Malachi, Ruse Master

by Pamela Schloesser Canepa

  “Well, I’ll have to see that. I bet you’re a really good singer.”

  “Ah, thanks, sweetie.” She placed two beers before me without me even ordering. Prudence knew what I drank. This was becoming a regular thing, and I wasn’t sure what to think about it. No matter; I was going to finish the job tonight. But what if Clinton didn’t show? Should I have started tailing him right after school again? I couldn’t do that with G.D. in the car. This had to work.

  “I have to go out back and make a personal call,” I told G.D.

  “Really?” He looked unnerved.

  “You’ll be fine. Sit here with our two beers and tell them you’re waiting for someone.”

  He curled his lip. “Yeah, okay.”

  Outside, I called Jack. “Hey. Can you get eyes on Clinton’s house?”

  “No. There’s no need. I already got the nightly call from Mrs. Rusche. Her son is not home. She wants to know why this is taking so long.”

  “It’s just, um, complicated. I’m really close to the truth now.” I felt like an idiot for calling Jack like this. It just made me look so incompetent. That and he sounded pretty impatient.

  “Just get the proof,” he said, then hung up the phone.

  I dragged my feet on the way back in. I hadn’t seen Clinton go through the front door. Why should I hurry? It could turn out to be a wasted night, and I already knew I was paying G.D. extra.

  Walking toward G.D., I faked a smile. “I’ll get him tonight, I can feel it.” I rubbed my hands together and took a sip of my drink.

  “That would work out great for you, huh? ‘Cause you know you’re paying me extra.”

  “Hey, lower your voice, okay? That doesn’t exactly sound good.”

  “Ha. I suppose you’re right, Malachi! Interesting night, though. But still, this has not changed me.”

  I lowered my voice. “Well, what, did you hate gay men before?”

  “No, did you? I just didn’t know there were so many. I never saw so much openness. Self-acceptance, I guess. I suppose I wasn’t ready for this. The real world is not like this.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s not. No, I’ve actually had a gay friend before, but I just didn’t understand any of it. Look at everyone. They’re so happy. No one is judging them.”

  “Well, I might be, in a way. It’s just not for me.”

  “No problem, G.D., and don’t worry. I’m only here to set the truth straight with my sister’s boyfriend. In the meantime, I’m learning a lot about his kind.”

  “His kind.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah, that sounded insensitive. There’s a reason my voice is low.”

  The crowd was thick, and at times, it was sort of like a Mardi Gras festival. We stood back to just watch and not get drawn in to very much of it. We saw a few regulars, but only one of them stopped to talk to us. We were dressed in dark colors and looked a little somber; we didn’t really fit in with the current mood. I still thought it was in character for two slasher film-makers like us, but Gillard gave me a little talking to.

  “You have to get yourself a calendar and keep up with the events here. This is a celebration! I know you’re not used to this, but come on, ease up.”

  “Sorry. We still sort of feel like spectators.”

  Gillard slipped a bright yellow boa on my shoulders. I didn’t bat an eye. He looked at G.D., who held up his hand with a “stop” motion.

  “Suit yourself,” Gillard said, and moved on to happier spectators.

  I was on edge. It would be a setback if Clinton didn’t show up. And G.D., well, he was G.D. This was not his thing, and he couldn’t hide it as well as I could.

  Eventually, Clinton did show up, though. He wore bright colors and his hair was spiky with bright fuchsia hairspray or dye in it. He paused to say hi to several people and smiled at me and G.D. Of course, there was the male model type guy in tow. Clinton must have been in love. He was beaming. They held hands as they went to the bar. I held the camera at hip level and took a photo. It was on. I was going to get this done. It made me feel like I was going to hurl, but I was going to do this. I had done this before to the man cheating on his wife and canoodling in a public restaurant in what he thought was private seating. The only difference was that Clinton was not betraying anyone, so why would he worry about someone spying on him? Nor or would he suspect that I was the spy. That was it. That was why I felt so strange about this.

