Shadow Puppet

by Jeffrey Round

  “Hey, Ked! How are you?”

  “Asleep. How are you?”

  “I’m good. Lester says he saw you and Elizabeth at his concert the other night.”

  “Oh, yeah! It was awesome,” Ked said, suddenly coming to life. “Those guys are amazing. Say hi to Lester for me.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’ll let my dad talk again.”

  “Keep cool, dude.”

  “Yo, commander.”

  “See?” Dan said to his son. “It’s not that hard to be lively in the morning.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Ked said, and he went off to stare at the coffee machine.

  Dan turned back to the phone. “Anyway, I’m still following up on the leather angle. I think we’re on the right track with that one. We’ll just have to see what turns up.”

  “All right. I won’t impose on your cheery father-son morning. I’ll check in with you later.”

  Dan ended the call. He turned to see Ked leaning against the counter and eyeing him. “What’s up?”

  “Dad, it’s not good to carry all that stuff around by yourself.”

  “What stuff?”

  “All that stuff about dead people and murderers and people who disappear and everything.”

  “Oh, that. You’re right. Sometimes it gets to be a bit much. The horrible things people are capable of doing to other people.” He stopped. “Anyway, that’s why I have you. I can’t tell you all of it, but I occasionally tell you things I think you need to know.”

  “So, unload.”

  “Okay, it’s like this …”

  TWELVE

  Second Coming

  AN HOUR LATER, DAN RESOLVED to go to his office. It was a ten-minute walk through cold, blustery winds, but he knew he’d be better able to concentrate out of the house. Before he could reach his office, Prabin called on his cell.

  “Got some news for you. I talked to this Wendell guy again. We met for coffee and I showed him Nabil’s picture. Said he looked familiar, but couldn’t swear to it. I asked more about Joe and he told me Joe was in a porn movie, but didn’t know the title of it or even if he used his real name, though he doubted it.”

  “I heard the same thing from one of the contestants at the leathermen contest last night.”

  “Wendell said Joe got into the film after being invited by a bartender at Zipperz–—”

  Dan felt a stab of excitement. “Which is where Joe was last seen.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Did he say which bartender? There must be a half dozen or more.”

  “Yes. He said Joe talked about a guy named Sasha.”

  Again, S.

  “I’ve met him,” Prabin continued. “Little guy, eastern European. But tough. Looks like a bodyguard, if it’s the one I’m thinking of. He’s the front for something called Star-X Productions.”

  “Then I guess I’ll be making a stop off at Zipperz later this afternoon.” He paused. “I’m sorry to put you through all this after Randy.”

  “Never mind. All I care is that we find Nabil.”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  “I know you are. And thank you.”

  A text dinged. Dan caught Woody’s name on the screen.

  “Sounds like the world needs you,” Prabin said.

  “It needs a lot more than I can give it.”

  Prabin laughed. “Anyway, I’ll let you go.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you hear anything else.”

  “Oh, I will. I definitely will.”

  The line clicked off. Dan turned to his text: Hey, buddy. It’s pretty chilly out. How’s about a little get together so I can reclaim my vest and we can share some body heat? Doing anything tonight?

  It was Sunday. Ked was having dinner with Elizabeth’s family, which meant the house would be free all evening. Not that Dan hid things from Ked. That had never been part of their father-son arrangement. Honesty on both sides had always been their style. He would never ask Ked to stay out so he could entertain a guest, although Ked had once asked him to vacate so he could host a party of school friends. It was at that point he’d realized his son was growing up fast.

  Free tonight, he texted back. I’ll throw an extra log on the fire.

  See you then, came the reply. No set time or request for an address. That was Woody all over. Slipping in and out of his life when it pleased him. A man of sweet, if inconstant, affection. Easy to catch, but impossible to hold.

