by Rick R. Reed
For once, this morning was quiet…and Tony had already been to the gym where he did a half hour of cardio, followed by upper body weight training. He felt good. Yo Yo Ma performing Saint Saens was playing softly from his stereo, and he was getting busy at the stove, scrambling some tofu with scallions and a chopped tomato. Soy milk, blueberries, a banana, and a splash of honey were already in the blender, waiting for the flick of a switch, which would transform the separate parts into a delicious, slurried whole.
Seeing his clients and how sickly most of them ended up increased Tony’s desire to take care of himself. The more he supplied the drug, the more he wanted to distance himself from it. One day, he knew he would get out of this business, just as soon as he could save enough money to start his own business—a gym or even a personal training concern with only high-end clientele. The time couldn’t come soon enough, he thought, as he sat down at his computer with his tofu and smoothie, and logged on to check his e-mail.
He had taken no more than two bites when the buzzer indicated he had a visitor downstairs and told him his blessed respite was over. “Fuck,” he whispered, debating whether he should just let the buzzer sound a few more times and ignore it. They would go away.
They and their money.
Tony grabbed another bite and went to the intercom mounted across from his front door. “Yeah?”
“It’s Ethan. Can I come up?”
Ethan. One of his best customers. Tony hadn’t known how rapidly his first sale to the young man would ignite a passionate love affair. This guy couldn’t get enough and, unlike some of his clients, seemed to have no restraints where finances were concerned. Ethan had told Tony once he had some kind of sugar Daddy arrangement. Whatever added dollars to Tony’s bank account was fine by him. But still, Tony looked longingly at his breakfast and his Yahoo home page. He just wanted a little more time right now.
“Ethan, buddy! This is not a good time, my friend. Can you come back this afternoon?”
“Come on, Tony.” Ethan could hear Ethan’s teeth chattering through the intercom. “I just need to talk to you.”
Yeah, right. They all just need to talk, and talk, and talk. Sometimes, they couldn’t wait and would shoot up, snort, or smoke right in his bathroom and then they would come out flying high, and want to chat, or to fuck. At that point, Tony would have no compunction about leading them forcefully by a scrawny arm to his front door.
There were no hurt feelings in Tina land. They would come back.
“This afternoon, man. Make it around two.”
“I can’t do it. Just buzz me up.”
Tony sighed. Ethan often had hundreds of dollars and bought in the kind of quantities that Tony, himself, often bought in, only for a lot less money. He couldn’t turn away Ethan. He could only hope to get rid of him quickly.
Tony pressed the buzzer to admit him.
When he opened the door, he couldn’t believe how bad Ethan looked. His skin was sallow, and even in his baggy jeans and sweatshirt, Tony could imagine Ethan’s ribs sticking out and his limbs looking like nothing more than skin stretched over bone. He felt like saying something like, “Jesus Christ, you look like death warmed over,” but that was not his style.
“Ethan, buddy, what do you need? I was kind of busy here, but I’ll make some time for you.” Tony started back toward the bedroom where he kept his supply of baggies, all neatly filled with crystal meth in varying portions.
“I really just wanted to talk to you about something.”
Tony stopped and turned, yet could see the fire in Ethan’s gaze—he knew where Tony was going.
“We can make a purchase in a bit. I need you to sit down, now.”
What was going on? Tony made his way across his tiny living room and sat down on his leather couch covered with an old afghan. He never knew where these guys had been and didn’t want them sitting on his leather. Ethan took the chair opposite him.
Ethan couldn’t hide his nervousness. He was wringing his hands, tapping his feet, and breathing hard. Of course, all of the movement and labored respiration could be due to their friend, Tina, which Tony would have assumed, save for the fact that Ethan wanted to talk. So he let him begin, but couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted to talk to him about, other than to make a drug deal.
Did Ethan know something? Were the police finally on to him? Tony tried to make very sure he kept his business pure, never selling the stuff in bars, like some of his dealer brethren did. He only took clients who had been referred to him.
“You got any Gatorade? Even water?”
Tony got up and crossed to the kitchen. He grabbed a single-serving bottle of Gatorade (the bottom shelf was filled with the stuff, in orderly rows, organized by flavor), came back, and handed it to Ethan. Ethan screwed off the top and gulped down half the bottle. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Tony settled back into the couch, thinking of his tofu getting cold and whether there was an e-mail from Sandra in Evanston. “You said that already.”
“I know. It’s just hard to get started.” Ethan’s gaze roamed about the apartment. “Mind if I smoke?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Sorry.”
Ethan swallowed. Tony watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Ethan continued to survey the apartment, almost as if he were looking for something.
Finally, Tony got impatient. “Buddy, I have a lot to do today. What is it?”
Ethan let a couple more minutes pass before saying, “I was wondering if you’d like to make some money.”
“I’m always up for that. Cash is my passion.”
Ethan gave him a wan smile. “I didn’t know who else to turn to about this.”
“You have a friend who needs some Tina…or what?”
Ethan shook his head. “Nothing like that. This is, um, a little more delicate.”
