I had been planning on driving up to DC that morning to meet my new partner in crime, Christina. The way I was feeling, though, I was wondering if that was the wisest course of action. I felt as if I had been fighting in the battle myself; and judging by the state of my head, I'd been hit by a flying flail.
I felt a little better after a shower, enough so that I decided to go ahead with the original plan. I forced myself to eat a slice of toast even though I wasn't hungry and set off in my little black mustang that I affectionately called Shadow. The drive up Route 50 could never be described as exciting or even interesting. The land on the Eastern Shore is amazingly flat. The highlight, as usual, was the huge span of bridge that crossed the Chesapeake Bay. I arrived at New Carrolton Station, the Metro station I was parking at, in late morning. I got my fare card and found a seat on the train. It wasn't too crowded yet since this was the first stop.
I let my mind wander while I waited for my stop. I thought about my responsibility to my gifts. I still wasn't all that happy about it, but I knew now that I had to face and accept them the best I could, whatever they may be. I owed that much to Steve and Adam if for no other reason. So I guess that meant I was going to get to meet up with my old pal Amalie again. I could think of a few things I'd rather do, like have all my teeth extracted without painkillers. I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to do. Talk to her? How did I do that? Did I ask her to sit down over a cup of coffee? Would it be like it was with Seth? My heart started racing just thinking about it. As the train rumbled into the underground tunnel system of the Metro and the bright sunlight was suddenly cut off, the scene from Ghost when Patrick Swayze is chasing the other dead guy through the cars of the subway suddenly came to mind and I decided to think about something else.
Of course, the first thing my mind went to was Micah. What was I going to do there? I was pretty sure I wanted to make things work with him. He was a great guy. So what if he had a checkered past. I'd known that from the beginning. So why was this still bothering me so much? The bigger question was why the hell was I looking into the murder of his ex-boyfriend? It occurred to me for the first time that maybe I was doing this because I wanted to know more about the guy Micah used to be in love with, and maybe on some level, would always love.
I didn't like the way that was going so I decided to run over my game plan for the day. I wanted to find Razi and talk to him first. He'd given Micah his business card. It was minimalist to say the least, baring only his first name in large, bold letter and his phone number under it. I was planning on calling him, reminding him who I was, and hopefully, I could get him to either meet me or tell me how to find his apartment. After that, I wanted to take a look at Paul's apartment. I had Micah's old key in my pocket and I could only hope it would still fit the lock. If not, I wasn't sure what I would do, but I was sure I could come up with something. I just hoped Christina would be willing to go along with whatever I said and not try to run the show herself.
I was supposed to get off the Metro at the Smithsonian Station and meet her at the base of the Washington Monument. I was supposed to recognize her by the fact that she would be dressed all in black. How cheery. Now all I had to do was hope there wasn't a convention of Goths taking a tour of the city's monuments today.
The train pulled into the station and I joined the throng moving toward the door. I stepped off the Metro and into the cavernous underground station, the arched ceiling honeycombed to muffle the roar of the trains and the crowds. I allowed the flow of the crowd to carry me toward the escalator that led to the street level. Once above ground, I found myself in the center of the Mall. The Capitol building sat at one end and my goal, the Washington Monument, sat at the other. Museums lined the sides, the buildings of the Smithsonian, the National Gallery and many more. I wondered why it had been so long since I'd been here. It really wasn't that far from where I lived. I guess I just took it for granted.
I turned and faced the towering obelisk in the distance and started walking in that direction. The last time I'd actually been up to the monument I'd been in third grade. I made my way to its base and started around its perimeter looking for a girl dressed all in black. It didn't take long to find her. I stopped before she noticed me and looked her over. She was about my height and thin, but wiry looking. She was wearing a loose-fitting, long-sleeved black T-shirt, baggy black cargo pants, and black combat boots. Her black hair was cut short and worn spiked. All that black made her skin look even paler than it really was, and that was pretty pale to start with. It didn't help that she didn't appear to be wearing a scrap of make-up. She looked like one of the dead people with whom I was supposed to be able to talk. She did not inspire confidence.
I sighed a purely mental sigh and approached her. As soon as she saw me moving in her direction she locked a pair of steely gray eyes on me.
“Are you Killian?” she asked as soon as I was close enough to hear her without raising her voice.
I nodded. “You must be Christina,” I said.
“You can call me Chris,” she said.
“Hi, Chris,” I smiled my biggest smile but her sober expression didn't waver. “I'm impressed you recognized me.”
