The Orchid Eater (16 page)

“What kind
of thing?”

“I’m not
sure. The kid was over by the phone booth. I think maybe he ripped a page out
of it; Craig never said. He’d gone over to scare him off, maybe hassle him a
little. No big deal at the time. But it bothered me when I saw this kid all of
a sudden today. Like, what was he still doing around? I only saw him right
around the time Craig died. Thing is, I sort of remember him going to the beach
that morning, down by the storm drain. . . . It’s kind of unclear. But I told
Hawk I’d tell him if I thought of anything, you know, that bothered me. And the
more I think about it, the more I wonder if I might have seen that kid the next
day, like on the morning Craig died. On the beach or the boardwalk or
somewhere, maybe just out the corner of my eye, like that. I’m sorry it’s so
confused.”

It had been
less confused a sixpack earlier, Hawk thought irritably. Alec had been sure of
it then.

“And . . .
so . . . what does this have to do with me? Or with Sal?”

“That was my
idea,” Hawk said. “Come on, I’ll stand, you sit down.”

“I’m fine,
Hawk. I’m just choking in here.”

“We could go
outside, but when people see I’m home, they tend to drop by.”

Randy said,
“You still give your sermons?”

“Sure,” Hawk
said. “On the mount.”

“The
hillside, you mean.”

“That’s the
place.”

“So let’s go
up there.”

They made
their way onto the hill behind the trailer, where Hawk could easily see anyone
driving into the lot. There was shade, so they were cooler as well as more
secluded. Hawk didn’t like Alec drinking up here, or smoking. He didn’t permit
his boys to do either. But he wasn’t about to say anything to Alec. Too late to
be an influence there.

“So . . .” Randy
said when they had settled down on stumps. “Alec got me thinking,” Hawk said.
“Remember the night before Craig’s murder?”

Randy’s face
was unreadable.

“You know,
with that trouble up on the hill?”

Randy
grinned suddenly. “Yeah, I remember.” He chuckled. “Night of the avocado. Your
tough little straight boys running from a gang of queens. That was quite a
sight.”

Hawk agreed
that it must have been, but he suppressed his own smile.

“Took two
coats to hide that guacamole stain.”

“Yeah? What
it started me thinking was—there was someone else around that night. Remember?
I never saw him, but you did.”

Randy’s face
grew serious again. “Sal’s brother? Is that who you’re after?”

“That’s why
I called you. I couldn’t just go up and ask Sal questions like this, make him
think we’re looking for his brother.”

“You saw him
today?” Randy asked Alec.

“I don’t
know who I saw. He was kind of unique looking, though, like I said. Memorable.”

Hawk asked,
“What did he look like, Randy?”

Randy’s eyes
drifted toward the trees. “He looked like a boy. Like a young boy. His face
didn’t match his body at all. Physically strong, kind of rugged, like he’d
been around. It sure wasn’t a kid’s body.”

“That sounds
like the fella I saw,” Alec said. “He ducked in and out of a white Porsche,
this older guy I’ve seen before driving it. One of those downtown merchants or
real estate agents. One of them flower-shop boys.”

“Well, Sal’s
not—I mean, we only saw him that one time, if it is the same kid. Lupe, that
was his name.”

“Right,”
Hawk said. “Lupe.”

“We figured
he took off. He told Sal he’d been traveling all over the country, and we
thought he’d gone back to it.”

Randy sat
for a moment, thinking, then looked up sharply at Hawk.

“You don’t
think Sal knows anything about Craig Frost, do you?

“I didn’t
say that.”

“Because I
was with Sal all that morning, man, and other guys too. We were working out.”
Randy was on his feet again. “His brother never came around.”

“Well, this
was pretty damn early,” Alec said, and belched.

“I spent the
fucking night in his bed, all right?” Randy shouted.

Alec looked
at the ground, his mouth clamped shut, plainly embarrassed.

“If you
think he’d murder some jerk kid for throwing an avocado through his door—or for
anything—you must be crazy.”

“Hey, hey,
calm down,” Hawk said. “It’s just shreds of evidence and nothing clues and a
whole lot of suspicions. I’m not thinking anything in particular, except that
I’d like to talk to the kid if he’s around. Say, if he shows up at Sal’s place,
it’d be helpful to know.”

Randy narrowed
his eyes. “You mean if he shows up when I’m there?”

“I’m not
asking you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Randy. Not like being a
spy or a traitor or anything.”

“Sal’s my
best friend, man.”

“Right! So
you ought to protect him.”

“From what? Sal
didn’t do anything.”

“I only mean
that you should make sure the cops get the right guy.”

“Why would
they make a mistake?”

“You know Bohemia, Randy. We’ve got like three blacks, two spics, a Chinese family that runs an
import shop . . . If anyone else says they saw a vaguely
Cholo-looking dude on the beach around the time Craig was killed, they’re gonna
descend on Sal. By the time all you boys explain that you were sleeping in his
bed and taking his lessons that morning, they’ll have turned everything upside
down and inside out. I’m talking about your whole life, Randy. They’ll run you
out of town—Marty, I mean Marilyn, and all the rest—once they’ve made an
example of Sal. That’s their job, man. They’re bugging me constantly, me and my
gang, and most of my boys are right up their alley, attitudewise.”

Randy stared
at the ground, Stetson hat pulled low over his eyes, mouth grim.

“And you
know, Randy, I’m not even talking here about the real trouble Sal could get
into. I’m not even mentioning his
art
sales.”

