Shadow Puppet

by Jeffrey Round

  He closed the folder and opened a daily calendar. Nabil had scheduled his daily gym sessions at the Y at varying times. And there was Prabin’s phone number next to one of the entries, as the brothers had claimed. Nabil had also blocked off time in regular afternoon shifts. Dan considered their titles: brownboy.com and iposeforyou.ca. Prabin had said Nabil was a start-up business operator with his fingers in a number of pies, but they hadn’t actually discussed his work. Dan was beginning to get an idea of the nature of Nabil’s business ventures.

  A cursory glance at both addresses showed they were pay-for-play sex sites. Soft porn, but still pricey, by the looks of it. There were always people willing to pay for a glimpse of a beautiful body.

  The calendar contained personal notes as well. In March, he’d written: Attended Almusawa, gay Muslim prayer group. Met H. Lots of us there, men and women praying together. The location changes from week to week. Of course, we are all risking our lives by being here. A few days later, he wrote: H offered to help me with web services. Really knows his stuff! He helped me create sites for brownboy and iposeforyou.

  A month later, he wrote: Went to Almusawa again. Very closeted bunch. I don’t want to live like that. H asked me to stay after the meeting. Said we needed to get to know one another better now that the sites are operational. When everyone was gone, he came on to me. I turned him down and he became condescending. “After all I’ve done for you,” he said. I should have known there was a catch. What if he tries to blackmail me? Then again, I now know a few things about him. I could do as much damage to him as he could to me. Changed my password on the sites just to be sure.

  Dan skipped down. In May, Nabil had written: Met S. I sent him flowers. He said he’d never received flowers before. A romantic nature. And then a week later: S very engaging tonight. Likes to get rough. Not what I was expecting. Called me his puppet. Said I was his toy and his plaything. Quite a conceited little ass under the skin. And again: I told S about my websites. He wasn’t shocked at all. In fact, the next time we met he asked me to make a video for some guys he knows! I said I’d think about it just to intrigue him, but I’d never do it. Would I? Told me he has visa issues. I said I’d help him look into it.

  There were further entries with the Y and hours for the sites blocked off more frequently. Must be a booming business, Dan thought. Then: H has been stalking me, showing up at the Y. It’s as if he knows when I’ll arrive.

  Not long after, Nabil wrote: S not everything I thought he was. Very manipulative. I called him my string-puller and he laughed. It’s my first real relationship, apart from R, who dropped me as soon as I got serious. I should have seen that one coming, but I am still naive. There is much to be learned about my new life in Canada.

  Dan turned to the beginning of the calendar, started five years earlier. The first entry read: How can I continue this balancing act, half-Canadian and half-Muslim? Or am I just a fraud on both fronts? Do I resent Canadians for being blind to what goes on in the world? I flirted with that idea for a while, then turned my back on it. When I lived in Oman I did not know much of what went on in Canada. And moving here saved me from a disastrous marriage. Got out just in time! Speaking of balancing acts. How would I ever have pulled that one off? Yet lots of men do every day, even here in Canada.

  The entries spoke of an identity crisis writ large.

  Dan turned back to the photographs. He found a selfie, taken with an upraised arm. In the background, slightly out of focus, a row of puppets dangled from a wire rack. He suddenly thought of Terence, the actor. One of his three Mr. Rights had been a puppet maker.

  He snapped a picture of the photo with his phone and downloaded the calendar onto a USB stick. Turning, he saw a card tucked under the webcam: Hanani Sheikh — Sheikh IT! Designs.

  H.

  He put it in his pocket.

  The brothers were seated in the same place when he came out of Nabil’s room.

  “Thanks for the look,” Dan said. “It was helpful. I’ve got some leads for now, but there was too much data to go through. At some point, I’d like to come back and take the computer with me.”

  Amir consulted with Mustafa in Arabic then turned back to Dan. “My brother says there are tax records and personal papers on the computer that should not leave the house. We will copy these first and then you may remove it.”

