by Rob Rosen
“No, Barry; just me and you.”
“And Mom will meet us?”
I hadn’t been alone with Dad since high school, at least not without Mom in a hundred-foot radius. I’d been alone with Mom before, sure, but that’s mostly because she took me shopping. Or, you know, simply forced me to hang out with her—well, threatened, really. As for Dad, I couldn’t talk sports, politics was boring, and as for accounting talk, see politics. Yawn. So, in short, I loved Dad, but the chitchat possibilities were limited at best. And now he was inviting me for coffee. Seemed too adult for my liking.
He tittered. “Your mother and I aren’t attached at the hip, Barry. I can do things without her.”
“Does she know that?”
“Twenty minutes, Barry. My treat.”
Click.
“Well, at least it’s free coffee.” I strummed my chin. “This should be interesting.”
Little did I know how much.
* * * *
He was already there when I arrived, a cup of java and a bran muffin waiting for me. It should be noted, I only drink coffee with tons of filler, namely syrups and pumps and slivered whatnots, plus a dollop of whipped cream. Never black. Not ever. As for bran muffins…really? With everything to choose from, bran muffins?
Dad smiled and motioned for me to have a seat. I did so, staring at my bland coffee and even blander muffin. I glanced briefly and longingly at the Java Chip Frappuccino at the table next to us. “Thanks, Dad. You shouldn’t have.” Seriously. Shouldn’t.
He smiled. “Least I could do.” Seriously. Least. “I mean, it’s usually your mother who treats you.”
I grinned. “Treat might not be the optimal word. Trust me, I pay.” And then some.
His smile widened. “Gotcha.” He took a sip of his coffee. I simply stared glumly at my own, wondering if it would be rude to hop up and grab a can of whipped cream. “This is nice.”
I smiled in return. Nice. Sure. A bit uncomfortable, but nice. And strange that I should miss my mommy at that moment, but nice.
“So,” I said, “Tom Nolan.”
He nodded and pointed at the table. “Aren’t you going to drink your coffee, eat your muffin?”
I gulped. I took a sip. I took a nibble. Blech and blech again. I’d paid my penance. He owed me. “Tom Nolan?”
He sat back in his seat and sighed. “I’m not supposed to tell you. I signed a confidentiality agreement. I never even told your mom. And she tried to weasel it out of me.”
“Like a sabretooth weasel, I’m sure.”
He nodded. “Exactly.” He leaned in and whispered, “But you seem to be in possible trouble here.” I, too, nodded. He took another swig of his black-as-night coffee. Again, blech. Why not just drink motor oil and call it a day? “Tom Nolan hired me to do his company’s books. His and his partner’s, your client, Arthur Slade, a man whose name was almost never brought up by Tom, and so it didn’t ring any bells the first time I heard it from you. Anyway, even back then, they were doing well for themselves. I met Tom at their house, a large number with a Mercedes and a Beemer parked out front. I was glad for the job, but hesitant. I wondered why he would hire me. Men like him, with bank accounts his size, usually went with a big accounting firm, something with offices in several major cities. Me, I was small change compared to that. Still, I had a family to feed, was eager for the work.”
I had a sudden pit in my stomach. Arthur Slade had hired me, small change—pennies and nickels, in fact. Was there a pattern emerging here? “So you did the work anyway.”
He shrugged. “I had a good reputation. I figured that was enough for them.” The sigh returned. “Or at least that’s what I told myself.”
I took another sip of coffee and another nibble of muffin, despite my better judgement. “But that’s not what happened.”
He shook his head. He was still leaning in, still quietly talking. “At first, it was business as usual. Tom showed me their books, asked for some tax advice, had me do some filings for them. Pretty basic stuff, but he paid me well and the work was easy.”
All of this was sounding alarmingly familiar. “And what did you think of him?”
He grimaced. “Hated him from the get-go. Not a big believer in that whole aura mumbo-jumbo, but he had a black one. Barely even civil. All business.”
Those alarms were now gonging. “Age hasn’t mellowed him. Same for his ex.”
