by Tinnean
“My brothers will be taking that as well as all the plants home later this evening. The flowers and balloons will go to Children’s National.”
“Good idea.” There would be less to worry about tomorrow.
“Vincent! I’m glad you’re here. I want to talk to you. Why are you blushing?” Quinn sauntered in, carrying his overcoat over his arm. “Hello, Mother.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine, sweetheart.” That was what she told him every time. “I’m glad I’ll be going home tomorrow, though. Jefferson and Ludovic insist on staying with me until they have to leave for London. Thank goodness Tony and Bryan are staying at their hotel until they have to fly back to L.A. I’m not sure I could survive five mother hens.”
“Anytime you need rescuing, Mrs. Mann, just give me a call.”
“Thank you, Mark. I might take you up on that.”
The very young nurse who’d given me the cup for Mrs. Mann’s violets came in. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Mann. It’s time for you to get back into bed, and then I’ll examine your dressing. Gentlemen, I’ll have to ask you to step outside for a few minutes.”
Quinn dropped his coat on my chair, and we walked out, closing the door behind us.
“What did you want to see me about, Mann?”
“I wanted to know if you’d like to have dinner with me and Mother this evening.” He smiled at me. “You might as well say yes. I’ve already ordered….” George Washington University Hospital had a good chef on staff for patients who were well enough to eat real food, and family could be accommodated as well, with trays sent to the rooms. “… and my uncles and Gregor won’t be in until later this evening. They’ve been getting the house ready for her.”
“Sounds good to me.” It just happened to work out that his uncles and Novotny weren’t there when I was there. It wasn’t as if I was trying to avoid anyone—I’d run into Quinn plenty of times. “So what did you order?”
He spoke of the menu until the nurse opened the door.
“You and your uncle can come back in now, Mr. Mann,” she said to Quinn. “Your mother is healing very well.”
“My uncle and I are glad to hear that.”
“We’ve all grown very fond of your mother, and we’re going to miss her. Oh! Here’s your dinner! Well, I’ll just get back to my charting. Enjoy your meal.” She left as the trays were brought in.
“My uncle?” Quinn’s voice dropped. “That sounds so kinky!”
I shrugged. “Beats hell out of me where some people get these ideas.”
“Quinton, behave.” Mrs. Mann was pale and a little breathless, but she was smiling.
“I’m glad to hear someone else besides me being told to behave,” I groused.
“Never mind, Uncle Mark.” Quinn laughed. “Let’s eat.”
XXVIII
WHEN I arrived home later that evening, Matheson was coming down the stairs carrying a couple of empty pizza boxes.
“Mr. Vincent!” He looked around as if expecting to see someone with me.
“Matheson.”
He cleared his throat. “Theo would like to see you, if you have some time? He’s found the tape.”
It took me a minute to remember what tape he was talking about. “Oh, the one of Delilah Carson, Pretty Boy, Spike, and the mystery john?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have any idea who he is?”
“I haven’t watched it, sir.”
I raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything about that. “I’ll stop by the apartment right now.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be up as soon as I put these boxes in the recycling bin.”
“Right.” I continued up the stairs, and he continued down.
Theo was lounging against the doorframe in a seductive pose, his eyes closed. “See anything you like, sailor?” he asked in a husky voice.
“Are you back in the business, Sweetcheeks?”
His eyes snapped open, and he straightened. “Damn. I thought it was Wills.”
“Well, it isn’t.”
“I can see that.”
“So I take it you’re not in the business again?”
“No.” Theo had been a rent boy for more than twelve years. “Even if Wills hadn’t asked me, I’d have gotten out sooner or later.”
“It’s a good thing he asked you, then. Although after the way Pretty Boy got beat up….”
“I’m glad you killed the bastard who did that to him.”
“I didn’t kill him, Theo,” I said patiently.
“Close enough.”
“Never mind. Matheson said you’d found that tape?”