  “Thank you.” Dan waited. “Did Nabil ever mention someone who collected or made puppets?”

  The brothers exchanged looks and shook their heads at the same time.

  “No.”

  “How about someone name Hanani Sheikh? He might have been helping Nabil with his websites.”

  Again, the response was negative.

  “Do you know how your brother made his money? What his businesses entailed?”

  “Yes, he was tutoring university students,” Amir said. “He seemed to do very well at it. Nabil’s English is much better than ours.”

  The response seemed genuine.

  “You said there were other times when Nabil did not come home overnight, but that he returned by morning. Is this correct?”

  “Yes, once or twice he said he fell asleep at a party. That was most unlike him. He is, how do you say, a vigilant person. He does not let his guard down easily.”

  “I understand,” Dan said. “Can you think of any other time when he stayed away longer than a single night?”

  Amir took a deep breath, averting his gaze for a moment.

  “I assure you it’s always better if I know the truth,” Dan said. “No matter how bad or embarrassing.”

  “There was one other time,” Mustafa broke in. “Not in Canada, but back in Oman. Our parents arranged a marriage for Nabil when he was twenty-four years old. They thought he was old enough to be a man and that he was putting off the inevitable.”

  “They found a wife for him?” The disastrous marriage he’d written of.

  “Yes. When they informed him of this, he ran away from home for a week. Only my brother and I knew where he had gone.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “He went to stay at the home of our cousin Waseem.”

  “But he came back?”

  “Yes,” Mustafa said. “He came back because we had the letter of approval to emigrate to Canada. I went to inform him of this. Soon after, the marriage promise was annulled by our family.”

  “How did your parents feel about it?”

  Amir shrugged. “They were ashamed of him for breaking the family’s promise, but on the other hand they thought he would find a better wife in Canada.”

  “Wasn’t it odd that they were trying to marry Nabil before you? You are the elder brother, are you not?”

  Amir nodded. “I am the elder brother. And I am married. My wife is back in Oman, where I have two sons. One day, when I have enough money, I will bring them to Canada.”

  Five minutes later, Dan was sitting in his car. He had Terence on the phone.

  “Dan! I meant to call you, but you beat me to it. How are things?”

  “You first.”

  “Okay, I wanted to tell you that you’re my good-luck charm.”

  “How so?”

  “I got the part from the audition I went to right after meeting you. The said they loved my energy and my joyful disposition. I didn’t tell them that it was because of the hot guy I had just met and that my normal disposition is gloomy.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that’s true, but thanks for the compliment.”

  “So, yeah. That’s all good. Unfortunately …”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah, big uh-oh. It’s a TV series about Napoleon. It’s being shot in France. I leave for four months starting next week.”

  “Oh, well, that’s …”

  “Yeah. Not good for dating.”

  “So, I guess I’ll see you next spring.”

  “Something like that. You know what they say. Chance of a lifetime and all that. Gotta take it when the taking’s good. Sorry about the timing. I’m
a slave to the powers that be. Now you. What’s going on?”

  “I’m on the trail of someone I thought you might be able to shed some light on.”

  “Me? Seriously? You think I can help you?”

  “Possibly. You said you dated a puppet maker who disappeared.”

  Terence’s voice was suddenly serious. “That’s right. We had plans, but he disappeared. I never saw him again.”

  “What did you say his name was?”

  “Sam.”

  S.

  “Just Sam?”

  “I never knew his last name. As I said, he was closeted. But he was very sweet, quite a simple soul. Exquisite manners.”

  “I’ve got what looks like a selfie in a room with puppets hanging in the background. I wondered if you could identify the place from the photograph.”

  “I could try.”

  “Hang on. I’ll send it to you.”

  A moment later, Terence said, “It’s his apartment, all right. How … I mean … who gave you this?”