  At the office, Dan trudged up the unshovelled steps and along the half-lit hallways. More often than not, because of his late evenings and weekend hours, he was the only person in the building. It made for an eerie setting — like waking to find yourself alone in an abandoned spaceship where all the machinery still operated, lights flashing and pipes clanking, thousands of light years away from everything in space.

  He opened Nabil’s file and called the number on the card he’d found in his room. It was the weekend, so he didn’t expect an answer, but a cultivated male voice picked up.

  “I’m looking for Hanani Sheikh.”

  “Yes, that’s me. How may I help you?”

  “A friend recommended you as a website designer. He said you were the best there is.”

  “That’s quite a recommendation, but yes, it’s true. I’m the best.” He laughed. “Is yours a commercial site?”

  “Its purpose is more advertising than sales, but it is commercially oriented.”

  “What is it you intend to advertise?”

  “I guess you could call it a club. I sell memberships, that sort of thing.”

  “I see. Then you’ll probably require some sort of application to accept credit cards or PayPal. Or am I mistaken?”

  “No, you’re bang on.”

  “Then I would suggest an appointment. We can set up a time to discuss your needs.”

  “I’m free any time. Where are you located? I could pop over now, if you like.”

  There was a pause. “Who did you say your friend was who recommended me?”

  “Nabil Ahmad.”

  “I don’t recall the name.”

  “Funny — he said you did some sites for him. Brown-

  boy-dot-com? I-pose-for-you-dot-ca?”

  “Possibly. I don’t remember.” Dan heard pages being turned in the background. “I’m very sorry, but I don’t seem to have anything available in the next few weeks.”

  “What about after that?”

  “After that I’m leaving on a business trip that could take some time. If you like, I can refer you to someone else.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Dan said, and hung up.

  Curious business that turned down potential customers.

  At four, Dan finished up at the office, closed down his computer, and headed out. The wind had died down, but the snow continued. Woody would be over in a few hours. In the meantime, there was still time for a visit to Zipperz.

  Dan entered and looked around. The place was nearly empty. He took a seat at the bar and the bartender came over, a big man with a friendly face.

  “What’s your pleasure?”

  “Scotch on the rocks.”

  The man made the drink and placed it in front of Dan. Dan paid and left a ten-dollar bill sitting on the counter from his change. The man eyed it.

  “It’s yours,” Dan said. “I know how hard you guys work.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dan made a show of picking up the glass, swirling it around and sniffing it. “It’s the good stuff,” he said.

  The bartender pushed a rag across the wood countertop. “You looked like the classy sort,” he said with a wink.

  “Thanks.” He glanced around at the few solitary figures whiling away their time in the late afternoon, people too lonely or too bored to go home. “Sasha not in today?” Dan asked.

  The bartender looked up. “Nah, Sasha’s not in. He took a trip back home.”

  “Bulgaria, was it?”

  “No, Bosnia.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”<
br />
  “You could try him on Tuesday.”

  “I heard he could get me into a porn flick.” Dan made a show of looking around the bar. “I bet he must meet some interesting clientele in here. Does he get lots of promising stars here?”

  “Oh, yeah!” The big man laughed. “All kinds. I bet he’d love to have a look at you. Definitely come back Tuesday, if you’re interested.”

  Ralph did a hopeful little dance when Dan got back to the house. Dan leashed him and they headed out. The urgency of Ralph’s need became apparent when he squatted right outside the front door. Dan had to step aside to not get his boots splattered.

  “Okay, Ralphie — let’s make this quick. It’s too cold to stay out long and we’re both old men now.”

  Ralph clearly didn’t agree. He sniffed at the snow, wagging his tail like it was the best thing he’d seen all day. Dan relented and made an extra long circuit with him.

  On their return, he fed Ralph then headed upstairs to a hall closet, searching through a long-unopened box of CDs. He still remembered the leatherman’s favourites: Foreigner, Aerosmith, Heart. Woody was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them.

