you take me on stakeout. Video of some slimeball you’re investigating would be cool.” He winked at me.
Then he gracefully slipped into the growing crowds. I watched him move and remembered how he was able to charm the crowds at Bubbles when he was the top feature for StripGuyz. He’d been with my male strip troupe the longest and was the hands down favorite among patrons. But he’d recently cut his schedule to less than half his usual so he could attend school and learn about things he could do with his clothes on. He also made time to help manage StripGuyz, and he was good at it, taking lots of work off my shoulders.
Anton and I had a working relationship that went slightly beyond the bounds of work without ever reaching anything more than a chaste friendship. There was a definite attraction on both sides, but Anton was only interested in someone who’d commit to monogamy, a white picket fence, and lots of domesticity. I wasn’t ready for that but at the same time, I didn’t want to cut off any hope for something more.
He still moved like the dancer he was, and he wore his clothes like a second skin on a body that was on intimate terms with a gym. People noticed and slurped him up with their eyes as he moved through the crowds. He seemed oblivious to the attention, but I knew he loved it.
“Don’t get lost, Anton. We’ve gotta get ready for Barkley’s party. You know what he’s like about guests being on time.”
Anton turned around, nodded at me and Luke, then plunged ahead.
I watched as he placed the camera’s viewfinder to his eye, then started shooting video of everything in sight. He looked happy, and I felt an ache deep inside. But I smiled as he melted into the distance.
“Good thing he’s got extra memory cards with him,” Luke chuckled. “The way he shoots video, you’d think everything he passed was an historic event or a major monument.” He waved his rainbow flag at a garish, bar-sponsored float which barreled down the street, speakers blaring, strippers dancing on its flatbed. “He asked me to edit it all into something we can watch later. I hope he takes some hot stuff to keep me entertained while I work.” He laughed and moved closer to me, his hip touching mine.
Luke and I had developed a more earthy relationship. He had no demands about wedding rings or domesticity before hopping into bed. Luke was interested in something more with me. He’d said as much. But I wasn’t the only guy he was test driving, so to speak. He was working out what he wanted the same as the rest of us and, like all of us, he’d figure it out eventually.
I placed a hand at Luke’s back and he responded by huddling against me, even though the temperature hovered around ninety.
“If I see one more float with a corporate sponsor, I’m going to shoot out its tires,” I said. “Corporations just like us for our disposable income.”
“Could be worse, I guess,” Luke said.
“Next year we’re entering a float for StripGuyz. It’ll be good publicity. I’ve been thinking about branching out to New York with our guys anyway.”
“Anton will love it. He might even agree to dance on the float. I think he misses all the attention he used to get. Not that he doesn’t still have fans,” he said. When Luke relaxed, the accent he worked so hard to suppress eased itself back into his words. Truthfully, I liked his accent. Liked it a lot. His accent spoke of China and was a beautiful reminder of how much he’d been through. But he wanted to speak perfect English, and nothing could convince him it wasn’t necessary. It didn’t matter how successful he was as an entrepreneur. He wanted to be more integrated into the community and stand out less. Though with a stunning face like his, standing out was something he couldn’t avoid.
“I’ll ask him. It’s a great idea. Hey!” I stood back and looked at Luke. “Maybe you and Anton can dance on the float together! That’d be a real sensation!”
“There’s a lot I’d do for you, Marco, but don’t push your luck.”
I placed an arm around Luke’s waist and squeezed him to me.
An acrobatic, very muscular group of male cheerleaders accompanied a gay marching band drumming its way down the street. The boys in the band
weren’t half bad. And their musical skills were good, too.
***
“She’s missing,” Anton announced as he ran up to us. “She was there one minute and gone the next. Nobody knows where she is.” His handsome Eastern European features taut with worry, he reached up a hand to smooth his tousled blond hair, and a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.
“Who’s missing?” I pulled him out of the way of a hunk on roller blades careening down the street.
“I was shooting video of her and the Dragettes, and all of a sudden she was gone.”
“Who?”
“Marsha. She disappeared. Just like that.” Anton brushed back his hair again and smoothed down his army-green tank top. “One minute she was there. The next minute she’s gone.”