  “It was taken by a guy named Nabil who’s gone missing. I was hired by his brothers to find him. He’s gay, but closeted. I found this on his computer.”

  “Incredible.” He seemed to be mulling this over. “So maybe the guy I was seeing was seeing someone else. I always thought that might have been why he never called back.”

  “When did you date him?”

  “Last winter. It ended sometime in January when he disappeared.”

  “Interesting. This guy seemed to have dated him far more recently.”

  “He must have returned without telling me. But in that case his visa would have expired.”

  “Was he associated with the leather community by any chance?”

  “Not that he mentioned. Are you sure it’s the same guy?”

  “Pretty sure. My client called him S. Said he had visa issues, just like your guy. How long did you and Sam date?”

  “Oh, not long. A month, maybe?”

  Dan gave a low laugh. “Maybe that’s why he was Mr. Perfect. You never got the chance to know him in depth.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Terence sounded sheepish.

  EIGHT

  Under Pressure

  DAN ARRIVED AT DONNY AND Prabin’s building at eight. A blast of cold air and snow blew in behind him as he entered. He stamped his feet and pressed the intercom. After a moment, he was buzzed in by an authoritarian snap of the lock. The sounds of the city receded as he passed through into the lobby’s soft hush.

  It didn’t last. Behind him, a diminutive figure grabbed the door and raced inside. If he hadn’t seen the wrinkled face and stubbly chin, Dan might have mistaken him for a teenager. He was dressed in a track suit that looked as though it hadn’t been washed for some time. Dan got a whiff of something pungent as the man sped past.

  The concierge looked up from behind a large desk, clocking the two of them together. “Hold on there.”

  Dan stopped and turned. The old man kept going toward the elevators, a force of nature humming a strange little ditty and staring brightly ahead as though he inhabited another dimension.

  “You! Stop!”

  The concierge practically vaulted himself over the counter to head off the intruder, who had begun pressing all the elevator buttons.

  “Who are you visiting?” the concierge demanded.

  The little man looked up at the tall figure bearing down on him and let out a scream, batting his head with his hands as though warding off a swarm of bees.

  The elevator dinged. Before the gold-trimmed doors could open, however, the concierge grabbed the man by the arm and dragged him across the lobby, his captive screaming all the way.

  “You’re hurting him,” Dan said loudly.

  The concierge had by now assumed full-commando mode. “Mind your business!”

  Dan pulled out his cell and dialed Donny’s number, letting him know the situation.

  Once he had forcibly evicted the intruder, the concierge returned to the lobby. He looked surprised to see Dan still there. “What’s your business here?”

  “I’m visiting friends. I was buzzed in. You were hurting that man.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s your fault. You let that skanky bastard in.”

  “I didn’t let the gentleman in. He came in behind me.”

  Just then the elevator doors opened and Donny came striding toward them. He took in Dan then looked over to the concierge. “What’s going on?”

  The concierge indicated Dan with a nod. “Is this your guest?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your guest let in an undesirable. For the record.”

  “My guest is a private investigator. He’s also a friend of the chief of police. For the record.”

  The man seemed to shrink a little at the words. “Make sure he behaves or I’ll have to report you both.”

  Dan watched as Donny walked up to the concierge and stared him down, six inches from his face.

  “This is my home. You are an employee here. If I can have you fired for your rudeness, I will.”

  There was a second when it could have gone either way, the concierge backing down or pushing forward, but just then the desk phone rang. He fumbled the receiver from its base and answered. His eyes flitted away from the two men, who seemed to have been dismissed or at least conveniently forgotten.

  Dan silently followed Donny to the elevator and waited till the doors closed on them. “Nice point that, about the chief.”

  “Well, it’s true. Sort of. Isn’t it?”

  “Calling him a ‘friend’ might be stretching it.”

  “Anyway, you know him.”

  “That at least is correct. And in case you’re wondering, the guard was at fault. I thought he needed to be put in his place.”