“Oh, yeah. Are you still interested in it?”
“Sure.”
He looked beyond me to the stairs, but no one was coming up them. “Come on in. I’ll get it for you.”
I followed him into the apartment.
“Can I get you something? A drink? Coffee? Some leftover pizza?”
“No, thanks. I just finished dinner.”
“Okay. Well, it’s in the living room. I tried to get Wills to watch it, but he said porn is one thing, and home movies are something else.”
“He’s got a point.”
“I resent that! ‘Home movies’ implies it was done by amateurs. I’m a pro!”
“A retired pro.”
Theo jumped. Matheson had come in, unseen by him, his tread so quiet I had almost been unaware of him. I nodded in approval.
“I meant when it comes to filming. You know I don’t do that anymore.” Theo scowled at his lover. “And y’know, there are people who would pay big bucks to see Delilah deep-throat Pretty Boy, even knowing she’s dead. What am I saying? Especially knowing she’s dead.”
“Yeah, there are a lot of sickies out there.”
“Geez, Wills….”
“You know what it would do to me if you ever got hurt?” Matheson’s voice was very low. He glanced at me and cleared his throat. “I’d better go load the dishwasher. Good night, Mr. Vincent.”
“Matheson.”
Theo watched him leave the room. “How did I get so lucky, Vince?”
Maybe he was due for some good luck. I hoped his luck didn’t run out. “Bascopolis, you want to shake a leg here? Some of us have work in the morning.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He laughed and opened a cabinet, and took out a black VHS cassette box. “Here you go, Vince.” He handed me the tape. “Watch this and then tell me if you don’t think it’s hot.”
“I won’t be watching this to get my rocks off.”
“Then why watch it at all?” I gave him a look. “Never mind, forget I asked!”
“Is this the original?”
“No. Wills suggested I put it in a safety deposit box. Did you want the original?”
“I’ll check this out and let you know.”
“Okay.” He walked to the front door with me, a bounce in his step. I didn’t remember seeing him this happy before. “By the way, the last of Delilah’s things were removed from your condo today.”
The dead woman’s belongings should have been gone more than a week ago. I’d been busy with other things, and it had slipped my mind. Otherwise, there wouldn’t have been a delay.
“I’ll have the carpets removed tomorrow, and then the painters can come in. Once that’s done, it will just be a matter of having your furniture delivered from storage.” Theo looked like a kid at Christmas. Oh, well. À chacun son gout.
“I ordered more.”
“Huh? I thought you had everything you needed.” He looked as if he wasn’t sure if he should be hurt or interested. “What did you get?”
“Some stuff for the dining room.”
“But you weren’t planning on having a dining room.”
I shrugged. He didn’t need to know I’d changed my mind because someone wanted to have Thanksgiving dinner at my place.
“Let me know if you want some advice placing it. Say, uh… Vince?” He put his hand on my arm a
nd lowered his voice. “I remember you always worked through the holidays.”
“Yeah?”
“It would be really great if Wills had Thanksgiving off?” He peeked at me through his lashes.
Now that I was no longer in the field, I’d realized that quite a number of WBIS agents actually took time off around the holidays.
“I’ll see what the schedule is like.”
“Cool. Thanks! And I won’t even bitch about you going shopping without me.” He hugged me. “I’m not sure yet what we’ll be doing, but I’d really like to spend the day with him. If we stay home, would you like to come down for some turkey? No, wait a second, you’ll have moved. Well, would you like to come over?”
“Thanks, but I have plans.” I wondered if Mrs. Mann would be well enough to come to my place. If she wasn’t, I’d just have the caterer bring everything to her. I’d even make sure there was enough for Novotny, if he decided to stay in town. “I’ll get this tape back to you as soon as I can.”
“Sure. Whenever. G’night, Vince.”
“’Night, Theo.”
I climbed the stairs to the next floor, unlocked my door, and walked into my apartment. Already there was a feel as if it was no longer home. Or had it always been like that?