He pointed down at my bran muffin. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”
My head went for a shake. “I prefer not to be regular. Better to simply be surprised.”
He slid the plate his way. “More for me.” He took a chomp. “Anyway, the work was steady, and more kept coming. Tom seemed to trust me, opened more of their books, had me balance their work and personal finances, which were even more substantial than I’d first thought.”
“Huh,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Yeah, huh,” I repeated. “Super-rich guy like Tom eventually doing drag? That can’t be too common.”
Dad shrugged. “He was in prison. Maybe he lost his wealth. Maybe the Feds took it all. Or maybe he simply likes the art form.” He pointed my way. “Happens, right?”
My smile returned. “Right. And so, what happened?”
He finished the muffin and much of his coffee. I was now starving and thirsty. And I was in a coffee shop! I thought to say something but didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “The more I delved into their finances, the less they started to make sense. Those two seemed to have more money coming in than what was showing in their bank accounts. In fact, they seemed to have more money coming in than what their business was paying them, even in profits. The income had been steady and then it skyrocketed. Only, that didn’t match up with their books. I had access to their accounts, both payables and receivables. No matter how I did the math, I couldn’t get anything to balance.”
“Meaning?”
He finished his coffee and started in on mine. “Meaning, the couple had another revenue stream they weren’t telling me about, something they wanted to hide from the IRS, something Tom eventually asked me to hide. He told me it was nothing to worry about, just some side venture, but one that put them into a whole new tax bracket.”
“So, he wanted you to cook the books?”
Dad nodded. “Even if the side venture was legal, which I highly doubted, cooking the books, as you say, is not. If caught, we’d all go to prison.”
“Which is what eventually happened.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what Tom Nolan was arrested for. I quit before that happened. I’d heard he was arrested, but, by then, I’d moved on, had forgotten all about those two, until—”
“Until me.”
He finished his coffee. My bran muffin was already history. His stomach must’ve been working in overtime. “Which is why we’re here.”
“Ah,” said I. “Not for the caffeine and fiber?”
He stared at his empty cup, then at mine. “Well, not only for that.” He stacked the empty cups, one inside the other, then cleaned up the crumbs. Mom had the same affectation. Was Dad’s learned or genetic? I had a feeling it was the former. When he was finished with his routine, he replied, “Do you think you’re in danger, Barry?”
I shrugged. “A little drag never hurt anybody.”
“Not what I meant.”
My shrug stayed shrugged. “I’m no longer working at the club. My work with Arthur Slade has also ended. Tom Nolan was never arrested for a violent crime. Arthur Slade has never been arrested.”
“You seem to be avoiding the answer, Son.”
I sighed, as I was wont to do in moments such as those. “I don’t know the answer, Dad.” I sat up. I leaned in. “Like I said, the case is closed. I’ve been paid. I should move on, but…”
He frowned. He had good reason to. Mainly because I was frowning as well. “But you found out something more about Tom Nolan?” I shook my head no. “About his partner?” I shook my head yes. “Bad st
uff?” My head kept shaking. “But you’re off the case and so you don’t know what to do next?”
That frown of mine blossomed into full bloom. “Something bad is probably, almost for sure, I’d put my money on it, going on at the club. People I care about work at the club. You asked, am I in danger? I don’t think so. But them, my friends, I think they are, or possibly, probably could be. Plus, even if they’re not, shouldn’t I tell the police what I know?”
“What do you know?”
Again, I sighed. “My ex-boss, Lester, A.K.A. Auntie Bellum, is more than likely involved in drug dealing down at the club, as is Arthur Slade’s husband, Chad.”
“More than likely.”
“Probably.”
“That sure, huh?”
My sigh aptly repeated. “Almost positive.”
“Great,” said my dad. “The police love a good probably and an almost positive.”
“Which is exactly my problem. Plus, Chad is more than likely guilty, but with extenuating circumstances. I think.”
“You think?”
