by C. S. Poe
“Why are we arguing?” I asked.
“You called me to complain about Polo Bro making a pass at you, and it just deteriorated from there.”
“God…. Part of me is kind of glad this whole van fiasco happened.”
“Why?”
“Calvin will be with me tomorrow.”
“Since when do you let your beau fight battles for you?”
“I don’t. But Calvin’s biceps are bigger than Pete’s head. So.”
“I guess that’d make a horndog think twice.”
I stopped outside the door at the end of the hall, reached into my messenger bag, and retrieved a set of keys. “I just got home,” I said as I unlocked the dead bolt and stepped inside. “I’ll let you—God, what is that amazing smell?”
“Do I need an app update on my phone in order to smell this part of the conversation?” Aubrey asked.
“Bitch.”
He laughed. “And you love it, cutie pie. Talk to you later.”
I ended the call, slipped the phone into my pocket, and dug through my bag again for regular glasses. Once I replaced my sunglasses, I set my bag beside the door and took a look around. Calvin had made decent headway on unboxing all of our belongings and turning the place into as much of a home as it could be with next to… no furniture. I thought that was all supposed to be delivered today?
The immediate area was mostly broken-down boxes and trash bags of packing material, but eventually it’d be a little eating nook. Down the hall to the right was an afterthought of a kitchen where the delicious aroma seemed to be originating from. Straight ahead was the living room, with big bay windows that overlooked the street below. Calvin had installed the blinds and hung curtains, which was sweet of him. The stairs on the left led to the loft bedroom and bath.
“Calvin?” I called, heading down the hall.
Dillon raised his head from where he lay on the floor. His tail thumped happily against the hardwood, but a few glances from me to what was happening in the kitchen told me he was very busy eyeing food that wasn’t his.
I peeked around the corner. “Did you order lasagna?”
Calvin looked up and smiled. He shut the oven door. “I made it.”
I stepped into the barely-big-enough-for-two kitchen and wrapped my arms around Calvin’s neck. “You made lasagna?”
“I know you like vegetable, but I stopped at Rico’s Corner on the way home from the Emporium, and their produce are shit on a good day, so it’s chicken.” Calvin put his hands on my hips and gave me a light kiss on the mouth. “I only bought enough for dinner—wanted to test the oven.”
“I’m really into you making lasagna.”
“I figured you would be.”
“We’ll have to invest in more kitchen supplies,” I continued, letting go of him and taking a step back.
Calvin nodded. He moved to the counter and picked up his tablet. “I was searching for more dinner recipes and got a bit off track.” He turned the screen to me and held it out. “Interested in donuts?”
I took the tablet but stared at Calvin. “Homemade donuts?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this a trick question?”
He smiled and took the tablet back. “I’ll look into getting some baking tools.” Calvin leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “It’s a bit of a novelty to have a real kitchen again. Between college and the police academy, my service years, and that studio I had for half a decade….”
“I’m excited for you to start cooking,” I said.
Calvin raised his eyebrows.
“Really,” I insisted. “And more than because I like food.”
He chuckled. “Why, then?”
“You said yourself that you find cooking relaxing. You deserve that. And you need a hobby.”
“How sweet,” he said dryly.
“That didn’t sound rude in my head.”
Calvin reached out and took my hand. “I know what you mean.” He squeezed and let go. “My therapist will undoubtedly like hearing it too.”
Calvin hardly ever talked about his therapist or their sessions together. Not that I expected him to. It was his journey. So long as he sought discussion with someone who would guide him to discovering self-forgiveness and healthy coping mechanisms, I didn’t care if he never shared a word. But sometimes, hearing subtle assurances that he was comfortable with her and taking their conversations into serious consideration was a relief.
I went to the fridge and found a few bottles of beer had been picked up with the lasagna ingredients. “Drink?”
“I was waiting for you.”
I popped the tops off two bottles and handed one to Calvin. “To our first homecooked meal in our new home.”
Calvin tapped the neck of his bottle to mine. “Cheers.” He took a sip and then moved to check the lasagna again. “Were you talking to Aubrey when you got in?”
“How’d you know?”
“The only other people you talk to on the phone are Max and your father—neither of whom you refer to as bitch.”
“He was being a smart-ass.”
“Calling the kettle black, honey.” Calvin removed the tray and set it on the stovetop. The smell of baked chicken and melted cheese filled the room, and Dillon whined from the doorway.
“Do you still have tomorrow off?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Can a bunch of old junk and I have a ride to the Javits Center?”
“Sure.”
“You don’t even want to ask why?”
Calvin glanced up from cutting dinner with a spatula. “Why?” he asked, more out of obligation than interest.
“Pete White and his sleazy little dick.”
Calvin eased portions of lasagna onto two plates before handing one to me. He turned and looked through a few plastic bags on the floor before retrieving some utensils. “Go ahead and explain. I’m listening.” He followed me out of the kitchen.
