The Hired Man (32 page)

“They called,” he said as he motioned me into the living room, closing the door behind me. “They wanted me to come in at nine tomorrow morning, but I told them I've got a Bleeker's catalog shoot from six a.m. to at least noon. So they made it two-thirty at the City Building Annex. I left ModelMen quite a while before all this started. I don't really know what I could tell them.”

Somehow, I doubted that.

We sat on the comfortable sofa, and Matt pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offered me one. I shook my head. Either he'd forgotten I don't smoke anymore or it was a subtle teaser. He hoisted his hips to get at a lighter in his pocket, lit the cigarette with cupped hands, and took a deep drag, blowing it carefully out in a long stream well to one side of me. However, as cigarette smoke has an infuriating way of going to nonsmokers, and particularly to evangelical former smokers, it stopped its straight trajectory and, caught in an air current, did a 150-degree curve directly into my face.

“Should I be worried?” Matt asked, leaning sideways to reach one of the two ashtrays on the end table beside the sofa.

“Well, that's one of the reasons I wanted to talk with you. I have to be honest and tell you that, from what I can see, I'm afraid you and Gary are running neck and neck on the cops' list of suspects.”

He took another drag of his cigarette and held the smoke in as he said, “And why's that?”

I knew he knew damned well why that was but decided to play along with him anyway.

“Mainly because you have a reputation for liking to play rough, because you went too far with that construction guy, because you broke ModelMen's rules and they fired you for it, because you knew Stuart Anderson and Billy…that's a start.”

“And why would I kill that prostitute? I'm gay, remember? I don't have anything at all to do with women.”

I nodded. “But you have kids, which in typical heterosexual male Breeder mentality, means that no matter what you
say
, you can't possibly be really, deep-down gay. Probably just a phase. Fuck one, you can fuck ‘em all.”

Matt gave a short, derisive snort. “Yeah, I fucked one…
one
…and look where it got me. Believe me, one was more than enough to make me swear off women forever.”

We were quiet for a moment, and then I said, “Tell me about you and Gary.”

He stubbed his cigarette out and leaned sideways again to replace the ashtray on the lamp table.

“I did,” he said, not looking at me.

While I knew I was getting into a sensitive area, I decided I had to proceed anyway.

“No, you didn't. You told me a little bit about Gary, but not very much about the two of you.”

Matt twisted around slightly to be in a better position to look at me directly, resting his back between the sofa's back and arm.

“That's our business,” he said.

I shrugged. “I'm afraid that's not exactly true anymore,” I said, getting a slight feeling of
déjà vu
from having had the same basic conversation with Gary. “The cops, as I see it, have two prime suspects—you and Gary, and being cops, they're going to do their very best to pin these three murders on one or the other of you. I'd like to help you if I can, but I have to know exactly what's going on before I can even start.”

Matt just sat there, face impassive, eyes locked on mine. I suspected he was, as Gary had done before, trying to see who'd blink first. It wasn't going to be me.

After a full thirty seconds of silence, he broke the stare and sighed.

“He's going to set me up.”

That took me by surprise, although I'm not sure why. I suspected someone was setting up someone, but I had no idea who.

“For what? The murders?”

“Yes.”

“Why would he do that?”

He allowed himself a small, private smile.

“You really don't have a clue about him, do you,” he said. “Look, it doesn't matter who did those killings. Gary's going to be damned sure
he
isn't the one who gets the blame. And if the only other convenient suspect is me, he won't hesitate for a second to make sure I take the fall.”

“Then you'd better give me the whole story.”

He gave a resigned shrug. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Boot camp,” I said.

*

I won't repeat the entire conversation, but the gist of it made for some very interesting observations and speculations on my part. Matt's telling of the meeting on the bus the first day of boot camp was basically the same, but in his version, Gary had spotted him even before they got on the bus and made it a deliberate point to sit beside him. Matt got pretty strong gay vibes from Gary even then, but being from a small town and without much gay experience, he wasn't totally sure. Still, Gary had shown him some attention, and while Matt didn't say so, I suspected that was all it took to hook him.

When I asked him why he had joined the Marines to begin with, he reluctantly admitted that he'd put his ex-wife's new boyfriend in the hospital after the guy told Matt he couldn't see his kids. The judge gave him the option of going to jail or joining the military. He chose the latter and went with the Marines because that's what his father expected him to do.

It was a little hard for me to ask some of the questions I wanted to ask or to steer him where I wanted him to go without letting him know I'd already gotten Gary's side of the story, and I didn't want to do that.

Again I found it a little odd to be sitting on a sofa facing a guy so butch he'd make the Marlboro Man look like a pansy, who was talking like a lovesick teenager. From what Gary had told me about Matt's abused and loveless past, though, I'd imagine that's pretty much what he was.

It was obvious, just from the way he talked, that he'd fallen for Gary in a big way, and that he'd been sure Gary felt the same way about him. I asked him when he'd found out for sure that Gary was gay
—
okay, okay, bi—and he also told the story of their first weekend liberty, but with significant differences.

He admitted Gary had talked an awful lot about women and led a lot of the barracks who's-had-the-most-pussy brag-fests, but Matt really had no idea what a bisexual was or was supposed to be. He just hoped that Gary might decide Matt was all he needed. Sort of a reversal on the old “All you need is the love of a good woman” cliché.