After turning the locks in sequence, I took the tape into the living area, turned on the TV, and put the tape into the VCR.
Three pretty people romped on the bed: Pretty Boy, Spike, and the late Delilah Carson. They looked like they were being directed on a movie set.
I remembered the one time I had gone to bed with Pretty Boy, years before, when I’d been wild with fury at my partner’s death. There had been no structure to his actions then. He’d held me and let me pound into him, and I’d bruised his fair skin.
Now, a rich, even tan covered his body, unbroken by any lines. He’d said something once about buying a tanning bed so he and the other boys could have year-round tans, because that was what the clients wanted. That, and smooth, hairless torsos. Because of his Greek heritage, Sweetcheeks tanned well, but Spike had tried it once and wound up burning so badly across his chest that for a time they’d been afraid he’d be scarred.
I picked up the remote, sat on the coffee table in front of the television, and fast-forwarded, stopping periodically. I wasn’t interested in seeing how they performed for a john—I was looking for the john. Maybe I’d recognize him. If not, there was picture-recognition software in my computer. I’d burn the tape to a CD and then run it through the program.
Suddenly someone else appeared in the frame, wearing a thong and a bra, someone with red hair that was long and wavy and spilled down to… very unfeminine hips.
I blinked and rewound the tape to shortly before he made his appearance.
Pretty Boy had propped himself up on the bed. His legs were spread wide, and he grinned into the camera and ran a palm down his hairless torso, over his cock, and cupped his balls.
A falsetto voice off-screen ordered, “Suck him, Delilah! I want to see you take his big cock all the way down your throat!”
“Sure, sugar. Whatever you say.” She gave the unseen watcher a flirtatious smile. “You sure you don’t want to join us? These boys are very good.”
“Not now!” The voice was coy.
“All right, E—”
“Now, now! Names!”
“All right, Edie.” She tossed her long, wavy hair over her shoulder so it was out of the way, and went down on Pretty Boy.
“Good, that’s good.” The voice was suddenly hoarse and rough. “Now you, pretty boy….” The camera drew back, revealing Spike crouched at the foot of the bed.
The youngest rent boy looked confused. “I’m Spike.”
“Yes, yes, whatever your name is. Fuck her up the ass!”
“Delilah?”
“Don’t ask her! I’m paying for this! Shove your cock into her! Make her squeal!”
The camera shook for a second before it steadied.
“It’ll be fine, Spike.” Delilah smiled at him over her shoulder, a reassuring smile, and this wasn’t a party girl acting the part. She was concerned about him. Damn. I’d probably have to look into her murder. “I lubed up before you got here.”
“Okay.” He bit his lip. “If you’re sure?”
“Goddamnit! Who’s in charge here?”
Pretty Boy reached forward and stroked Spike’s bleached hair. “It’ll be okay, baby.” He took Spike’s cock and centered it between Delilah’s rounded buttocks. “Go ahead.”
“Yes, go ahead, Spike. I’m ready.” Her back bowed gracefully, and she began to lick Pretty Boy’s cock, swirl her tongue around the crown, and gradually swallow him.
Spike thrust his hips forward. “Oh!” And a look of dazed surprise colored his face.
“Now lean closer so I can kiss you, baby,” Pretty Boy murmured.
Spike wrapped both his arms around Pretty Boy and sank into the kiss, virtually forgetting his cock was in Delilah’s ass. His soft whimpers were muffled by Pretty Boy’s lips.
“I can’t see!” The voice was falsetto again, and contained a pout.
Delilah’s hair had spilled over her shoulder and veiled Pretty Boy’s lap. She let the cock she’d been sucking slip from her lips.
“Why don’t you come around here, sugar? You’ll have a great view.” She fluttered her lashes and licked her lips.
An ass with a vaguely phallic tea-stain birthmark on one cheek filled the screen, and then the man settled himself at the head of the bed. His chest was hairy, and the ultra-feminine bra he wore, satin and lace and underwire, looked ridiculous stretched across it. His face had been expertly made up, and I wondered if that had been part of Delilah’s service.
