Couldn't Cheat Death

by A. P. Eisen

  “Sometimes if we don’t pull away a little, we can drown in facts and details. When I’m working very hard on something, I find stepping away from it allows me to return with a fresh perspective, and then I see things I might’ve missed, or a new idea pops out at me.”

  Paul chewed some more fries. “Yeah. Problem is, everyone I know is basically in the PD. I don’t have anyone else to take my mind off the job. We’re all in the same predicament.” His mouth quirked. “Maybe I should get a dog.”

  Cliff toyed with his napkin. “That’s a drastic solution. I’m thinking something else.”

  Paul’s brows knitted together. “Oh? Like what?”

  “Well, I’m thinking like the run we had this morning. That was good, right?”

  “Yeah. Even if I did talk your ear off about the investigation.” He frowned. “See? No matter what or where, it’s on my mind. It’s not a switch I can turn off, and I’m not sure I want to.”

  True. Cliff took a sweet-potato fry and dipped it in the ketchup, but set it down before eating it. “Eventually the murder will be solved. I have faith in the police. But that doesn’t mean we can’t run again. I mean, we both run—might as well do it together.”

  Paul remained silent, and Cliff shifted in his chair.

  “Or not. You can forget I said it.”

  “I’m trying to figure out why you’d want to do this.”

  Because I’ve never gotten over the crush I had on you since I was thirteen.

  “Well, I enjoyed this morning. And I feel like we have a history where even if we weren’t friends, we have that connection through Harley.”

  That, more than any other words, seemed to strike a chord. Paul’s jaw tightened, and he dipped his head. It wasn’t hard to figure out Paul Monroe didn’t grant emotions a significant part of what made him tick. Cliff could see him struggling.

  “It’s been nice catching up,” Cliff added. “And it doesn’t only have to be running. Something to take your focus off the job and mine from the mind-numbing annoyances that build up over the day here. I think it’s called friendship? You can correct me if I’m wrong.”

  “Is that what it’s called?” Paul gave a slight chuckle. “Okay. I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  A warm glow kindled inside Cliff, and he returned Paul’s grin. “We can start tonight if you want. Maybe grab something to eat?”

  “Where would you want to go?”

  “Oh, I can cook. If you don’t mind coming to my house.”

  “Um, sure.” For the first time, Paul seemed irresolute. Not the confident, strong man Cliff knew him to be on the job, and ironically, that made him more approachable and human to Cliff.

  “We can have drinks here at the hotel bar or at the Wild Orchid.” That was a new place in town Cliff had found, where he and his openly gay friends felt comfortable.

  “I think after this afternoon, I’d probably be better off leaving the premises. I’m interviewing several of the bartenders, and I don’t know how happy they’ll be serving me after I finish questioning them.”

  “Deal. I’ll be here or around the hotel whenever you finish your interrogations.”

  Paul’s smile warmed. “We prefer to call it questioning. No bright lights shining in their eyes.”

  “Ha-ha. Okay, Detective, I get it. Trust me, I know a few people who wouldn’t mind a man in uniform getting a little dominant.”

  A hot, dangerous light sparked in Paul’s eyes, and Cliff’s heart pounded. That had slipped out. With his friends, Cliff was open and free, and they never had to watch themselves. If he planned on being Paul’s friend, would he have to learn to dial it back a bit? Cliff wasn’t so sure he’d be able to do that. Or willing.

  “I’d better get going,” Paul said. “My partner will be waiting for me.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

  When Paul left, Cliff exhaled a shaky breath and reached for the phone. “Hey, Ry?”

  His best friend, Ryan McNamara, was a firefighter with the Thornwood Park Fire Department and president of the firefighters’ union, the first openly gay man to be elected to the position.

  “Cliffie, what’s going on?”

  “You busy?”

  “Nope. I’m off shift today. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I need someone levelheaded, who isn’t too close to the situation, to tell me I’m not being an asshole.”

  “Okay.…That told me a whole lot of nothing. Start from the beginning and unpack it for me.”