  Donny gave him a sidelong glance. “I wasn’t wondering. I know you. It’s just that where others see a scrawny security guard flexing his muscles, you see the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Do I even want to know what happened?”

  “Apparently I let in an undesirable. I didn’t mean to. He ran around until he got thrown out. End of story.”

  Donny took this in for a moment. “Is it possible you have a problem with authority figures?”

  “Undoubtedly. But that’s not really the issue. He was hurting that poor old man, who was obviously not in his right mind. He could have got rid of him without the strong-arm stuff.”

  “I’m just glad it wasn’t Raúl.”

  “Raúl?”

  “A very sexy Dominicano. This asshole is a homophobe. I saw him snickering at some old queen last week. I told him to wipe the grin off his face or I’d report him. He’s been looking for a chance to bust my balls ever since, one black man to another.”

  “Sorry I gave it to him on a platter.”

  Donny cracked his knuckles and flexed his shoulders. “I’m kind of glad you did. Now I can happily go after him the next time he does anything.”

  The elevator doors opened onto a ghostly corridor that always reminded Dan of a mausoleum. Such were the realities of modern urban living.

  Inside the condo was a different story. Expressionist art dominated, colourful, wild. A sultry jazz beat plied the airwaves. Prabin sat next to Domingo on the same leather couch they’d sat on after the memorial. The sky was clear, offering a backdrop overlooking the city’s east end. In the distance, cars raced along the expressway with the harbour unfurling beyond. For a moment no one stirred in this still life with human figures.

  Martini glasses sat perched on a Lucite coffee table, empty out of respect for Dan, who had stopped drinking abruptly several years earlier, leaving behind a blurred past of excess and self-abuse. The reformation had been at Kedrick’s insistence, but with Donny’s whole-hearted endorsement.

  “Danny has been playing superhero in our lobby,” Donny announced.

  “Again?” It was Prabin who spoke. “The last time he visited, I swear I saw him fly across the room.”

  “He can’t help it,” Doming
o said. “Wherever he goes, trouble follows. We just have to forgive him.”

  Donny brought out a tray of cheese and cured meats and set it on the coffee table. “I’m still trying to get over the last time, when he ordered the pool evacuated after some rowdy three-year-old used it as a toilet.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” Dan protested.

  “It never is. Things just seem to go a little bit crazy whenever you’re around.” He waved it all away with one hand. “What are you drinking? We’ve got San Pellegrino and every exotic juice you can think of — guava, mango, tamarind.”

  “Just coffee, please.”

  “That’s boring.”

  “What can I say? I’m a boring guy.”

  “Hardly. As I never tire of telling people, my friend Danny is white but only on the outside.”

  Domingo whooped. “You got that right!”

  Donny went back to the kitchen then returned, setting a steaming cup of coffee on the table. He clapped his hands. “All right, everyone. I call this meeting to order. We are convened to look into the matter of missing and murdered men from Toronto’s gay ghetto. What do we know so far? Who wants to start?”

  Prabin looked up. “I’ll start. In the last year, at least two men have been declared missing and a third murdered. The first, a guy named Joe, was last seen by his friend Wendell on April fourth at Zipperz on Carlton Street. It was Wendell who distributed the posters around the neighbourhood. I called Wendell and made inquiries. He told me they had a dinner date the next night, but Joe never showed up.”

  Dan looked over. “Did you ask him Joe’s last name? It might help me track more information.”

  Prabin shook his head. “I asked, but Wendell didn’t know. He’s new to the city and they’d only been friends for a couple of months. Apparently, Joe had lived here for about ten years. He had various jobs during that time, but was unemployed when he disappeared. Since then, there’s been no word from him. Wendell is convinced something bad happened to him, but he has nothing to go on. He said I was the only one who called about the poster.”

  “Did he go to the police?”

  “He dropped in at the station to report him missing, but as soon as he told them Joe was gay they dismissed him, saying he was probably on a weekend drug binge and would show up soon.”