“There are thousands of people here.” I said. “Sometimes someone gets swallowed up by the crowd. Marsh probably got sidetracked and fell behind.” I hoped that was all it was. I’d left my P.I. work back in Philly. I wanted to enjoy a weekend without any problems.
“How can somebody just disappear? And while you’re taking pictures?” asked Luke, who hadn’t missed what was going on, despite intently watching the parade.
“All I know is she was there and now she’s not. Something’s wrong.”
“Maybe she got a call and had to tend to business. She’s got a lot on her plate these days. The shows she runs, her new restaurant. That reality show on the gay network.”
The crowd surged around us as a float filled with strippers in candy-red, skin-tight briefs slowly rolled down the street. Some of the guys tossed out candy and laughed as onlookers jumped after it. I pulled both Anton and Luke closer, so neither of them could get swept up in the roiling mass of people.
“Can’t let you guys get swallowed up,” I said. “Don’t worry about Marsha. She’s been around the block a few times. She can handle herself.”
“No. Something’s wrong.” Anton insisted. “Marsha was marching with the Dragettes, like always. I took video all along the way. Then—”
“How many memory cards have you used so far?” Luke asked, and I knew he was trying to distract Anton from worrying. “How many parades have you filmed? You’ve probably got a ton of floats and drag queens on video.”
“True. But this time is special,” Anton said. “Marsha’s birthday is next month. One of the big ‘0’ birthdays. I don’t know which, because she threatened to whack us if we even tried guessing.” He smiled. “I wanted to put together a compilation video for her. I’ve got lots of material with Marsha, but I didn’t have much of her strutting in a Pride Parade. But before I could get more footage, she disappeared.”
“You keep saying ‘disappeared’ as if Marsh went up in a puff of smoke,” I said. “What exactly happened? Maybe we can piece it together and figure out where she is.”
“I was following Marsha and the Dragettes along the parade route. She was magnificent, as usual. You saw her go by. Didn’t you think she looked especially good? Great dress, terrific make-up. And she looked happy. From the inside, you know?” Anton smiled.
“She did look like she was having a good time.” Luke agreed.
“We were a few blocks from here, I stepped back for a wider shot of the Dragettes as they fanned out performing their routine.” Anton said. “I got the whole act with Marsha doing her thing in the background. Then the memory card was full, and I stopped to put in a new one. When I looked up and wanted to zoom in on Marsha, she was gone. Poof! I looked around, but I couldn’t see her and she’s hard to miss.”
“Yoo hoo! Anton!” A high-pitched, falsetto voice sliced through the noise of hundreds of onlookers. “Yoo hoo!”
Hedda waved her large hands in the air and barreled toward us. Wearing an outrageous, frilly day-glow-colored outfit, Hedda stood head and shoulders above everyone with the help of her eight inch, pink patent leather, platform shoes. I slowly took in her gaudy image from shiny shoes, to rippling ruffles, to her extravagant make-up. Thick red lipstick, like a blushing Ferrari, made her large mouth seem larger. Big arched eyebrows sat thick and dark over algae green eye-shadow, while layers of pancake make-up attempted to smooth over facial hair that refused to stop growing even for a moment. Over everything was her hair, a mountainous blond creation.
“Anton! You run so fast,” Hedda gasped for breath. “Have you told them?”
“They don’t believe me.” Anton glared at me and Luke.
“Oh doll, Anton is right. Marsha is missing. One minute she was there—”
“and then she was gone.” Luke finished Hedda’s sentence.
“How did you… oh, you cute little thing, you’re playing with Hedda.” The towering drag queen bent at the waist and placed one hand on each side of Luke’s face. He looked like a nut about to be cracked. “I haven’t seen your pretty Chinese face in months. Those eyes, so dark and deep.” Hedda shuddered with delight.
“W-well…” Luke began as he gently extracted himself from her grip. “My business takes up all my time, Hedda.”
“I’m sure it does, doll, but now we have a problem,” Hedda said and stood straight up again. “We’ve got to find Marsha.”
“How exactly do you know she’s lost?” I asked. “She could have left to attend to business.”