  Cliff relayed the entire story, everything from his unrequited crush on Paul when he was a kid, to the possibility of Paul having gotten a blowjob at the Light Bulb and being a closeted, gay police officer.

  “Well, you really don’t do things easy, do you?”

  “In other words, you think I’m being foolish.”

  “Look. None of us are smart about this shit. And you have this weird connection because of his dead brother and your teenage crush. What I know from my union work, the fire department has a better track record with its LGBTQ members than the PD. Not great, but better. That may be why Paul holds back. He probably sees and hears shit he doesn’t want to talk about.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “None of it is good. So what do you want to do about it? I remember you were done being the hidden boyfriend when Lincoln refused to go out with you in public. ‘No more dirty secret,’ you said. So what’s changed?”

  “I’m not planning on being his boyfriend.”

  “Then what the hell is this phone call about? ’Cause from everything I’ve heard, you’re still hot for him.”

  Cliff swiveled his chair around to face the wall. “I’m just thinking that maybe I can help him, and help myself too.”

  “How so?” Ryan sounded genuinely curious.

  “Paul’s got no one in his life; his mother and brother are dead, his father lives far away, and all his friends and acquaintances are police officers. There’s not a single thing or person in his life that doesn’t revolve around work and the police department.”

  “So in comes Cliff. The knight in shining armor.”

  “I’m sensing sarcasm.” He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one. Cliff tucked the receiver under his chin to rub at his eyes. “Look. I have a hard time explaining this myself, but I feel bad for the guy. He’s lonely. Especially if he’s struggling with who he is. So why would that be wrong?”

  “Because you’re not interested in sex for sex’s sake. You don’t fuck around. At least you never have.”

  “Well, maybe I should,” Cliff said with a flare of annoyance. “Plenty of people do, and they don’t suffer for it. Why not me? I’m under no illusion that if it did happen between Paul and myself, it would be anything but physical. Maybe it’s what I want and need to get it out of my system.”

  “Are you finished?” Ryan asked in that mildly infuriating calm voice.

  “Yeah,” Cliff snapped, wincing at his childishness.

  “I say go for it. Have raunchy, wall-banging sex with him, and then when the time comes, walk away. After twenty years you’ll have finally gotten what you wanted, and Paul will be with a guy who cares.”

  “I do care. As a friend.”

  “You’re my friend, and we’ve never had sex, never even thought about it.”

  “It-it’s not the same,” Cliff said weakly.

  “Exactly my point. Talk to you soon.”

  Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Cliff struggled with himself and against his intentions. He had no idea what made him think Paul would open up to him. A man as tightly guarded for as many years as Paul wouldn’t succumb to this minor flirtation. He didn’t need Cliff. Paul could find sex anywhere, as evidenced by that night at the Light Bulb. A man like Paul would never have trouble getting what he wanted.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Glamor boy out there yet?”

  Paul stretched his arms up to the ceiling and twisted his neck from side to side, wincing at the clicking sou
nd.

  Rob chuckled. “Troy Tremaine, cover model. Gotta admit, it’s a great name.”

  “Yeah, he’s the one Amy Parsons, the bartender, said was afraid Jerry might out him for steroid use.”

  “Well, let me go get Mr. America in here.” Rob opened the door. “Mr. Tremaine, please come inside.”

  Paul watched Tremaine saunter in. He was certainly fit and took care of himself. His dark hair, sleek as a seal’s pelt, was expensively cut and styled, and the tight, short-sleeved T-shirt in the same brilliant blue as his eyes clung to his muscled arms and stretched across his broad chest. His smooth skin gleamed and spoke of hours in a tanning salon.

  Troy flashed his bright smile as if he were there for a photo op and not as a potential suspect in a murder case. Troy might come with his own personal soundtrack of “Sexy and I Know It,” but Paul had been at this game long enough to see beneath the flash. The man was on edge.

  “Sit down, Troy.”

  The toothpaste-white smile faltered for a moment, and Paul watched the man’s eyes narrow, then return to the lazy grin he must’ve spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting.