Again, Ethan fell silent. Tony was ready to tell him to get the hell out if he wasn’t buying anything. He didn’t have time for this shit.
“This is something that’s not legal, but I think could be very easy. And I could pay you very well.”
“Okay…”
“This is going to sound like some B-movie. But I need you to, um, do a hit for me.”
At first, Tony thought Ethan was talking about a hit of Tina. A lot of his clients asked him to indulge with them, and he always respectfully declined, saying he didn’t want to deplete their stash, when what he was really thinking was, “Never touch the stuff. That shit’ll kill you.” And then he realized Ethan might have been talking about something darker.
“A hit? You don’t mean, like, kill someone?”
Ethan nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Tony shook his head. “Come on, man, this is a joke, right?”
Ethan grinned and cracked his knuckles. “Not at all.”
Tony couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You really want me to kill someone for you? Who? Your sugar daddy?”
“Exactly.”
Tony closed his eyes. Unfuckingbelievable.
“Would you consider doing it for me? There’s a lot of money in it for you.” Ethan rubbed his hands over his face. “He’s getting up in years, anyway, and he’s poz, so I don’t know how much longer he has anyway.”
“Not in a million years, man. What I do for a living is risky enough. I can’t risk murder.”
“But I’d help you plan it. It would look like an accident…or a robbery gone bad or somethin’. I’d take care of everything.” Ethan met Tony’s gaze. “There’d be very little risk.”
Tony breathed out a big sigh. “No way. No fuckin’ way. I’m not into taking lives.” He smiled, again. “That’s where I draw the line.” He thought about it. Did he really draw the line there? Last year, there was a guy, a client, who overdosed in his own hotel room at the annual International Mr. Leather contest. The guy died. It was in all the papers and caused the IML committee to adopt a zero tolerance policy about attendees carrying meth.
/> At the time, Tony had comforted himself with the knowledge that if he hadn’t supplied the young man, someone else would have. The end result would have been the same, whether Tony’s hand was in it or not. But he wished, even now, that it hadn’t been him who had sold the poor deceased man the drug that had stopped his heart just days after visiting Tony in this very apartment.
And how many others, Tony wondered, died quiet deaths from Tina? How many of those customers he suddenly stopped hearing from, had died? He always told himself they wised up and got clean, or at least found another dealer…maybe someone who could beat his price. Still, that didn’t mean he could directly murder someone.
Ethan leaned forward. “There’s a lot of money in it, Tony. A lot.”
No way was he going to do this, yet he asked, “How much are we talkin’ here?”
“I’m the sole beneficiary on a million-dollar life insurance policy.”
“Aw, man, it’ll take a long time for that to be investigated, for it to go through probate or whatever the hell shit they make you go through. Who knows how long that’ll take?”
“I’d make it worth the wait.”
Tony leaned closer. “What kind of cut are you thinking?”
“Ten percent.”
Tony got up and crossed the living room to open his front door. “Buddy, you’re hittin’ Miss Tina too hard. I think it’s time for you to hit the road. I’ve got lots to do today.” Tony stood by the open door, expectantly, watching Ethan’s face. He was thinking so hard, it showed.
“Close the door.”
Tony thought about it, but stayed where he was. “You wanna buy a slice, let me know. Otherwise, like I said, I got a ton of things to do today.”
“Close it.”
Tony shut the door, leaned back against it, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Ethan stood. “How about we split it?”
Half a million dollars. Shit, that was a lot of cash. It was enough, Tony thought, to get him out of the business and into something respectable, just like he always dreamed. Still, what about the karma? Taking another guy’s life…that was bound to come around and bite him in the ass.
“And…he has a lot of expensive jewelry and art. I could see you get some of that, too.”
Tony crossed back over to the couch and collapsed on it. “Why do you wanna do this, man? Is the dude hurting you somehow? You just want his money? I thought he took good care of you.”
And Ethan started to cry. It wasn’t like a couple tears rolled down his cheeks. He started right in blubbering, sobbing, with a torrent of tears and snot. Tony hopped up and went into the bathroom, where he pulled the toilet paper off the roller and brought it back to Ethan.
“Clean yourself up. That’s disgusting.”
Ethan tried to blot away the tears, wipe away the mucous from his nose. It took him awhile.
When he had managed to rein in his anguish somewhat, still breathing hard, he gulped and said, “It’s this shit, man. I can’t get away from it.”
“So?” And Tony started feeling his face go hot. He had had other blubberers in here before, begging him not to sell to them anymore, because they needed to straighten out. Miss Tina was ruining their lives. He never caved. He knew if he didn’t supply the goods, someone else would. Early on, he had agreed with some of them and promised to ignore their calls, their text messages. But then they would practically beat down his door, begging him to reconsider, telling him how they had made a mistake. It wasn’t worth the hassle. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little twinge. He wasn’t expecting Ethan’s tears or his admission. “So what, man? How is killing this guy gonna help anything?”
“I need the money to get myself clean.”
“Can’t you just ask him for it?”
“No way would he help me out with something like this. He hates those guys who use, who get infected…” His gaze darted around the room.