  The doorbell rang a few minutes before nine. When Dan opened the door, Woody thrust a six-pack of beer forward and planted a kiss on Dan’s lips. No, definitely not subtle, Dan thought.

  Woody cocked an ear and gave a listen. A tune thrashed in the background. “They’re playing our song,” he joked, looking around. “Still love this place. Always feels like home to me.”

  Dan stopped to consider how many times he’d actually been over and laughed when he recalled. He watched as Woody kicked the snow from his boots then stripped off his jacket and slung it over the banister. He’d come dressed in jeans and a black T under the layers. No leather tonight, but all the right bulges in all the right places. There wasn’t much use in trying to resist. They were upstairs before Dan knew what was happening. Woody led the way to the bedroom, as though he were over every other day instead of just twice in ten years.

  Lying in a tangle of limbs, Dan thought briefly of the hors d’oeuvres he’d left on the counter under the bright lights — olives, cheese, and caviar — and wondered if he should interrupt to put them in the fridge, but with Woody’s hands all over him the thought disappeared before he could turn it to action.

  Afterward, Dan watched as Woody held up a glass of wine, the firelight glinting off his skin. He remembered all he’d once felt for this man and all he had hoped would come of it. Outside, the snow fell silently.

  “I used to wish I could domesticate you, Woody.”

  Woody pulled him closer. “Yeah, so did I, though we both knew it wasn’t gonna happen. But if anyone could have done it, it would’ve been you. I just needed to be that bird that refused to live in the cage.”

  “I didn’t want to put you in a cage. I just wanted to wrestle you to earth once in a while.”

  Woody laughed. “These days I could just about manage it. Once in a while. Maybe.”

  “That almost sounds like an invitation to try.”

  “You know me — you can always try. You just gotta take it when it comes. But I’ll always be there for you if you need me.”

  “Good to know. Me, too.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. You are one solid guy.” Woody scooped a dollop of caviar onto a cracker and popped it into his mouth, considering as he chewed. “Weird stuff, but I like it.”

  Silence spread through the room, broken occasionally by the snapping of the fire.

  Woody shifted in Dan’s arms. “I was thinking about those guys you asked about. I hadn’t thought about Joe for a while. But I just remembered something about him. He told me once he thought someone was after him.”

  “After him why?”

  “I’m not sure. He was always a little paranoid. Afraid his family would find out about him, too.”

  Dan thought of Nabil’s brothers.

  “Particularly because of the porn, I think. I mean, he thought he was being brave to do it, but he was really afraid someone would find out.”

  “Does the name Star-X Productions ring any bells?”

  “Sure. They’re getting pretty big these days. Lots of local stars, I hear. Some of their stuff is pretty kinky. And I mean far-out weird, even for me.”

  “Do you know if Joe used his real name in the video?”

  Woody gave him an odd look. “Nobody uses their real name in those films. That would be suicide, I think. Anyway, Joe wasn’t his real name. It was like Saleem or something.”

  “Saleem?”

  Yet another S.

  “Yeah, I think that’s right.”

  Dan sat upright. “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure. Why?”

  “Was he Muslim?”

  “I think so.”

  Dan thought about the entry in Nabil’s calendar. “Do you know whether he went to a gay Muslim prayer group?”

  Woody shook his head. “I doubt it. Joe wasn’t a believer. He spent his entire life casting off his background once he realized he was gay. He said it took a lot of courage. Believe me, he was glad to be rid of them. It was his second chance at life, he said, and he wasn’t going to get back on his knees for any religion.” He gave a belly laugh at his joke.

  Dan remained by the fire after Woody left. Outside, the flurries were slowing, but the wind had begun to howl down the chimney as if it had things to say. By morning the snow would be hardened to a crust. His mind drifted with the large wet flakes.

  He texted Terence: I’m curious about Sam, your puppet maker. Was he Muslim, by any chance? The reply was almost immediate: Yes — he was Iranian. Getting somewhere with this?

  I think so, Dan texted back.