  “Okay, Officer.”

  “Detective,” Paul said. “I’m Detective Paul Monroe, and this is Detective Rob Gormley with the Thornwood Park Police Department. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “About Jerry, I assume?” Troy crossed his arms and thrust out a bicep sporting a huge eagle tattoo.

  “About Mr. Gregoria, yes. Were you acquainted with the deceased?”

  “I knew him, yeah.”

  Paul took the lead on questioning.

  “How were you acquainted?”

  “We worked out at the same gym.”

  “Which one?”

  “Flex, over on Walnut Street.”

  “I’m familiar with it. So you knew him from the gym. Anywhere else?”

  “I’ve seen him around.”

  “Where?”

  Troy shifted in his seat. “I dunno. Here and there. Around, you know?”

  Paul gave a thin smile. “Yes. Did you have a personal relationship with Jerry?”

  “Whaddya mean by that?” His eyes focused everywhere but on Paul’s face, and Paul knew.

  “Come on, Troy,” he said in a soft voice. “Tell us the truth. You know we’re going to find out anyway. Did you and Jerry have a relationship that went beyond friendship?”

  “So what?” he snapped at Paul, blue eyes sharp as flint, lips thin and white. “Yeah. We hooked up. Doesn’t mean I killed him.”

  “No one said that. How long had you and Jerry been seeing each other?”

  “About a year.” His mouth drooped. “We were talking about moving in together.”

  “You were? When was the last time you talked about it?” This information was more than a surprise to Paul. He’d imagined Jerry and Troy getting it on at a club a few times. He didn’t expect a relationship.

  “ ’Bout a month ago. I wanted him to, but he said he wasn’t sure.”

  This was a different Troy than the earlier swaggering man. He seemed a bit broken. Lost.

  “Did you get into an argument in the lobby this past Monday?”

  Screwing up his face, Troy tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t think so.”

  Rob barked out, “Troy, do you use steroids?”

  Watching Troy carefully for signs of deceit, Paul saw his lips tremble and his skin turn ashen.

  “Don’t lie to us, please.”

  “I didn’t want to, but some guys at the gym were talking about it and said it worked. I tried it, and after only a month I bulked up, and then the covers and modeling jobs started coming in. I thought I could handle it.”

  There’d been enough stories of “ ’roid rage” in the news for Paul to know how out of control someone could get from overusing. Enough to kill? It didn’t seem too far out of the realm of possibility.

  “How long have you been using them?”

  “About four or five months.”

  “Did Jerry know?”

  Troy chewed on a fingernail. “Not at first. When he found out, he got pissed. Said I could get arrested.”

  “More importantly, you could’ve died.”

  “I stopped taking them, but I don’t think Jerry believed me.”

  “And did you fight about that here the other day?”

  “N-no. I’d been posing with one of the authors. She paid me to come here for two days and take pictures with the fans and sign books. It was cool. I didn’t mind the ladies touching me. Jerry told me they didn’t like me, just my body. That I was nothing to them.”

  At that moment, Paul realized how young Troy was and how all the adulation probably went to his head.

  “So you had a fight?” he prompted Troy.

  “I told him he was jealous because people were paying me attention, and he should stop. And then he said I was stupid. Nothing but an empty-headed muscle jerk who was too stupid to know when he was being used.”

  “And that made you angry.”

  “He told me I was young and dumb. That I was nothing more than a piece of ass.”

  Paul winced. Shit. That was awful to hear from anyone, but especially from your lover. “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him to fuck off and that I never wanted to see him again.”

  “Okay. Did you leave it at that? Part ways afterward?” Rob propped his chin on his hand.

  “He kept laughing at me, and it pissed me off. I don’t like people calling me stupid.” His breath came in short pants, and his face turned red. “I’m not stupid. He had no right calling me that.” His hands curled into fists.

  Rob’s sideways glance met Paul’s, and he knew what his partner was thinking. How volatile was Troy’s temper? Anything might trigger him.