“Well your boss said to watch for a pretty little blonde boy. He didn't mention you were gay but if he had it would have made it even easier.”
I blinked in surprise. “I'm gay?” I said stupidly.
Her blinked back at me. “You didn't know?”
I fought the urge to let loose with a hysterical giggle. “Um, yeah I knew. I meant how did you know?”
She shrugged. “I have a good sense about people.”
“Do I act gay?”
She frowned. “How does one `act gay'?”
We were not getting off to a good start. I gathered my wits about me and started over. “Forget I asked that. I'm glad you're helping me out on this case. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem. My dad thinks this will make me change my mind about becoming a cop, among other things.”
I wondered at the other things, but thought it best not to ask at that time.
“I'm old enough to make my own decisions, though,” she continued, “and I've wanted to be a cop as long as I can remember.” She shrugged again. “How old are you anyway? You look younger than me.”
“I'm eighteen,” I told her.
“We're the same age then. You in college?”
“Freshmen year.”
“Me too. Where at?”
“Pemberton U. You?”
“George Mason.”
Thoughts of Asher swept through my mind, that was where he'd ended up going, but I tamped them down quickly. This wasn't the time, and besides, what were the chances that she's know him?
“Ok, enough chit-chat,” she announced suddenly, pushing away from the wall of the monument where she'd been leaning. “Time to get to work. You're the boss, what's the plan?”
I gave another mental sigh, this time of relief. At least she was willing to let me keep control of the investigation and follow my lead. I had been worried that she'd be the controlling type.
I need to try this number and see if I can get him to meet with me,” I said, producing the card. She looked it over and gave me a look with a raised eyebrow.
“Let me guess. Judging by the lack of specified business, this Razi Akiba must be in the sex-for-hire business.”
I was impressed. The girl was sharp. “Escort,” I said.
“Close enough,” she said flippantly. “And before you get too impressed, Dad told me the case had something to do with a dead prostitute, so it was an obvious deduction. That's pretty much all I know though, so why don't you give me a quick run-down of exactly what you're trying to do?”
I did, giving her a quick history of Micah's involvement with Paul and how he'd found out about his murder, adding everything I knew about Paul from what Micah had told me. I was about to tell her how the police were refusing to do more than a cursory investigation before I remembered that h
er father was on the police force in the city. I stopped in mid-word as her expression darkened.
“Don't stop,” she growled. “Not that it matters, I can figure out the rest. The police don't have any interest in catching whoever killed the fag, right?”
“Something like that,” I muttered.
“Figures. That's why I want to be a cop, to stop shit like that from happening. It's disgusting.”
I was startled by the vehemence in her voice, but tried not to let it show. I just pulled out the cell phone Novak had given me before I left and punched in Razi's number. I was just about to end the connection when someone finally answered.
“`ullo,” someone mumbled, sounding as if I'd woken them up.
“Is this Razi?” I asked.
“No,” the voice said.
I waited a beat. “May I speak to him?”
“He's not here.”
The voice was vaguely familiar and I realized that it must have been the kid from the club. What was his name? “Is this Tad?” I asked.
A pause. “Who is this?” the voice suddenly sounded more awake, and more than a little startled.
“Do remember last week at Michelangelo's? I was with the guy that Razi knew. You talked to me in the lounge.”
“Um...it's a little hazy.”
It looked like I was going to have to work for this.
“My name is Killian, my friend's name is Micah.”
Another pause and then, “What do you look like?”
“Blonde hair, blue eyes, a little taller than you.”
“Still nothing.”
I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath. “You told me that my boyfriend used to be an escort.”
“Oh. Yeah. Now I remember. You were cute.”
I bit back a sharp retort and took another deep breath instead. “Thanks,” I managed. “Look, it's really important that I talk to Razi. Do you know when he'll be back?”
“Not really. He's on a job. What do you need to talk to him about?”
“It's kind of personal. I'd rather talk to him about it.”
“Does it have to do with your boy? What's his name? Mikey?”
“Micah, and no, not exactly.”
“Oh. Well, does it have anything to do with Paul?”
“You knew Paul?”
“Kinda. I wasn't around that long before he was killed, but I met him a few times.”
Novak always told me being flexible was the most important attribute of a good investigator. It would probably be a useful attribute for an escort also, but that was beside the point. The point was it was time to change my plans slightly.
“Could I talk to you?”
He was quiet for a minute. “I dunno,” he said finally.
“I'm not going to cause trouble, I promise. It's really important.”
“Why?”
“Micah wants to know what happened to Paul.”