“He never picked up my collection!” I sat on the floor in the living room and put my food on an upturned box pretending to be a coffee table. Calvin sat beside me, set a fork and knife on my plate, and turned on the television that was propped on top of two more boxes.
“And why do we still have no furniture?” I asked offhandedly, looking around.
“The delivery company had a mix-up with the dates, so they’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”
“Is it, like, a full moon for shipping companies? Cindy, Gum-Popper Extraordinaire, wouldn’t give me the contact information of the person who sent me the Kinetoscope.”
Calvin took a big bite of food as he flipped channels with the remote.
“Hairy Hobbit couldn’t get across town to move my collection, but he sure as fuck made it to the Emporium in time to try to get into my pants,” I continued.
“He what?” Calvin asked around a mouthful.
“And now we have to sleep on the floor for a second night in a row? This is why we can’t have nice things, Cal.”
Calvin stared at me, one hand still holding the television remote, the fork poised over his plate with the other. “But you didn’t go sleuthing, right?”
A RINGING phone is a lot louder at 4:00 a.m. when it’s in a bare apartment with vaulted ceilings.
Calvin woke with a start beside me, jackknifing up from the pile of blankets and pillows on the living room floor.
I quickly sat up beside him and groped for his arm in the dark. “Phone,” I mumbled, half-awake.
Acknowledgment of what the sound was eased the tension in Calvin’s body. Late-night calls were for him, and he’d become accustomed to them long ago. But I guess the ringtone sounding different in the new apartment, and the fact that he’d woken suddenly in unfamiliar surroundings, had been enough to throw him off.
Calvin felt around on the floor for where he’d left his phone.
I dropped back down on the pillows.
“Baby,” he said, voice deep and scratchy with sleep.
“Huh?”
“It’s the middle of the night—fuck them.”
But Calvin answered the call. “Hello?”
I was already falling asleep again.
“Calvin Winter speaking. I’m the secondary contact on the account.”
I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder at Calvin’s blurry figure.
“And the police have been notified?”
I sat up.
“We’ll meet them there. Thank you.” Calvin lowered the phone and pressed a button. “Advice Line.”
“My security company?”
“The alarm on the Emporium’s back door is going off.”
I WASN’T wearing my contacts. I didn’t have time to put them in before we’d left. The weird glow of streetlamps cast elongated streaks of light on the windshield as we drove by, like an artist experimenting in monochromatic watercolors.
“I forgot to lock the alley,” I muttered, raking a hand through my unkempt hair. “Fuck….”
“It’ll be all right,” Calvin insisted.
It was hard not to believe him when he used that confident voice. Like he’d gotten a glimpse of the future and was confirming what he knew to be true.
I hoped he was right.
Calvin turned onto the Emporium’s street and parked on the corner. He climbed out from behind the wheel, moved to the sidewalk to meet me, and held his hand out for mine. I took it and followed close behind, trying to mimic Calvin’s long strides and sure footing. Only a few storefronts up from my shop, I saw two dark shapes exit the alley. I instinctively clutched Calvin’s hand a bit tighter, but then I made out the hats and coats.
Cops.
Calvin eased his hand free from mine, reached into his pocket, and removed his badge. He made a brief flash of it, and both cops stopped where they were.
“Er—evening,” I called. “I’m the owner. Sebastian Snow. My security company told me the back-door alarm was triggered.”
One officer tilted his hat back and put his hands on his belt. “That’s correct.”
Calvin offered his ID to the officer’s partner, who looked at it briefly and then shook his hand. “Was anything stolen?” Calvin asked, tucking the badge into his pocket once more.
“Nothing appeared amiss,” the second cop replied. “We just finished securing the building.”
“Can I take a look inside before you head out?” I asked. “In case I need to file a report?”
Both officers nodded and led the way back through the alley.
“How was the property entered?” Calvin asked from behind the three of us.
“The alley door was open when we arrived,” the first officer said over his shoulder. “The lock on the back door looks like it was probably picked, but it still works. We turned it on our way out.”
“May have been nothing more than a crime of opportunity,” the second said as we stopped at the door. “And luckily your alarm system scared them off.”
My gut twisted uncomfortably, even as I agreed with the cops and used my keys to open the back door once more. It did make perfect sense—I’d been distracted that night and completely spaced on securing the alley. It was my job, so Beth had no reason to check it herself before leaving the bookstore.
When I stepped into the Emporium and turned on the nearest bank lamp, my impression was the cops had been correct when saying that nothing appeared to have been so much as nudged out of place.
So why did I still feel like I was about to throw up?
“Mr. Snow?” the first cop asked.
“Ah… it looks okay,” I answered. I made for the counter, walked up the steps, and checked my office door. Still locked. I opened it and glanced inside. Computer, fridge, coffeepot, shitty little microwave….
I shut the door again.
“Seb?” Calvin asked.
I turned on the bank lamp beside the register. “I guess everything is fine,” I answered. I sat down on the stool as Calvin spoke with the police before they took their leave. He shut and locked the back door behind them. “What do you think?” I asked from across the shop.