  “He’s here,” I whispered to G.D.

  “Yeah, I saw you get the camera.”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “No. Trust me, everyone here has more interesting things to watch than you.”

  “Gee, thanks a lot. Do me a favor, and don’t draw any interest to our table. But if one of the guys comes over, engage them in conversation. Just ask questions, like you’re curious and friendly.”

  G.D. took a deep breath. “Ugh. Really, I don’t think anyone will anyway.”

  The camera was in my hand. I placed it under my leg while I got my jacket and placed it in my lap to hide it, then took another drink. I couldn’t constantly keep my hands under the table. Not if anyone was watching. I truly hoped they weren’t.

  Clinton and his friend, as well as a few others in the entourage, sauntered over to a table and sat. He talked animatedly. A man came over to talk to us, and G.D. launched into a million questions.

  “What are you, a reporter?” the tall gentleman asked, worried.

  “Oh, no. I’m an amateur film-maker. Slash and gore, mostly. I’m here with my bro, Mitt.”

  “Well, I’m not into slasher or gore films.”

  “Oh, no problem. But thanks for all the information!” He smiled gratefully, and the guy wandered away.

  Clinton was whispering into his friend’s ear. I knew I’d probably earn big if I could get the guy’s name, but I was so focused on getting the right photograph. I held the camera again at an angle. I was prepared. I would snap photos at several different angles just to be sure. There it was. A kiss on the ear. Snap. Then they actually kissed each other. Snap. Snap. Snap. As many as I could. Then I put the camera away just as quickly.

  “We’ll need to leave soon,” I whispered to G.D.

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  We left without hesitation, leaving two unfinished beers.

  I sped away from the club, and G.D. said nothing.

  “Can we stop at the coffee shop?”

  “They’re open this late?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

  “I guess your sister is going to be a little upset?”

  “Yes. But this could ruin his life.”

  “You’re not giving the pictures to anyone else, are you? Do you think she would attempt to ruin his life?”

  I couldn’t answer any more questions without giving too much away, so I remained silent. His words stuck with me, though: “You’re not giving them to anyone else, are you?”

  Once inside the coffee shop, I called Jack. “Hey. So, your man, Clinton, I have proof. Sorry sis,” I added for effect.

  “Um, I guess this means you can’t really talk right now? But, thanks, that’s great. His mom is chomping at the bit, and this is a big job. Heavy payday on the line here.”

  That just made me feel even worse. “I’ll come over tomorrow. Then you can decide how to move forward.” I hung up.

  G.D. shook his head and muttered, “Man, we could be celebrating if you didn’t feel so bad about this.” He guzzled an espresso like it was water after a five-mile run.

  “We’ve had plenty of celebration for one night. I need to go,” I said with a wave of the hand and abruptly got up. I suddenly realized that I was still wearing the yellow boa. I gently, guiltily pulled it off of my shoulders.

  “Here you go,” I said to a young lady at the table next to us who had her nose in a book. “It’s springtime, and this looks better on you than me.”

  She smiled back at me. I saw G.D. get up to order another espresso.


  Oddly enough, it was still early. I’d met my goal, and the night was still young. I drove to Tina Martinsen’s neighborhood, parked down the street, and watched the house. A few lights were still on, and I saw a kid in the front room, probably watching television. Eventually, Tina walked with the child to another room which I couldn’t see. Did they know how sheer these curtains were? Of course, they had no idea they were being observed by a man with binoculars. I saw Tina’s silhouette back in the living room, but she must have fallen asleep on the couch. Nothing at all had happened by 3 a.m. I figured that was enough time to observe whether Tina had had any goings-on that night. Oddly, I had almost wished that she would give me even a breadcrumb to follow, so that the answer to Mrs. Rusche would be anything other than what I had to offer.

