The Dirt Peddler (11 page)

I slid my hand rapidly down his side, open palm, grabbed his ass and squeezed so hard he yelped.

“Okay, okay,” he said in a stage whisper. “So I didn't.” There was a pause and then: “You want me to?”

I squeezed again, and he buried his head in the pillow to muffle a still-audible “Owwwww!”

When I moved my arm back over his shoulder, I said, “So did you find out why he left New Eden?”

He nodded, but said nothing.

“A secret?” He flipped over so we were face-to-face, belly-to-belly.

“Barbara Dinsmore came home early last night from a trip and found her husband sitting sprea
d-
legged behind his desk in his office. He wasn't wearing any pants and Randy was there, too, on his knees between Mr. Dinsmore's legs. She wasn't happy.”

“Had she known her husband liked guys?”

He shook his head.

“If she didn't, she sure does now. Randy got right up, hitched up his pants, and left while the Dinsmores had a little talk. This morning, Mrs. Dinsmore called him into the office and told him he had exactly fifteen minutes to get off the property or she'd call the police. He said she was very calm, but he could see the fires of hell behind her eyes. He said he just hoped her brother didn't find out about it, for Mr. Dinsmore's sake.”

“Her brother?”

“Yeah, her brother is Administrative Director for the place, and apparently very protective of his little sister.”

“Interesting. And how is Randy taking all this?”

Jonathan shrugged. “He's okay with it. He said he was getting ready to leave New Eden anyway. He's got big plans. He wouldn't tell me what they are, but he's got 'em.” He was quiet a moment, then said, rather softly, “I hope they work out for him.”

“Me too.”

*

The first thing I did when I got to the office Thursday morning…well, after making coffee and reading the paper and doing the crossword puzzle, of course…was to dial Tunderew's number and ask that he call me as soon as he could. I had no idea if he was already back in town or if he'd be in later that day, but I wanted to talk with him before I went any further on the case.

Not twenty minutes later, the phone rang.

“Hardesty Investigations.”

“Tony Tunderew here. I'm at the airport, and I'm leaving immediately for my cabin up north. I'll be back in town tomorrow morning. Did you talk to Larry Fletcher?”

“Yes, I did. I also talked with your ex-wife and the Bernadines, and…”

“I didn't hire you to talk to my ex-wife and the Bernadines,” he said curtly. “I hired you to talk to Larry Fletcher. Why did you go any further than him?”

Control, Hardesty, control!

“I thought you hired me to find the blackmailer.”

“I did. I told you Larry Fletcher is the blackmailer.”

“I don't think he is.”

He sighed dramatically. “Well, I was afraid you'd say that, but then you girls always do stick together, don't you?”

“I'll send you my bill.”

I carefully replaced the phone onto its cradle lest I throw it through the window.

That rotten sonofabitch!
I thought, infinitely grateful—as he damned sure should be—that he wasn't standing in front of me at that moment.

Chapter 5

God! I hate getting that angry! I was so furious I was really glad no one else was around—especially not Tony T. Tunderew. Even
thinking
about that was scary. And my mood did not materially improve when I realized he didn't want me to find out who the blackmailer was if it wasn't Larry Fletcher. Fletcher was a real threat to him not because of being gay but because of what he probably didn't even realize he knew about where Tunderew had gotten the material for
Dirty Little Minds
. I wondered how Tunderew was getting the dirt for his new book, since he was no longer working for a company whose files he could steal.

I managed to get through the day, somehow, and by the time I left the office for home, I had myself pretty much under control. I'd hardly thought of Randy all day, or of the fact that this was Jonathan's school night, which meant that Randy and I would be alone together for a couple of hours. I wasn't particularly looking forward to that aspect of the evening—not because I was tempted to pursue the possibilities of Jonathan's revelation that Randy thought I was hot, but simply because I didn't have a clue as to what we would find to talk about.

I needn't have worried. By the time I got home, after stopping at the store to pick up items on the grocery list Jonathan had made up that morning, Jonathan was already there, sitting in the kitchen talking with Randy.