“The alarm did its job and you’re damn lucky.” He walked across the showroom toward me.
“Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Your business has been violated. That’s to be expected,” Calvin answered. He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans as he stopped before the counter. “I can install a dead bolt if you’d like.”
I stood up again and walked down the steps. “I guess that’s—” I paused and pointed. “What happened to the Kinetoscope?”
Calvin turned around to follow my line of sight. “What about it?”
“Why’s the cabinet open?” I marched past him and went to the movie viewer. The side door of the machine was ajar. I bent down and noticed a bit of celluloid hanging from the opening. I yanked the door back the rest of the way and made a sound that was probably akin to a dying animal.
“Sebastian?” Calvin asked worriedly, quickly coming up behind me.
Only a portion of the film was still installed in the case, closer to the front end where it passed by the backlighting bulb. It was as if someone had reached inside, grabbed the film strip, and in their rush to get out, wrenched a portion of it free. It tore the footage in two, leaving what remained to slowly become unspooled and peek out from the opened door.
“Oh fuck!” I shouted, heart hammering in my chest. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Baby—”
“Someone stole, like… twenty seconds, of my Leonard-Cushing fight!” I was practically screaming.
“Sebastian,” Calvin tried again.
“Maybe twenty-five seconds!” Now I was screaming.
Calvin grabbed my shoulders. “Calm down.”
“The film isn’t mine! And now it’s destroyed! I’m so fucked!”
“This is why you have business insurance,” Calvin said. “Sebastian. Take a breath.”
I took one, but I wasn’t happy about it.
“Let’s take some photos and file a police report,” Calvin continued. “So when you finally get in touch with the owner, you’ll have proven this wasn’t mishandling or negligence on your part. Okay?”
I gritted my teeth and nodded.
I really hoped this spectacularly shitty start to the day wasn’t a sign of things to come.
Chapter Four
“BACON OR sausage?”
“Bacon,” I muttered.
“Cappuccino or house brew?”
“House.”
“Blowjob or handjob?”
“Blow—what?” I looked up from my phone.
Calvin smiled. “Just making sure you were in the same solar system as me.” He set a take-out container and a cup on the register counter where I was sitting. “Scrambled eggs with a side of bacon. Large coffee with cream.”
“What about the third one?”
“What about it?” Calvin stood on the opposite side, popped open the second container, and poked at his breakfast with a plastic fork.
“I think I deserve it. It’s been a long night.”
“Morning,” he corrected.
I set my phone aside. “Whatever. It’s been a day.”
Calvin took a few bites. “Everything go okay with the police?”
“Yeah. Not that they’ll ever catch who broke in.”
After carefully packing up the remaining footage in its original tin and storing it inside my office for safekeeping, Calvin and I had combed through the shop’s security footage, to no avail. The Kinetoscope was just a foot too far in the back to be seen by the register camera, and I had nothing angled at the back door. So with no footage of the break-in, no evidence to collect, and just a torn piece of celluloid that the cops cared very little about and I cared a whole fucking lot about—honestly, what could be done?
“Dillon oka
y?” I asked.
Calvin nodded. “Fed him and went for a walk. I stopped at the hardware store too.” He pointed to my left.
I leaned over and saw he’d come back with not only breakfast and a plastic bag with a new door lock, but also my shoulder bag.
“I brought your contacts. They’re in the front pocket of your bag.”
“You’re the sweetest man in this whole city,” I stated.
Calvin smiled. “So what part of the film got torn off? The actual image, I mean.”
“Most of the fight,” I said. “From what I saw by examining the still images.”
“Did that outdoor scene survive?”
“The murder? Yeah, it’s still attached.” I took a halfhearted bite of bacon.
“Who knew about the movie?”
“Me. But I have a freckled alibi.”
Calvin sipped his coffee. “Who else?”
“Max, of course. Beth was here when we watched it. You, and that’s—oh, Pete knows about the film reel.”
Calvin nodded and took another bite of the eggs.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know. But you’ve got tells.”
He let out a breath and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “How well do you know this Pete White guy?”
I shrugged. “I’m not inviting him over for eggnog come the holidays, if that’s what you’re asking.” I finished the bacon and said, “Pete’s new to the organization that runs the fair. Admittedly, when I’ve managed to speak with him, he’s well versed in a number of subjects. He recognized the Kinetoscope and was familiar with the title of the movie when I mentioned it. But he’s such a lazy, disorganized, lying shit that I’d have never supported the event if I knew about him in advance.”
Calvin shoveled eggs into his mouth like they were going out of style.
“You think he had something to do with this?”
“No,” he said around the last bite.
“Filthy liar.”
“I’m just concerned,” Calvin corrected. “This is an artifact you acquired suddenly and without notice. It’s only been seen by a few trusted individuals—and him.”
I considered what Pete had said last night, about showing the film at the antique fair and how it’d be a big pull for attracting more attendees. I looked down at the eggs. They suddenly weren’t very appealing.