He grabbed Delilah’s hair and dragged her head down to his lap. “Suck me through my panties. You!” He took Pretty Boy’s hand and pushed it toward his own cock. “Jerk yourself off.”
“You’re the boss,” he said lazily. He began the long, steady strokes that would bring him to orgasm. His other hand caressed Spike’s cheek.
“And don’t forget it! Tell me before you come!” The john gasped and wriggled as Delilah slid her fingers under the leg of his panties and tickled his balls. “I want to watch you come all over her tits!”
His mouth was wide open—not a good look for him—and as he gasped for air, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the headboard. That movement caused the wig he was wearing to slip to the side. The camera focused in on his face.
Well, well, well. I wouldn’t be needing the program in my computer. While I didn’t know the man personally, I recognized him.
It was Edward Holmes.
XXIX
THE next morning I called the Madison Arms from a public phone that was just down the street from it. “Put me through to Anthony Sebring, please. He’s in Suite 808.”
“One moment, please, sir.”
I wasn’t surprised when after a minute or so the desk clerk came back on the line and said, “I’m very sorry, sir, he doesn’t answer. Would you like to leave a message?”
“No, that’s all right, thanks. I’ll try again later in the day.” I’d been pretty sure everyone had gone to the hospital to be there when Mrs. Mann was discharged, but I didn’t get to be senior special agent and then Deputy Director of Interior Affairs by taking stupid chances.
I hung up the phone and entered the delivery van. I drove it down the alley that lead to the hotel’s service entrance, took a rectangular box from the rear, and walked into the building.
The service elevator was right there, and I rode it up to the eighth floor. Just to be on the safe side, I tapped on the door to 808.
“Delivery,” I called in the soft southern drawl of my Dwayne J. Lester persona.
There was no answer. A glance around verified the empty corridor, and I let myself in with a key card that had been programmed to work for this room.
A quick recon showed the suite was empty. The beds were made, so housekeeping had alr
eady been there.
Whistling “Over the River and Through the Woods” through my teeth, I opened the box, hooked up the VCR and set it up so it was ready to run.
I’d promised Quinn that he and his uncles could deal with Holmes. They were civilized men, but they would go for the jugular if they had to. While they were busy with him, I’d be taking care of Wexler. I didn’t let being civilized interfere with what needed to be done—I went not only for the jugular, but for the balls as well. And if a little evisceration was necessary….
I left a padded envelope on the cocktail table. It was addressed to Novotny and contained a copy of the video and a brief message.
If anyone chose to trace the message, and if they were good enough, they’d find that it had been printed on an anonymous printer from a local library.
I grinned when I thought of how Novotny would react to the message. Too bad I couldn’t be there to witness it.
You might find this useful. It should help you deal with the matter that’s been of concern to you all. Don’t screw it up; there aren’t any more copies.
Of course there were, but Holmes knew how honorable the Sebring men were. If they believed this was the only one, he would believe it as well.
I wished I could be there when they watched DCI Holmes gamboling on that pink bed in his pretty pink unmentionables with Pretty Boy, Spike, and Delilah Carson, but I had other things that needed to be done, ditching the uniform and the van among them.
I let myself out of the suite, went back down to the van, and drove away.
My Christmas Always
I
AS THE last two months of 2002 made their way toward the New Year, things started quieting down. Mrs. Mann had been home from the hospital for a little more than a week, and her physical therapy was coming along well, although it would still be some time before she could walk without a cane.
When I went into Raphael’s that Friday night, the Italian restaurant was crowded, as usual. Not that it mattered. I’d called earlier to make a reservation.
This was the first time we’d been able to go to Raphael’s in more than a month. After dinner, we were going to see a movie. Quinn had a weakness for Kurosawa, and The Seven Samurai was playing at some art house.