  Startled, he got up and wandered around the room till Ralph looked at him with something like concern.

  “It’s okay, Ralphie, I’m not going crazy.”

  He went upstairs to his computer and pulled up the link for the community noticeboard. I suggest we narrow it down to a probable Mediterranean background and leave it at that, Dan had said. But yes, looking at him now, Joe could easily be Muslim. And so could Adam, coming from Bosnia.

  Leaving Randy out of the equation, all the others seemed to fit into one category: Adam, Joe, Sam, and Nabil. He paced for a bit then sat and stared at the screen. Who would want to harm gay Muslims? he asked himself over and over. Dan thought of someone he could ask.

  He texted: It’s Dan Sharp. Wondering if you might have half an hour for me to bend your ear. Any time tomorrow is good. The reply came a few minutes later. Dan groaned. Five-thirty in the morning wasn’t his preferred meeting time by a long shot, but when the mountain was willing to come to you, you didn’t stop to question the timing.

  He was brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed when a second text followed on the heels of the first. It was from Domingo: Up for a morning coffee? I’ve got some eligible bachelors to tell you about!

  Dan texted back: It’ll have to wait. I’ve already got a date with Mr. Big.

  THIRTEEN

  Mr. Big

  DAN RECOGNIZED THE PLACE ON his approach, though he hadn’t been there in a while. It was one of those nondescript diners where at any given time of day you might find yourself rubbing shoulders with all levels of society: civil servants leaving work, heiresses in disguise, gangsters fresh from an assignation, local celebrities mingling with the hoi polloi, and even young Muslim girls out for a lark without their hijabs before returning home to a strict observance of Sharia law.

  He checked his watch. It was 5:12. He’d been a bit overzealous in his arrival, not to mention aggressive in his driving. Mornings were never his favourite time of day. The fact that he did his best sleuthing at night seemed to confirm that.

  At that hour, there was only a handful of customers in the place. It looked like an antechamber for the underworld, a waiting room for the newly dead. Over at a far table a cabal of old men, withered seers, sat sweating over beer steins preserve
d from last night’s festivities as though foretelling the future in froth. From the pile of dirty dishes set before them, they might have been making their way through the menu for the better part of the evening, the last meal of the condemned. In another age, they would certainly have added to the ambient fug with deep exhalations, cigarettes passing from trembling fingers to wobbling lips and back again. Shipwrecked and cast away in this modern era, their lungs resented every drag denied them. As it was, one of the group suffered from a hearty cough that sounded just a notch away from a death rattle.

  Dan was reminded how whenever men gathered in public the conversation tended to focus on the material, as though they couldn’t countenance intangibles or conceive of anything that smacked of abstraction. This bunch seemed to be in some sort of mystical state over cars, how well or badly they drove, their constant need for fuel and oil, and an inexplicable conspiracy that kept them putting winter tires on each fall only to remove them again in spring once the snow was passed. He passed them on his way to a booth, leaving them to their questioning minds.

  The only other person in the place, an older woman, sat talking to the walls in a sibilant hiss, commenting on the weather, people she hadn’t seen for some time, news from home. Her grey hair was perfectly combed and tucked beneath a coif. A thin wool sweater clung to her birdlike shoulders. Half nun, half harpy. Her claw-like hands seemed unable to grip, dropping utensils onto the table and occasionally sending them clattering to the floor with a sound that made Dan start each time, though the men at the other table seemed not to notice. With a full plate of food set before her, she obviously had means, otherwise the staff might not have been so willing to indulge her peculiarities.

  Noises from the back of the diner indicated the presence of kitchen staff, though none had yet shown to greet him. Then again, it could have been thieves ransacking the larder or raccoons helping themselves to human food.

  To Dan, everything seemed smaller than he remembered, as though some sort of shrinking ray had been scanned over the place since his last visit. He thought he recognized the busboy on his approach, but the visual didn’t fit the memory.