“He was killed.”
“We know that. He wants to know why and by who.”
“I don't know that.”
“But you might be able to help me figure it out.”
“You? Shouldn't that be up to the-Shit! You're not the cops are you?”
“Me?” I laughed. It was a little forced, but I didn't think it was noticeable, especially to someone who didn't know me. “No way. I'm a private investigator.”
“Aren't you a little young?”
“Well, I'm technically still in training, but I've already helped solve three murders.” I saw Chris' head snap up at that remark. Her eyes lit up with a new respect for me. “Besides, the cops don't give a damn about Paul. To them, he's just another gay escort and as far as they're concerned, the city's better off without him. If I don't find out who did this, it's possible no one ever will.”
There was dead silence on the other end of the line and, for a minute, I thought he'd hung up. Then, finally, he spoke. “Ok. If I give you directions can you find me here?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. I signaled to Chris to get her attention. “I'm going to repeat the address back to you so I'm sure I have it right, ok?” I spoke for both of their benefits. I wanted Chris to pay attention so that she could tell me if she knew where the address was and I wanted Tad to know why I was repeating everything. Chris nodded her understanding. I was beginning to think that we might work well together after all.
“Ok,” Tad agreed and rattled off an address that I repeated right back. “Yeah, that's it,” he agreed.
Chris nodded. She knew where it was.
“Got it,” I said. “You'll be there for a while?”
“I'm not going anywhere.”
“Ok, see you soon then. And thanks.”
“Yeah. You might want to hold your thanks until after you talk to me. I told you, I didn't know him that well.”
“Every little bit helps.”
“We'll see.” And he broke the connection.
I turned to Chris as I put the phone away. “And we're off.”
“We'll take the Metro,” she said, pushing away from the wall of the monument, where she'd been leaning, and stalking off purposefully in the direction I'd come from. I practically had to run to keep up with her. “It's not a great neighborhood,” she said when I caught up to her.
“Dangerous?” I asked.
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “Everywhere in the city is dangerous, or it can be. Where we're going is only dangerous in a different way. Keep your eyes open and stay near me.”
I must have given her a startled look because she smiled the first genuine smile I'd seen. “My dad's a cop. I've had every type of self-defense training you can imagine. I may not look all that dangerous, but trust me, I am.”
Something in the tone of her voice made me inclined to believe her.
We got our fare cards figured out and boarded the train. We would have to backtrack to L'Enfant Station and switch from the orange line to the green line. The trip wasn't really that far and we didn't talk much. I was preoccupied, thinking about how Chris had known I was gay right away. Did I really act so stereotypically gay that people knew just by looking at me? I'd never thought about it before, but for some reason that bothered me. For one thing, it made me less effective as an investigator. It made me more memorable if someone happened to notice me.
“Gaydar,” Chris said suddenly. I gave her a blank look.
“That's how I knew you were gay when I saw you.”
I eyed her warily. I had the eerie feeling she'd been reading my mind.
“I've been sitting here thinking about it,” she went on, “and I decided that if we're going to be working together we need to trust each other, right?”
I nodded.
“I'm gay too,” she said.
“Oh,” I said. I wondered if my gaydar was malfunctioning.
“I don't usually tell people, not that I'm in the closet or anything. I just don't advertise it. That's the other reason I think Dad wanted me to work with you on this. He thinks if I see the dark side of the gay culture, as he puts it, then I'll decide to be straight. I've tried to tell him it doesn't work like that, but he's older, you know? Set in his ways. Besides, it's not like I don't know all about this stuff anyway. You can only be sheltered so much when you grow up gay in the city.” With that she hopped up and started towards the door. “This is our stop,” she called over her shoulder.
I jumped up and joined her just as the train pulled to a stop. We exited the station and Chris took her bearings.
“Where do we go now?” I asked.
“I'm not sure,” she said.
“But I thought…”
“I know it's this general area,” she said. “Don't worry, I'll find it.” She headed back into the Metro station, leaving me gaping after her. She reappeared a minute later and headed off confidently down the street. I scrambled after her with a feeling I'd be doing a lot of this.
“I got directions,” she said when I fell into step next to her.
�
��Yeah, I figured that,” I said dryly.
She walked through the unfamiliar streets as if she knew exactly where she was going, her ground-eating stride causing me to trot along. I felt like I had to take two steps for every one of hers. At that rate, it didn't take too long to find the address Tad had given me. Like most of the buildings in this area, it was run-down and a little shabby. Chris stopped at the door.
The Truth of Yesterday Page 16