  ***

  The next day I went to Jack’s darkroom and developed the photos. They were as clear as day and as incriminating as holding a loaded weapon. Was this what Clinton’s mom wanted? Did she suspect this? How would these photos be used? This wasn’t some poor wife who was being cheated on and slighted. I had a sense of foreboding and felt a little worried for Clinton. Still, I had a sense of duty. My mind was in turmoil. I could just destroy the photographs, but then I would not receive my pay. Funny, I had once thought this was a fun job.

  I went into the next room where Jack had been making phone calls. There was a brand new computer in a box on the floor next to his desk, and another box whose contents I could not identify.

  “Yes, we have photographs, Mrs. Rusche. I will see you later on today.”

  My face fell. There would be no bargaining with him. He already planned on taking the photos to her. These photos would open a Pandora’s Box, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be responsible for that.

  I held the photos in my shaking hands.

  “Alright, Malachi. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “Do you think we should investigate Tina Martinsen further?”

  “Well, I can have another associate tail her tonight, but the fact is, Clinton does not go to her home when he is out late at night. I have no solid evidence pertaining to this Tina that I can present to Mrs. Rusche. You, on the other hand, have solid evidence of Clinton’s whereabouts and what he is doing and hiding from his parents.”

  Laying the photographs out on his desk, I took a seat and sighed. They were very revealing: Clinton kissing another young man. Clinton holding hands with him as they approached the bar for a drink.

  “There is no evidence of him doing drugs,” I reported. I looked at him searchingly. What could these photographs mean for Clinton?

  “Well, this would explain his sneaking around, his late night hours, and hiding things from his parents.” He gathered up the photographs with both hands. “I’ll show these to Mrs. Rusche. I’m sure she’ll be relieved.”

  “Relieved? Do you really think so? What do you think will happen to him?”

  “That’s not our business, Malachi. Consider this, he is of age, old enough to be an emancipated minor, so he’s old enough to tell his parents the truth or deal with the consequences of not doing so.”

  “What if those photos fall into the wrong hands?”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “Malachi, you have delivered the photographs to me. How could they be in the wrong hands?”

  “So, you’re going to give them to his parents?” I struggled to reason it out. There was no reason his parents would want them public. Many people would find it to be quite a scandal for their family. I thought it was all just as well. Still, it didn’t sit well with me. How would his mother react to this information, or his father, for that matter? I didn’t know much about him; it seemed to be the mother who was manipulating this whole operation. Though it could have been at his dad’s request.

  “You can’t let this situation get to you personally. That will not help you in this job.”

  “No, I know. This could cause trouble with his family, though. I’m so distant with my family, I can’t tell them what is going on, I can’t tell them what I do.”

  “Why is that?”

  I could tell Jack was simply feigning interest. “We had a falling out. I hate to be the cause of that in another person’s life, that’s all.”

  “Take a little time off. You’ve done a good job. There will be a huge payday. Just wait. I should be able to cut a check for you tomorrow.”

  “Alright. I gotta go.”

  When I left Jack’s office, I sat on a bench across the street, waiting. Could I go undetected? He came out about an hour later, and I ducked behind a bush. When he took off in the car, I ran swiftly across the street and entered the building. If anyone ran into me, I’d just tell them I’d left a jacket in Jack’s office when I was there earlier. I’d have to hope they wouldn’t see me jimmying the door, or that they’d let me in. I didn’t know; I was just going to decide on the fly.

  Footsteps approached. Before I could turn around, an arm grabbed me around the neck and had me in a stronghold.

  “You should stick to the acting, and remember who you work for,” Jack whispered.

  I gasped for breath. “It’s alright, Jack. Just please, hear me out.” He really had been right; I didn’t have any fighting skills at all.

  He let me loose and put his arms down at his sides. “You may be sneaky, but I’m sneakier. I’m pretty sure why you came back.”

  “Can we go inside?”

  He sauntered over to the door and unlocked it, gesturing to me to sit down. “You won’t change my mind.”

