First You Fall: A Kevin Connor Mystery (7 page)

“I don’t get it,” I said. “What did you want to show me?”

“What do you see?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Wel , nothing weird or anything.

What’s the point?”

“Sit down,” Tony said to me. I settled on the couch.

Tony sat in a chair across from me.

“So, everything looks normal?”

I nodded.

“Nothing broken? Nothing missing? No blood?” I could see where he was going.

“No signs of a struggle? Or a robbery?” Tony continued.

“I get it,” I said.

“I wanted you to see,” Tony said, “because I know how you are. You’re not going to let this go unless you see for yourself. So I showed you.”

This was Tony’s way of looking out for me. It was actual y pretty sweet. But he was wrong.

Something about the note.

“Come here.” I took him over to Al en’s desk. “He had just written this.” I pointed out the note. “Cal T.

S.”

“Who’s T. S.?” Tony asked.

“I don’t know,” I said curtly. “That’s not the point.

This is: Why would he make a note to cal someone if he was going to kil himself? Wouldn’t he have known that he wasn’t going to be around to make that cal ?”

“He could have written that days ago,” Tony answered.

“No,” I said. “That’s a good fountain pen. You can’t leave it uncapped like that, it’l dry out. Al en was very careful with his pens.”

“Kevin, look around. This place is untouched.

There was plenty of cash in a drawer in his dresser, and a lot of expensive …” he gestured at the paintings and furnishings, “stuff here that nobody bothered to take. There’s no reason to think that this man was murdered. I don’t think an uncapped pen is evidence of a crime.”

He looked at me with serious eyes. “Nothing here is evidence of a crime.”

Suddenly, I noticed how warm it was in there. Had someone turned off the air conditioning? I felt a little woozy again.

I thought a hug from Tony might be the perfect antidote, but that didn’t look likely.

“I need a drink,” I told him. “Can I grab a bottle of water from the frig?”

“Go ahead,” Tony said. I went into the smal kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A rush of warm air whooshed out. I looked around the side and saw that it was unplugged. Apparently, the air conditioning isn’t the only thing turned off when someone dies.

Al the fresh food had been removed. There was stil bottled water, but it was warm and unappealing.

Also left behind were a few other non-perishables, including a six pack of Budweiser beer, which I knew Al en would never drink. He must have gotten it for a guest.

Al en was always considerate like that.

Now, I felt like I was going to cry again. Which I was determined not to do in front of Tony.

“There’s nothing cold,” I said, coming back into the living room. Again, Al en’s absence weighed on me like an anchor. “Can we get out of here?”

“Sure,” Tony said. “There’s a bar right down the street. Why don’t we get something to drink?” We walked without speaking and were there in five minutes. About twenty men and women stood by the bar, laughing and flirting. Framed pictures of famous athletes lined the dark wood wal s. Cigarette smoke and the wails of Aerosmith fil ed the air. If this place were any straighter, I’d melt like a vampire in daylight. We took a quiet table in the back.

Tony went to the bathroom. When the overly made-up waitress came over I ordered bottled water for myself and beer for him. It was waiting when he got back to the table.

“Hey,” he said, after taking a huge gulp of his beer, “didn’t I tel you not to tempt me with alcohol on the job?”

I couldn’t talk about Al en anymore. I didn’t want to think about death and suicide and murder. I just wanted to flirt with this man I’ve pined for since before I had pubic hair. I wanted to see where it would take me.

I bit my lower lip. “Funny,” I said, “I remember something about temptation, but that wasn’t it.” Tony rol ed his eyes.

“Anyway,” I added, “you can only tempt the wil ing.” Tony leaned closer to me. “You know what I did after I left your place last night?” he asked. “I went home and fucked my wife’s brains out.”

“Hmmm, what do you suppose had you al worked up?”

“Actual y,” Tony picked up his beer again, “I fuck her brains out every night. That’s my point, Kevin. I’m straight.” He drained his glass and signaled the waitress for another.