Jonathan got up from the table to give me a hug as I put the groceries down on the counter, then took a step back and looked at me, head cocked.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine. Just a rough day at work.”

“Ah,” he said, sensing I didn't want to say anything more with Randy present—he wouldn't have known what I was talking about anyway.

Jonathan rummaged through the bags for things that had to be refrigerated, and while he had the freezer door open, he took out a tray of ice cubes while I exchanged greetings with Randy.

“You want a Manhattan too, Randy?” Jonathan asked.

“Nah, I'd better pass. I don't want to smell of booze. But thanks anyway.”

I wondered what that was all about, but didn't say anything.

As long as I was by the cabinets, I got out a glass for my Manhattan. Jonathan reached for the bourbon bottle, but I waved him off. “I can get it, babe, thanks. You grab your Coke.”

“I figured we could just have hamburgers tonight,” Jonathan said, “since it's a school night. And Randy wants me to drop him off downtown, so we'll have to leave a little earlier than usual.”

Hamburgers explained the package of buns, the large bag of chips, and the cottage cheese that had been on the grocery list.

As was becoming another custom, on school nights I had my Manhattan at the kitchen table to keep Jonathan company while he fixed dinner. I reacted to hearing of Randy's plans to go into town—I didn't have to ask what he planned to do there—with slightly mixed feelings: mild relief in not having to worry what we'd find to talk about, and a slight sense of annoyance if he was expecting us, or Jonathan, to go back into town to pick him up at Hughie's again.

Jonathan, who was getting pretty good at reading my mind even when he was standing at the stove with his back to me, said, “Randy says he'll take the bus home. I'll give him my key in case he comes in late.”

“Okay,” I said, for want of anything better to say.

“Yeah, I've gotta pick up a little spending money,” Randy said.

“I'm curious. Doesn't New Eden pay the residents for their work, above and beyond the room and board?”

Randy nodded. “We get a hundred a week, on paper,” he said. “But they automatically deduct seventy-five for the room and board. It's some sort of legal bookkeeping thing. So we end up with twenty-five dollars a week spending money, but hell, I spend that much on the vending machines. I'll be doing a lot better than that pretty soon, though. I think I've got a really good job lined up, but I need some cash to hold me over.”

Again I wondered how much of the job talk was bravado and how much reality. Obviously, it wouldn't be a job through New Eden's placement center.

“I had to make a couple of long-distance calls to set it all up. Just let me know when the phone bill comes in, and I'll pay you back.”

“No problem.” I hoped he hadn't spent the entire day calling old friends in Timbuktu.

After helping me set the table, Randy went to the bathroom, which gave Jonathan a chance to ask me about work, and I gave him a brief version of my talk with Tunderew.

“Well, good riddance to him. You shouldn't be working for people like him anyway.”

*

Although Jonathan had been taking the car on school nights for some time now, I always felt a little lost without it. I hadn't planned to go anywhere, but it was just the sense of being…well, restricted, somehow.

Randy and Jonathan left a little after six. Though I tried not to think of him, Tunderew kept bubbling to the surface of my consciousness like a fart in a swimming pool. I forced myself to do the dishes, figuring that concentrating on not breaking anything would get my mind off it, but it didn't work. I don't like being used, and Tunderew had used me. What really pissed me off was the fact that he didn't trust me to follow through on the case. It was the first time in my life that I had encountered homophobia on such a personal level, and I didn't like it one bit.

Okay, okay…relax,
my mind-voice said, but I couldn't.

A phone call from our friend Jared Martinson, a former beer-delivery man now teaching Russian Literature at a college about an hour north of the city (a long story), did provide some needed distraction. Jared said he was making one of his not-frequent-enough trips to town for the weekend for a little recreation at the Male Call, his favorite leather bar. I invited him, as always, to stay with us, knowing that, as always, he'd refuse since he'd be too busy tricking. I allowed myself a small erotic fantasy of him accepting the invitation and having to spend the night sharing a bed with Randy; something I'm sure both of them would enjoy.