Still standing, Tony leaned back against the couch. “Fifty percent?”
Ethan nodded and stopped sniffling. “Half a million. It may take a little time, but you’ll get it.”
Tony shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was even considering it. “Why can’t you just do it?”
“I can’t. I have these feelings for him. No, I just can’t bring myself to actually do it.”
“What makes you think I can?”
“You’re strong.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“So you’ll do it?”
“I didn’t say that. I just want to know how much thought you’ve put into this. This is serious shit we’re talkin’ and it can’t get fucked up.” God, he sure sounded like he was considering actually doing it. He couldn’t stop thinking about the money and how it would free him, too, from Tina’s stranglehold. “Plus, if I even considered it, the money has to come to me in cash, small amounts, with no way of it being traced to me. You assume all risk, my friend.”
“Understood. It’ll be okay.”
The two sat for several moments. The air in the apartment was charged, as if something ugly and monstrous had just been born.
“So? You got a plan?”
Ethan leaned forward. “He’s rich. Really rich, never mind how, but he didn’t earn it. Anyway, it’s no great leap to think he might get robbed, or mugged, or something like that. I was thinking we could just make it look like a simple crime.”
“I’m not going into the guy’s house, man. They have too much stuff to find you these days. You leave a fuckin’ hair and they can trace it back to you.”
“So, what do you propose?”
“A mugging. Clean. Simple. Outside. Where the traces get washed away.”
“So are you saying you’re in?”
“I’m saying I’m thinking about it.”
“You’re in.” Ethan grinned.
“I’m in. But I might change my mind.”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“Plus some of the guy’s art?”
“He has an original David Hockney.”
Tony nodded. He didn’t know who David Hockney was, but he must be important if that’s the first one this Ethan character brought up. “Okay. So if we did this. And it’s a big if…”
Ethan nodded.
“If we do this, I need you to get the guy somewhere quiet—an alley, maybe—late at night. You can leave once he’s there. Or maybe you don’t even need to be there. Maybe you call him, tell him you got bashed.” Tony thought. “Use a pay phone. He’d come running, and I…” Tony didn’t want to think yet about how he’d do it.
Actually slitting some poor guy’s throat, or braining him with a hammer made it all too real.
They were just discussing it, right? Tossing around the possibility. That’s all they were doing.
Wasn’t it? Tony let out a long, slow breath. He hadn’t realized he hadn’t breathed for several seconds. Half a million, plus. What I could do with that. And guys get mugged every day in Chicago. Some of them die.
And they never know who did it.
Chapter 11
Robert watched from his living room window. With the arrival of each taxi in the circular drive below, he would tense with anticipation and with a peculiar kind of joy. It was crazy, absolute lunacy, that the girl was the flesh-and-blood reincarnation of Keith. Yet, how did she know in complete detail about their first meeting? How could she have dreamt something like that? Telepathic transference from Robert? Was she a con artist and this was the beginning of some elaborate scam to play on his emotions and bilk him out of some of Keith’s legacy?
Even if that was the case, it still wouldn’t explain how she would know about the night they met at Touché, so many years ago. He had never shared this information with anyone, not even his friends at the time. He’d been more than a little embarrassed, at least back then, that he had met the love of his life in a leather bar notorious for its outrageous public sex.
He had cherished the memory over the years, and if the memory w
ere a tangible thing, it would now be worn around the edges from all the times he had caressed it, reliving the moment when their eyes met. But still, he had told his family, and even Keith’s family and friends, they had met at a party given by a mutual friend. He had told the story so many times he almost could envision it as a memory. It seemed real.
He thought of Jess. She looked nothing like Keith. There was no trace of him in her small stature, her fine-boned face, porcelain skin, and red hair. Even her eyes, which Robert recalled as green, held no traces of his former lover. Weren’t eyes supposed to be the window to the soul?
And yet, he could not explain his feelings for her—their strength and the rapidity with which they overcame him. Meeting her had been like falling in love. No, meeting her, he had fallen in love. All the signs were there: he couldn’t stop thinking about her, and when he did, he was suffused with warmth and happiness.
And yet he felt about as much for her sexually as most of us did for our grandparents. There was no lust for her small waist and the gentle mounds of her breasts. He couldn’t imagine kissing her, really kissing her, their tongues dueling. And he certainly couldn’t let himself think of touching her…down there. He had tried to imagine it. But even if she were the new physical embodiment of a man who had once been able to take him to such heights of ecstasy that he literally felt as though he might pass out, she failed to get any kind of reaction from him other than that contented love he felt.
But still…maybe it was possible. Maybe he could learn to love her in every way, if it turned out she housed the soul of Keith. Stranger things had happened…
He laughed out loud. “This is absurd,” he whispered. “The stuff of a paranormal romance.” He leaned his head against the cool glass of the windows and saw a taxi pull up below. It was about the fifth one since he had kept watch, and this time, he was rewarded as Jess emerged from the yellow car. She wore the same oversized wool coat that seemed to swallow her up, combat boots, and socks that fell over the top of them. She looked waifish and adorable.