“Please, Dad, stop repeating the obvious. In any case, if he’s guilty, but with extenuating circumstances, I’d rather the police didn’t know, at least not yet.”
“Because Chad is one of these friends of yours that you’d like to protect.”
I nodded. “One of several.”
“You should’ve stayed at Starbucks.”
“So I’ve been told. Repeatedly and often. In any case, we’re meeting in person, which I’m assuming means you have something that is better said that way, something, I’m hoping, can help put all this bad stuff to rest.”
“Can’t a father just like spending time with his son?”
I grinned. “Sure, Dad, sure. Only, next time…” I pointed at the empty coffee cup. “Cream, sugar, whipped cream, a pump or two of something syrupy and synthetic, and definitely nothing bran-like, bran, or bran-tangential.”
He nodded. “Got it. Fake and non-fibrous. Check and check. Your mother’s notes were clearly lacking.”
My grin took on another twenty watts. “Probably on purpose; she likes to think of herself as my favorite. Odds are good, she’s trying to keep her position in the roost.” I stood up and came back a few minutes later with a real coffee, namely something that was more sugar and far less brown than what I’d previously been offered. “Now then, what do you have on Tom Nolan?”
He took a sip of my “coffee” and promptly cringed. “Ugh.”
“To which thing, the coffee or your once-client?”
“Both,” he replied, then paused, then paused some more, during which time butterflies madly flitted about inside my coffee-churning belly. “Your mother tells me you’re dating a man named Ray.”
I squinted at him. “You guys talk about my love-life?”
He shrugged. “When there’s nothing good on TV. In any case, you are, right?”
“It’s complicated.” Duh, right?
“Ray Charles?”
I gulped. My throat hurt from such a gulp. After all, Mom had only heard me refer to Ray as Ray. “You’re scaring me, Dad.”
He nodded. “Hence this in-person thing. Bad stuff is better in person, in case you need a hug.” He reached his hand across the table and placed it over mine. “Do you need a hug?”
I stared at his hand. It looked like my hand. It was an odd realization. Same fingers, different hand. Odd, like I said. “Remains to be seen. Or, um, heard.” I looked back up at him. “What does Ray Charles have to do with all this?”
His hand went back beneath the table. “No clue. Your mother mentioned you were seeing a man named Ray. I knew about your investigation, of course, and that name rang some bells. Ray. It could’ve been a coincidence, only, now I know it’s not.”
“Very lost here, Dad.”
“I’m sorry, Son. I just wanted you to know that there is a connection between Ray Charles, Tom Nolan, and Arthur Slade.”
My mind whirled. My mind, in fact, could’ve sucked up Dorothy and her whole house by that point. Ray Charles? My Ray Charles? “What kind of connection, Dad?”
“I wish I knew.”
Which made two of us. “Still lost. Loster, even.”
He nodded. “Right. Sorry. It’s just, the ledgers that Tom Nolan gave me, the books I was always trying and failing to balance, they all had Ray Charles line items. I assumed it was a fake name, some sort of alias. I asked Tom about it on numerous occasions and was always told he was an employee, that the money that went out to him was payment, the money in for sold merchandise. Only, they never told me what the merchandise was or what Ray did for them.” He fidgeted with the bran muffin wrapper. “It was always large sums of money, Barry. The money coming in, that is. Most of the time, that was the money Tom wouldn’t tell me about. Just said it was all legal stuff, not to worry, just fix the books any way I could.”
“Which is why you quit.”
He nodded. “Which is why I quit. Which is why you should do the same.”
“But my friends.”
“Is Ray one of these friends?”
I inhaled. I exhaled. My chest hurt, to better match my throat. “He sort of saved my life recently.”
“Sort of?”
I shrugged. “Had my life actually been in danger, he would’ve saved it.”
“Lost.”
“Runs in the family.”
“If one were to make assumptions, one would assume he’s dangerous. Guilt by association.”
“I’m associating with Arthur Slade and Tom Nolan. I’m presumably in Arthur Slade’s books. Am I guilty?”