I wondered if he wasn’t trying to get drunk enough to fuck
my
brains out tonight. Not that I’d mind.

“Listen,” I said. “If you cal ed me here to reject me again, mission accomplished.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. I cal ed you because I wanted you to understand what happened to Al en. I didn’t want you making yourself crazy that he was murdered. But as far as the stuff between us,” his voice dropped a couple of decibels, “I don’t want to lead you on. It’s just … you know how you get me al worked up. I mean, defensive. Even when we were kids, you were always looking at me, always wanting something.”

“Yeah, wel , we’re not kids anymore. And now you know what I want.” I gave him the ful works: Took off my glasses, flipped my hair back and ran my tongue over my lips.

“I know.” He loosened his tie a little more.

“And you are tempted, right?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Just a little?”

“You know I real y cared about you, right?”

“Enough to break my heart?”

“You weren’t the only one with a heart,” he answered.

“Could have fooled me.”

“But now there’s someone else’s heart I have to think about.”

If I had to hear about his wife one more time, I was going to scream.

Just then the waitress brought Tony’s beer over, giving him a long stare. “Anything else I can get you?” she asked.

“No, thanks,” he said, not even looking up.

She stood a moment longer. “
Anything
?” She thrust her hips out. This bitch was about as subtle as a hysterectomy.

“I’m fine,” he said to her. Then to me, “So, what were you up to tonight when I cal ed you?” Wel , I thought, I was just headed home after being bound and lightly spanked by a harness-wearing accountant who wouldn’t hurt a whore. “I was kind of tied up.”

“Do you have somewhere else you need to be?” An occasion to say a line I rarely use. “I’m free.”

“Good, because I wanted to tel you something else about Al en.”

Ugh. I real y wanted to be done with that topic by now. I knew I wasn’t going to convince Tony I was right until I could come up with some kind of evidence. And I was tired of hearing him always tel ing me I was wrong.

“Go ahead,” I said.

“I’m going to share something with you, but it’s off the record, OK?”

I mimed pul ing a zipper across my lips.

“When I got to the station this morning, the captain wanted to talk to me. Turns out that Al en’s death is not an entirely random thing.”

That got my attention. “What do you mean?”

“There’s been a rash of suicides in the gay community lately. Six in the past three months.

Almost al of them were guys with no history of depression, no il nesses, none of the usual warning signs.”

“How do you know they weren’t murders?”

“In most of the cases, the evidence was pretty clear. There were a few notes, too.”

“I thought you said those weren’t that common.”

“They’re not. But they’re not unknown, either.”

“I don’t understand what this has to do with Al en,” I said. “Suicide isn’t contagious.”

“No, but it can spread. We see it al the time in col eges, high schools, social groups.”

“Yes, but that can only happen if people know about the suicides,” I said. “I haven’t heard anything about these.”

“We’re trying to keep it quiet,” Tony answered.

“And the families general y don’t want the death listed as a suicide, either, so that helps keep it out of the papers. But that doesn’t mean that these guys didn’t travel in the same circles, or know of each other.” Tony handed me a list of names. “Any of these familiar?”

I looked at six lives lost to despair. “No.” I went to hand it back to him but he waved it away.

“Keep it. Maybe something wil come to you,” he said.

I put the list in my wal et.

“But, you couldn’t say that Al en didn’t know any of these guys, right?” Tony asked.

“No.”

Tony finished his second beer. “I’m just saying I want you to be careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“Careful that nothing happens to you.”

“Careful that I don’t catch suicide? Don’t worry, I’ve had my shots.”

“That’s not funny.”

Unbidden, the waitress came over to replace Tony’s beer. “There you go, honey,” she told him. If she stuck her breasts out any further, she’d poke his eyes out. Meanwhile, my long-finished soda sat unnoticed in front of me.

“Uh, hi,” I said to her. “Two people sitting here.” She ignored me. “You sure I can’t get you something to eat, honey?” she asked Tony. I could swear I saw smoke rising from her pelvis.