  “Where were you on the afternoon of Jerry’s murder?”

  Troy’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Wh-what time?”

  “Between five and five thirty p.m.” Paul gave him what he hoped was a comforting smile as Troy’s brows knitted together. “Take your time.”

  “I had an appointment to meet with an author’s fan group. These people wanted me to take pictures with them, and I also signed their books.” He stated that last sentence with pride.

  “So you’re pretty popular, huh?” Rob flashed him a grin. “The ladies love you?”

  Troy puffed up a bit and nodded. “Oh, yeah. I have a following on Instagram and an OnlyFans Account.”

  “OnlyFans?” Paul scribbled down the name.

  “It’s a website where people pay monthly for you to post pictures or videos. Stuff like that.”

  A whole world existed that Paul had no clue about. “Okay, so do you remember what happened after that?”

  Troy screwed up his face in thought, and it looked so painful, Paul hoped the man wasn’t hurting his brain.

  “Afterward I went and had a drink at the bar and then left to go home.”

  “Do you remember the time?”

  “Yeah. Like five-ish?” He gnawed at his lower lip.

  “Did you stop anywhere along the way maybe?”

  “N-no. I went straight home and fed my dog. We went for a walk and I took a nap.”

  What the hell was with everyone taking naps in the middle of the day? He barely had time to go to the bathroom. Paul rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Did you make any phone calls or go on the computer?”

  “No. I was kinda zonked from the night before. I didn’t get much sleep ’cause there was a party at the hotel. I was there till around two in the morning.”

  “Oh? Was Jerry there with you?”

  “He was working the bar, and I was there as a cover model, so we were both working.”

  “And after? Did you go home with him?”

  Red-faced, Troy shook his head. “No. He was too busy talking to the lady in charge of the restaurant.”

  “Ms. Kennedy?”

  He shrugged. “I don�
��t know her name. She’s kinda older…classy looking. Wavy long hair.”

  Sounded like Jade Kennedy to Paul, and he wrote it down. Looked like she found him before Troy.

  “Were you angry at Jerry for snubbing you and going off with a woman?”

  “Oh, they weren’t screwing. I mean, she’s not his type.”

  Breathing-and-with-a-pulse seemed to be Jerry’s type, but Paul had to ask anyway. “What was Jerry’s type?”

  “He liked people younger than him. He was thirty-two, and she has to be at least forty.”

  “Ancient,” Paul said in all seriousness, and Troy, completely oblivious, agreed.

  “I mean, yeah. I’m only twenty-three, and before me he was dating Irina from the gym. She’s a spin instructor, and twenty-one or twenty-two.”

  Paul honestly couldn’t imagine when the guy found time to take a shower and eat. When Jerry hadn’t been working, he’d been busy in the sack with someone. Paul felt tired thinking about it.

  “Okay. Anything else you can remember?” He and Rob wrote everything down.

  He shook his head. “Nah. That’s it. Can I go now?”

  “Yeah, we’ll be in touch.”

  After Troy left, Paul and Rob simultaneously tossed their pens onto the table. “Goddamn. Was there anyone in Thornwood Park Jerry didn’t screw? Besides us, of course.” Rob yawned and stretched. “I got exhausted listening to all that.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. And we have another suspect with no real alibi.”

  “Yeah. This is going nowhere. But we have one more witness to interview. Amy Parsons, the bartender.”

  “I’ll get her. I need to stand up before my ass becomes permanently stuck to the chair.”

  The muscles in Paul’s back ached when he stood and stretched, and he groaned. “God, I’m stiff.”

  “Maybe you need a massage. The spa on Main Street does a good job.”

  Paul stared at his friend. “You? You’ve gotten a massage?”

  A faint blush tinted Rob’s cheeks. “Yeah. Annabel got us a couples one for Valentine’s Day. I had some big dude, and let me tell you, he had magic fingers.”

  “Yeah? Sounds interesting.”

  “I know you’re probably thinking it’s weird to have some guy touching you all over, but it was worth it.”