He pointed at my cup. “Only of bad taste.” He locked eyes with me. “You know I’m right, though, right?”
I repeated the inhale/exhale routine. My heart now joined my chest and throat in the whole hurting thing. Did I know? Was my father right? And what could the connection possibly be between those three men? And if Arthur Slade clearly knew what I was up to, did Ray? Did Tom? Did Chad? Was I somehow being duped? And why? And by which one of them? All of them?
I rubbed my head. Too many questions. Too many questions to add to my already long list. And the last one was possibly the worst: did I still need to break up with a man who could possibly be dangerous? He didn’t have an arrest record like the rest of them did, minus my now ex-client, but what did that mean? That he was too smart to get caught or had nothing to get caught for?
Then, to add insult to injury, another frightening thought came to my addled mind. “Arthur Slade hired me to work for him, Dad. You crossed Arthur Slade at one point. If I’m in danger…”
“Fuck,” he spat, which had been the first time in my entire life I’d ever heard my father curse. My mother, sure. Daily. But never my father. “You think this is some sort of revenge thing? He hired you to get back at me?”
“Maybe you know too much.”
“But I didn’t know anything then. Still don’t now.”
“But if you did, and if I was in trouble, maybe he could use that to keep you quiet. Or maybe he put me in harm’s way on purpose, as a sort of insurance policy, so that you’d keep your mouth shut.”
Which all very much and scarily made sense. But was I in trouble?
That, of course, was the question.
Ninety-sixth on the list and rising with a bullet.
And, yes, poor choice of words on my part, but still.
* * * *
I found myself in Jeff’s bed later that night. I told him everything I knew. I told him about Ray. All my cards were on the table, even the two pairs. It felt good to tell him everything. It felt risky to tell him everything, seeing as everyone down at the club possibly had more than one secret hidden behind another one, that possibly all of them were setting me up, potentially had it in for me. And, yes, even him.
“You need to break it off with Ray,” he said.
I grinned. “Jealous much?”
“Much.”
I sighed. “I know. But he saved my life. Plus,
now he might be dangerous.” We were naked, side by side, his hand in mine. I turned his way. “Have you ever seen anything suspicious when it comes to Ray, any weird interactions between him and Auntie Bellum or him and Pearl?”
Jeff seemed to think it over before replying. “Just the opposite.”
I squinted his way. “Opposite?”
“They seem to avoid each other. Auntie is Ray’s boss, but they have minimal contact. Same for Ray and Pearl. It’s noticeable only because it’s a small club and we all hang out together while we’re there. I thought they simply didn’t like each other, but maybe there’s more to it than that.”
“Such as?”
He gripped my hand tighter in his. “Well, if they are up to no good, all of them, then it would be smart to not call attention to themselves, to whatever association they might have together. I mean, if they were regularly having meetings, sneaking off to whisper in corners, everyone would notice. Ironically, in retrospect, it’s their disassociation that’s attention-calling.” To which he added, “Boyfriend.”
My grin returned with a vengeance. As did my boner. “I promise, I’m going to call it quits with Ray as soon as possible.” And hopefully not get killed in the process.
“Um,” he ummed.
“Now what?”
“Well, maybe not.”
“Maybe not break up with Ray? Are you over me already? That was fast.” I was joking, but I was still holding my breath until he replied.
He craned his neck over and kissed me. My dick leaked out an opalescent bead of precome. “I prefer to be under you, but over is nice, too. Sideways is fine as well. In any case, no, not breaking up with you. It’s just, you now know something about Ray, something he more than likely doesn’t know you know. And maybe that something is the key to all this.”
“But I don’t know anything other than, at one time, money was changing hands between Tom and Arthur and Ray.” I sighed. I shook my head. “Still, there are just too many coincidences for there not to be a connection between all of them: Arthur was married to Tom; Arthur is now married to Lucy; Ray worked for Tom and Arthur years ago; Ray works with Tom now; and Lucy and Auntie and Tom were in prison together. Plus, we have a filing cabinet full of cash and traces of drugs.”