Tony shook his head and gave her a steely cop’s glance that sent her scurrying away. I felt like applauding.

“Kevin,” he said, “there’s no evidence that anything other than a suicide took place in that apartment. I spent my entire day talking to his neighbors. Nothing.”

“Fine,” I told him. “I’l figure it out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if the police won’t do their jobs, then I wil .”

Tony took another long swal ow of beer. His glass was almost empty. That made three beers in ten minutes. “I’m not hearing this.”

I noticed a little slurring in Tony’s words. That son of a bitch—he
was
trying to get plastered enough to sleep with me!

It was the oldest line in the world: “Boy, was I drunk last night. I can’t remember a thing! Hope my tossing and turning didn’t bother you too much.” How rude!

How pathetic!

How wonderful!

I extended my leg under the table so that my calf pressed against his. He didn’t move away.

“Listen, I said, “I could real y use your guidance on this. Why don’t you come over to my place so we can talk?” I gave him my puppy dog stare.

Tony looked at his empty glass. “Jesus, was that my third? Guess I was thirstier than I thought. But I should be getting home.”

He stood up, staggered a little, and then sat back down again with a thud. “Guess I shouldn’t have had al those beers on an empty stomach, huh? Can’t drive now.”

We went outside, grabbed a cab, and rode cross town. We didn’t say anything on the way, but I sat real close to him and could see his body responding.

Despite the air conditioning, the taxi felt hot.

I wanted to sleep with Tony again. I didn’t care about the circumstances. Lust be not proud, and al that.

If he needed the cover of booze to let him do it, fine. I just wanted to prove that he real y did stil want me.

Once we had that established, we could go on from there.

As we boarded the elevator to my building, Tony looked at me seriously. “You know what I was saying about being total y straight?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Wel , maybe, for you at least, I’m a little bi,” The elevator doors closed and Tony closed in on me. I’ve worn cologne that didn’t cling to me as tightly as Tony did. His kisses were deep and passionate.

Meanwhile, his hands traveled down to my ass, stroking, kneading. I felt him hard against me. I answered in kind. His lips traveled to my neck, chewing. He licked his way back to my mouth.

My hands traced the scal oped muscles of his back, ran over his expansive biceps. Smal moans escaped my mouth, quiet echoes of his deeper groans.

“God, you feel so good,” he panted.

“Mmmmm,” I said. I didn’t trust myself to say anything. My heart was pounding a nostalgic rhythm of happiness, desire, and fear.

I didn’t know where this was going, but getting there sure felt great.

The elevator door opened and it took us a moment to disengage. Then, a mad dash to my door.

I fumbled for the key.

“Hurry,” Tony said. He pressed himself against my back.

God, I wanted him. I wanted him badly.

I put the key to my door, but the doorknob turned before I could insert it.

My door was unlocked.

I live in New York City. I
never
leave my door unlocked.

Someone was in my apartment. Someone uninvited.

First Al en, and now this.

Did someone know I was looking into Al en’s death? Someone with something to hide?

Was I next on the kil er’s list?

I turned to Tony, who picked up my concern.

“Let me check it out,” he whispered.

He rested his hand on his pistol and flung open the door.

A shock of horror ran through me. The sight that greeted me was more frightening than seeing Al en’s body in the street.

My mother, sitting on the couch. Two suitcases, a cosmetics bag, and a hat box by her side.

“Darling!” she said. “Momma’s home!”

I didn’t faint again, but the room did spin.

My mother embraced me in her ample bosom. “You look wonderful, honey.” She pushed me away. “And what about me? How do I look?”

My mother is 5 feet, 8 inches of Long Island chic.

She carries maybe thirty extra pounds, mostly in her chest. She was wearing a blood-red sweater with the words “Sexy Bitch” stamped in rhinestones. Her black stretch pants were tucked into knee high red vinyl boots. Her hair was teased into a high confection that could have hidden a family of squirrels.