  “I’ve read the background on his family. We’re going to ruin his life!” I dropped down into a chair and put my head in my hands.

  “Malachi, I sensed that you were feeling this way, so much so that you’d come back and try something stupid. Those photos have already been reproduced.”

  My jaw dropped. “You’re going to show them to his parents no matter what?”

  He sighed and sat down. “Look, you were hired to do a job, and you did it well. You can’t undo what you have done. That woman has been worried sick that her son is using street drugs. Now we can put her at ease.”

  “And collect a paycheck.” I glared at him.

  “I understand you’re having a crisis of conscience. Like I said, take some time off. Realize, all you have done is bring the truth into light. And you’re good at that. Not every job is like this.” He gestured to the computer and the other box on his office room floor. “I’m branching out. There is a huge opportunity now in cyber-security. I could train you. It would be different, and even better suited for you.”

  “Jack, you haven’t been listening.”

  I rushed out of there in tears. Though I didn’t have to, I tailed Clinton for the rest of the day, wondering when the shoe would drop, partly hoping things would just turn out alright. Maybe he’d just move in to his friend’s house. His friend’s mother appeared to be accepting like that.

  Chapter 16

  Fallout

  Clinton left school at the usual time. He went home, and yes, his mom was there. I parked at a distance and used my binoculars to gauge the situation.

  He left about an hour later with a duffel bag on his shoulder. Had she, or they, disowned him? It surprised me when he walked right past my car. I was slumped way down in my driver’s seat. He didn’t even look my way. I turned and saw him round the corner of his street, heading toward the bus stop. Perhaps they had taken away his car keys. I wondered what words had been said between him and his parents.

  Turning the key in the ignition, I followed slowly, until I saw him sit at a bus stop. I parked further up the road, wondering if he had noticed my car or not. He sat there with his head in his hands until a bus arrived.

  I followed the bus at a safe distance. The sign on the bus had said it was going to downtown Georgetown. So it appeared he was not heading out to party. He didn’t seem to be in the mood for celebrating, judging from his demeanor as he had walked toward the bus stop. I felt badly for him.

  Stopping in
the heart of Georgetown, the bus released a few passengers and took off again. Clinton was among them. My car was right behind the bus. Hoping the hat and sunglasses I wore were enough to disguise me, I rounded the corner and found a parking spot, then rushed to the place where I’d seen him get off the bus. Hurriedly, I walked the other way, sure he could not have been on the street where I parked. I’d been watching carefully. Moments later, I saw him ahead with that duffel bag. He wore a thin jacket. Shivering, I wondered if our first snow was coming that night. I could feel it in the air.

  He darted into a sandwich shop, and I followed, hanging back. After buying a sandwich, he sat down at a small table near the door.

  Feeling like a stalker, I also sat down at the table. “Clinton, how are you doing?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why have you been following me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know; I think I’m just paranoid. Someone’s been following me, long before today.”

  “Oh. You don’t remember meeting me, do you?” I had to quickly come up with a persona and a premise for approaching him. I figured friendly would work and could get me the information I needed. Guilt was eating at me.

  “I’ve seen you at the bar. You never were particularly friendly.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Why so friendly now?”

  “You look like you’re headed somewhere. Could I be of any help? I could give you a ride.”

  “Nope.” He took another bite.

  “Really, I mean it. Where are you headed?”

  He softened. “West, I guess. Why do you care? I’m pretty sure you’re not hitting on me. So, what’s your angle?”

  I met his question with another of my own: “Are you going to college out West?”

  “College? Huh. Nope. I don’t know where I’ll be living or how I’ll feed myself next month. So college, probably not. Unless you’re some rich benefactor. By the looks of you, I’d say—no. You’re just another lost young man like me.”

  I stared down at my hands. “Yes, I am in transition. What I mean is, I have to find a new way of life.” My mouth fumbled for the words. I didn’t know what lie to tell, or how to tell the truth.