“Always the skeptic, Marco. You never change.” Hedda bent down to hug me. As her muscular arms encircled me, I thought about how her gym-built figure never quite fit the rest of her fluff and frills image. The hug came with a head-spinning cloud of a strong but unidentifiable fragrance blended with the odors of cigarettes and cosmetics.
“Not true, Hedda.” I complained.
“You still feel good, too,” she said as she released me from the hug. “You get hotter every time I see you. And that short hair looks good. I like a man with short hair, especially if he’s you”
I was never good at taking compliments, but Hedda’s effusiveness was fun.
“You still know how to throw the bull,” I said.
“Well, we’re not kiddin’ about Marsha.”
“Okay, maybe she wandered off. But she’s a busy lady, and maybe she needed to leave.”
“But wouldn’t she tell me? Me, her headliner. I sing my heart out at her club every night, she wouldn’t just leave me hanging at the parade.”
“He’s right, Marco. You’re just—” Anton stopped. I could tell he was restraining himself. Marsha meant a lot to him, and he thought I wasn’t taking this seriously enough.
“I believe you, I do. I’ll make a few calls,” I said pulling out my cell phone. “We’ll find out what happened one way or another.” I was about to tap in a number when a group of bare-breasted women zipped by on thundering Harleys. The crowds cheered.
“Noisy beasts. What some people will do for attention!” Hedda said, her bright red lips twisting into an expression of distaste. “Well, go on and make those calls, gorgeous. Don’t just stand there looking all Italian.”
I dialed Marsha’s cell which went straight to voicemail. Then I tried her office at the club. No answer.
“She’s not answering her phones. I’ll try Barkley. He’ll know,” I said. Seth Barkley, or “Black Tie” Barkley, was famous for his lavish parties, most of them black tie gatherings. We were all invited to his after-Parade party, luckily not a formal affair. He’d told me that Marsha would be performing.
Anton glanced at me while I spoke on the phone, the anger in his eyes turning to worry.
When Barkley hung up, I was still in the dark. “He hasn’t heard from Marsha but he doesn’t think that’s unusual. She’s performing at his party later, and he suspects she went off to have some time to prepare.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Luke said.
“Maybe,” Anton said. “But it doesn’t sound like Marsha to me.”
“Or me,” Hedda chimed in. “If anyone needs to compose herself before a performance, it isn’t Marsha. She’s a star. She has presence. She’s on all the time. If you know what I mean.”
“Marsha is having a ball,” Hedda screeched. “Packed houses every night. And she’s helping all of us, just like what they say about a rising tide. Or is it a rising boat? Whatever. Believe me, when Marsha jumps in, the tide rises.” Hedda winked at Anton. “Honestly, Marsha couldn’t be happier. She’s at the top. Her place is the most popular in town. Her restaurant gets rave reviews and the shows, at least the ones I’m in, are what everyone comes to see. The drinks aren’t bad either. Marsha is livin’ the dream.”
“Well, it’s gonna be tough searching for her in this mess,” I said. The crowd continued to grow as we spoke and snaked its way down the sidewalk toward the Village. “Let’s head back to the hotel. We can relax and get to Barkley’s early. Marsha will be there. She can let you know why she disappeared.”
“I haven’t seen her perform in a long time,” Luke said. “I’m looking forward to this.”
Anton looked back over his shoulder, as if he’d lost something precious and wanted to keep searching. His distress was understandable. Anton and Marsha had been friends back in Philly. Marsha was a mentor for Anton as he came out and found his way. She’d been the only one of his friends at the time who’d supported his decision to become a stripper. She helped him work up a routine, and personally chose costumes for him. She also bought him an incredible array of g-strings and other accessories.
Marsha and I had also been friends for a long time which is how she put me in contact with Anton. Because I’d known her a long time, and understood just how big a heart she had, I knew Marsha went overboard for Anton precisely because others were being so shitty and judgmental about his desire to be a stripper. Marsha had her share of hypercritical people in her life, and she was determined not to let that happen to Anton. She’d told me as much, and I admired her for that. Whatever her reasons, she gave him courage and helped make him unique. When she brought him into audition for me, I was bowled over. He was good and not just good-looking. I hired him on the spot.