Anyway, the first night of their liberty, they went to the bar, and the scenario was pretty much the way Gary had described it. Matt wasn't embarrassed about making up the clap story; it was just his way of handling the situation, and he was pretty sure Gary knew it. He wasn't even particularly surprised when Gary took the hooker back to their hotel room, again because he didn't have any experience to compare the situation with. He didn't say, as Gary had speculated, that he stood in the hotel hallway waiting for the hooker to leave but did say that, when he came back into the room, Gary was sprawled out on the bed, naked, waiting for him.

“Your turn,” Gary told him.

After that, Matt was totally under Gary's control. From what I could tell, it didn't go nearly as far as a slave-master relationship; Matt more than held his own in the sexual end of the bargain. However, Gary made most of the decisions, and Matt was more than willing to do whatever Gary asked of him.

Matt verified that they'd talked a lot, as their military time was drawing to a close, about moving somewhere together. I suspected, as Gary had indicated, that Matt probably talked more about it than Gary did.

Then, Matt's dad died a week before their enlistment was up, and Matt got an early release. It took him almost a year to sell the farm. The place was in serious disrepair, and he spent all his time getting it into shape to sell. He and Gary kept in regular contact—I'd guess Matt called more often than Gary—until one day he called and found Gary's phone had been disconnected. I could imagine how he must have felt.

A week later, Gary called from Las Vegas, asking him to come out.

It was about here that Matt's story got a hell of a lot murkier, which made it less easy to read what he was really saying. I got the feeling there were definitely some large chunks being left out, but what they might be and why he was avoiding them, I had no idea.

He had just closed on the sale of the farm and paid off all his father's debts, which left him with a total of $232.85. He packed up and drove his dad's ancient pickup to Las Vegas to join Gary.

Gary had been looking for Iris for a long time. His grandparents had not heard from her since the day she left her job at the truck stop. But Gary became obsessed with finding her. He'd talked to Matt about her a lot when they were in the Marines and sworn that one day he would find her, and that, when he did, he would make her pay for having abandoned him. He didn't go into detail as to what sort of “payment” he'd meant to extract, but it appeared he'd done pretty well for himself since he and his mother had gotten together again.

It was Gary who'd introduced Matt to hustling. It was a quick way to make a few bucks, and while it was all new to Matt, it obviously wasn't to Gary. The first few times, they worked as a team, picking up high rollers at casino bars. But a lot of guys were understandably hesitant to go off with two very butch-looking tricks at once, so they soon started working separately. Matt wasn't wild about the idea, but since Gary wanted him to…

The key bit of information here, for me, other than the control Gary had exerted over Matt, was an incident involving one of their first team-tricking outings. They'd picked up a rich Texan who was already pretty drunk, and the guy was wearing a new Rolex. Gary had mentioned the Rolex but not that he and Matt had been together when it was taken. According to Matt, Gary pointed it out to him, and after they'd gone with the guy to his hotel room and done their thing, Matt picked the watch up off the dresser, put it in his pocket, and later gave it to Gary.

Gary was delighted, and that started a pattern. Matt made a habit of bringing home something for Gary after every trick—never money or anything as valuable as a Rolex, but just something. It was usually an ashtray from the john's hotel room, but every now and then something a little special, like crystal salt and pepper shakers from a fancy restaurant a john had taken him to. Gary did, after all, like nice things.

As he talked, I began to feel as though I were being backed up into an open freezer.
Anderson's knife set!
But if Matt killed Anderson and stole the knife set and gave it to Gary, and Gary then used it to kill the prostitute…

Whoa, Charlie! Where's the logic?
No, it didn't make sense. Why would Gary use an exorbitantly expensive, easily identifiable knife to kill a prostitute? Unless Matt was right, and Gary was setting him up.

What in the hell for? If Matt killed Anderson, he didn't need to be set up—if he did it, he did it. Why kill someone else? And what about Billy? Why would Matt kill Billy? Shit, why would
Gary
kill Billy?

The only sure thing was that
somebody
had killed Billy. And Anderson. And the prostitute. But who? And why?

“So, what,” I asked finally, “broke you two up?”

Matt looked away and shrugged.

“I got tired of being used. When he needed me, I was always there for him. When I needed him… Anyway, I finally realized that, as far as the two of us were concerned, it was strictly a one-way street. Gary's way. When I finally got up the guts to tell him no, he dumped me.”

“What did he want you to do?” I asked, knowing it was none of my business and he probably wouldn't tell me. But I gave it a shot.

“It doesn't matter. It just finally dawned on me what a fucking idiot I'd been, letting him string me along all that time.”

“And that was about the same time as your run-in with the construction guy,” I said.

Matt nodded. “Yeah. It was a stupid thing to do. I knew it was wrong, and that my job would be in jeopardy. But I wanted to see if Gary would stand up for me. All he'd have had to do was put in a good word with Iris. She could never say no to him, and if she'd cut me some slack, Arnold would have, too. But he didn't. So, that was it.”

There was one other question I had to ask.

“Do you have an alibi for the times of the murders?”

He looked at me like I was seriously retarded.

“How in hell can I have an alibi when I don't even know for sure when they happened?”

Good point. Even I couldn't remember the exact dates.

“Billy died, from what I know, the night of the gay pride parade—that would be Sunday, the…”

“Twenty-sixth,” Matt supplied. “I was home by myself. I don't like crowds, so I didn't go out at all that day. Great alibi there, huh? Who the hell ever thinks they're going to need one?”

I acknowledged his logic with a cursory shrug and racked my brain for the date Anderson was killed. It had been a Sunday, too. One week or two weeks before the parade? I mentally went backwards through the days between the murders and was surprised to discover there was only one week between the two.