Randy
swallowed, turned away, paced toward the trees where the sun was setting. The
rustling leaves made the sunlight seem to fracture and clash. He looked
straight into the glare, then spun back toward Hawk.

“I can’t do
what you’re asking,” he said. “All I can do is tell him what you told me.
Anything else, I’d be a snake.”

Hawk put up
his hands in frustration.

“No, no,
just . . .just say you saw Lupe somewhere. Say you heard I suspect his brother
or something. Don’t tell him we’ve been talking, Randy. You don’t know how
he’ll take that.”

“Look, if
there’s a possibility that Lupe did kill Frost, I want Sal to know about it. If
he’s dangerous, people should know. They should be on their guard. All of us.”

Hawk thought
about this a moment. “But if he comes around, and Sal knows I’m looking for
him, he’s just gonna protect the guy.”

“You don’t
know that.”

“He’s not
gonna turn his own brother over to me.”

“To you? I
thought we were talking about the cops. No deal, man.”

Hawk stood
up, exasperated. “All right, forget it. I can’t blame you, Randy. Maybe it does
sound like betrayal.”

“No, it
sounds like a setup. I’m not joining your little conspiracy. I’m not gonna
keep secrets from my best friend just to feed your little power trip.”

“My power
trip? Am I the one with a dozen boys running his . . . errands . . . ?” The words
dried up in Hawk’s mouth.

Randy gave
him a sour, ironic smile. “See you ’round.”

Hawk nodded,
feeling flushed and stupid. He put out his hand. “Forget we talked, man. Do
what you think is right.”

Randy didn’t
take his hand. “I always do.” He started down the hill.

“I just want
you to know,” Hawk called after him, “we’re on the same side.”

“Is that
right?”

“And one
more thing,” Hawk said. “If you want evidence, stop by Alec’s station, check
the phone book. See if the page with ‘Diaz’ is missing.”

Randy was
getting into his truck. “Shit, Hawk, you could have ripped it out yourself.” He
slammed the door, backed out of the lot, and tore away down Old Creek Road.

Hawk turned
away, depressed. Another link of trust was broken. He looked to Alec for some
support, however meager.

Alec sat
slumped in the dirt, propped against the podium, eyes shut and snoring, beer
can empty. A trail of drool glinted on his chin in the late afternoon light.

***

The Rock Lobster
was packed, as Sal had expected on such a warm summer night. The men who drank and
partied here did not have to worry about rising early; most were on vacation,
living in summer homes. Bohemia Bay was sometimes known as Fire Island West. On
weekends, gay tourists swelled the crowd past the bursting point, and men
spilled out onto the patio, into the alley, and all along the stairs down to
the beach.

Standing on
the topmost step, Sal saw men packed together on the stairs, laughing and
moaning. In the shadow of the cliff, below lampposts that were knocked out
methodically each time the town replaced them—guests of the Rock Lobster taking
turns with the official wrist-rocket—there was a more intimate but no more
furtive seethe of activity. For those who desired it, something resembling
privacy was available on the hillside, in caves cut away beneath the hedges.

Sal moved
away from the steps, away from the cliff and the beach. This was no longer his
scene, although in moments of extreme (usually drunken) horniness or loneliness
he still turned to it, blending into the dark at the edge of the crowd, joining
the strangers who waited there in perpetual anonymity. He imagined entering
those shadows and switching on a flashlight, interrogating the startled, sweating
couples. He had lurked in many such places himself at one time, before he had
found other ways of making a living than with his cock and his mouth. He had
lived in fear of the probing spotlight on a cop car.

Tonight he
was the one searching the shadows, but he needn’t beat the bushes for his prey.
He wouldn’t have been here at all if he hadn’t known exactly what questions to
ask, and of whom.

Sal Diaz,
gay detective. He smiled at the thought.

He crossed
the patio and sat at the outdoor bar, under a red floodlight that made a
half-drunk beer on the counter look like a glass of blood. The bartender set
down a napkin. Sal asked for a club soda.

As he drank
it, he cast his mind back to the night he’d seen Lupe out here, an instant
before his brother vanished. Had Lupe noticed him, or had his sudden departure
been coincidental? Had Lupe sought out the Rock Lobster deliberately, because
he felt comfortable there, or had he only stumbled across it, and not realized
what kind of place it was until later? Maybe he had come thinking he might run
into Sal, then panicked and fled when he spied his brother.

He had been
with a man, though, and the man had departed just as hurriedly. So it seemed
possible that Lupe had come here knowingly, and had left without seeing Sal.
Had left with another man, because that was what he wanted.

Sal rarely
visited the Rock Lobster more than once a week, but he had been coming a few
nights weekly since then, hoping to spot Lupe or at least the man he’d left
with. Sal felt sure the other man was a regular here, a lonely face familiar
from many nights of hanging out here at this very bar. But neither Lupe nor his
companion had reappeared since Sal had increased the frequency of his visits.
And he’d had no reason to pursue the matter any further; Lupe was entitled to
his privacy. If he was hiding from Sal for some reason, then perhaps he simply
wasn’t ready to be frank with him.

Or so Sal
had told himself until tonight, after hearing Randy’s story about Hawk.
Suddenly he had good reason to find out what he could.

Tonight’s
outdoor bartender was new to the Rock Lobster. Sal watched the door to the
interior for a minute, until the waiter he’d been looking for came out and set
a couple of plates on a table. Sal waved to catch his eye.