Also as usual when Jared came to town, we arranged to have brunch at Calypso's on Sunday before he headed back north. He said he'd call our mutual friends, Tim and Phil (after whom Jonathan's goldfish were named) to see if they'd like to join us.

Jonathan got home at the regular time, and we watched some TV and talked a while—though by unspoken mutual agreement,
not
about Tunderew. He was looking forward to getting together with Jared, Tim, and Phil, and it struck me, as it often did, how strangely gay life frequently works. All three guys had entered my life as tricks and evolved into close friends. Though Jonathan obviously knew that I'd slept with all of them—a lot more than once—he never said a word about it, and accepted them all as his friends, too.

I asked him if he'd learned anything else about Randy's mysterious job prospects and anticipated financial windfall.

“Not really.” He ran his hand idly back and forth on my thigh. “Apparently he does have something going on, though. He said he was going to meet some rich guy tomorrow night and might be going away with him for the weekend. Maybe he found himself a sugar daddy. It would be nice if he could settle down for awhile.”

Though I somehow doubted that would ever happen unless he got out of hustling for good, I just nodded and said, “Yeah, it would.”

*

The guest bedroom door was closed when we got up in the morning and I was a little surprised that I hadn't heard Randy come in, whatever time it might have been. He wasn't up by the time Jonathan and I left for work. And while Randy being there had not really been all that much of an inconvenience, I was rather hoping he'd be moving on soon.

The very first thing I did upon arriving at the office—after making coffee, but before reading the paper and doing the crossword puzzle—was to prepare a very detailed bill for Mr. Tony T. Tunderew, former client, best-selling author, and all-around jerk.

As soon as I'd sealed the envelope, I walked it down the hall to the mail slot and dropped it in. I didn't want to waste one additional minute in severing all ties with him.

When I returned to the office, I got on with the important parts of my morning ritual: drinking my coffee, reading the paper, and doing the puzzle. I then called Glen O'Banyon's office to give him the news of my parting of the ways with Tunderew. I was quite surprised, after I'd been put through to O'Banyon's secretary, Donna, to have her say, “Mr. O'Banyon is here, Mr. Hardesty. Would you like to talk with him?” It was a rare thing for him to be in the office at this hour, and rarer still that he'd be available to talk.

There was a brief pause, then O'Banyon's voice, “Good morning, Dick.”

“‘Morning, Glen. I just wanted to call to tell you…”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I just got off the phone with him. That man is a true piece of work, and I don't think he has any idea how close I am to telling him to find another attorney. I apologize for having dragged you into this in the first place.”

“Hey,
I
should be apologizing to
you
. I'd never want to jeopardize your position with a client, or to have him blame you for having referred me.”

“Oh, no worry about that. He's far from stupid, and he knows full well that, with any other lawyer, his chances of breaking the contract with Bernadine would be next to impossible. I'm not even sure I'll be able to do it. Strictly between the two of us, I feel sorry for Bernadine, but I'm obliged to do everything I can for my client, like it or not.”

“I understand. I just didn't want you to feel I'd put you in a bad position.”

He laughed. “Don't give it another thought. I'll be seeing him at four this afternoon, as a matter of fact, on the contract matter. He's driving down from his place up north for it, and I think he'll be on his best behavior.”

*

I felt a little better after talking with O'Banyon and spent the rest of the morning organizing the materials I'd gathered from my earlier trip to the Hall of Records. I'd promised the attorney for whom I'd done the job that I'd bring it by that afternoon.

I was just getting ready to leave the office when the phone rang. It was Jonathan.

“Sorry to bother you at work, Dick, but I've got another favor to ask.”

“Yeah?” I hoped it wasn't a request that Randy move in permanently.

“Randy just called, and he found out he left his new pair of sneakers at New Eden and he wondered if we could run out there tonight and pick them up before he goes to meet his friend. I thought maybe we could do that and then you and I could go out to dinner—my treat. Would that be okay? We can go someplace nice, and…”