Unhinged (8 page)

“Amaretto Sour. So, tell me. What's the story with the doorman?”

“Oh, Kenny. He's single.” I recognized the bartender's voice. It was pretty Roger, and he sounded smooth as cream.

“What's his type?”

“You, if you're not looking for a relationship.”

“Hey, I'm from Chicago. What if I just want to go home with him?” Bienvenue had affected a Chicago accent, sounding as if he did this sort of thing all the time.

“That depends on what you're into.”

“I'm into a lot of things and can be persuaded to do other things. You say he's available?”

“Depends on how fat your wallet is. Oh, you wouldn't know about Kenny, would you? Kenny's into specialties. I can't say that he's technically a prostitute ‘cause he doesn't just fuck for money. He likes to make fantasies come true for money.”

“He charges for role-playing?”

“That's five dollars for the drink.” Roger almost came off as a deep-voiced woman.

“Here's a ten. Keep it. What do you mean?”

“Excuse me, boy toy. I'll be right back.”

We only heard crowd noise; then the camera spun to the open room. We were able to see a horde of men milling about.

“So, Toliver's a whore,” Ron whispered.

“Do gay guys like to drink Amaretto Sours?” I asked.

Ron and Wayne shrugged.

After a second, the camera had spun back around to the bar and nothingness.

Roger had returned. “All I'm saying is, Kenny has his own Make-A-Wish Foundation, and for the right price, he'll make it happen for you. You should talk to him. Wait a minute. How about a testimonial? Blain. Hey, Blain.”

Seconds passed.

“What's your name?” Roger asked.

“Sam.”

“Blain, this is Sam. Tell him what Kenny did for you. He's interested.”

The camera turned a bit, showcasing what an Army private might look like if our armed forces were openly open. He had on an Army tank top and camouflage pants.

Blain seemed to be touching Bienvenue's arm as he spoke. “I wanted to fuck a general in a tank, and Kenny set it up for me.” His accent was Southern, and his voice was coarse as if he had a cold. “Just months before Katrina hit, he arranged for a tank to be left unlocked at Jackson Barracks one Sunday when there weren't any troops there for drill, and he dressed up in an Army uniform and let me do him in the tank. He even brought along a tape recording of bombs and machine guns going off. It cost me a grand, but it was worth it.”

“He does this all the time?”

“He'll do what he can and charge you what he thinks it's worth.” Blain coughed.

“He'll do this for anyone off the street?”

“Half the Quarter's fag population knows what he does. If you're unattractive, it'll cost you more, but you don't have to worry there, hon. He's open for business. So, Sam, what are you into?”

“It's personal. Maybe Kenny will tell you after I go back home.”

“Confident. Good luck. If he doesn't work out for you, come back and see me before you leave. I might be able to make that dream come true.”

The camera spun around again and pointed toward the door. The sea of gay waters parted, and soon we had a view of Toliver again.

“Kenny, right?” Bienvenue said.

“That's right.”

“I'm Sam from Chicago. I'm a little embarrassed to say that I was asking the bartender about you.”

“Roger? Don't believe everything he says.”

“He said you specialize in certain things.”

“Oh, he did? Well, I don't do that for just anyone anymore. It's been getting dangerous lately.”

“I heard you do it for dead presidents. It just so happens that I got a lot of them.”

“Doesn't matter. I don't know you, and there was a double murder recently you might've heard of.”

“Sure I did, but you don't think I'm a killer, do you?” I imagined Bienvenue's bottom lip curling under.

“You could be. The answer is no. I only do this by introduction from somebody I know.”

“I'll pay anything, and I leave town in two days.” Bienvenue wasn't taking no for an answer.

“You are one good-looking guy.” Toliver sighed. “First, tell me something. I used to visit a friend in Chicago. What's that place in Lincoln Park on Clark that's famous for dishing out insults late at night?”

I held my breath, knowing that Bienvenue had lived in Chicago until he was seventeen.

“Wiener's Circle. I love that place. I want a motherfuckin' hot dog, bitch.”

“That's the one. Okay.” Toliver nodded with a smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“I can't say here. Can you get someone to cover for you? We can go right outside.”

“No one needs to cover for me. I'm just here for show anyway.”

The camera turned, and our bumpy view stopped near the corner. The monitor had a perfect view of a Bourbon Street sign in the background.

“What can I do for you? You wanna bang a football player? Fuck on a window washer's scaffolding? Dress like furry animals?”

“I like it harsh. I like to do things other guys won't.”

“Whoa, that's what I'm talking about. You S and M freaks expect me to know when to stop your pain. I won't do that for fruits I don't know. Look, this isn't a good idea. I'm getting a bad feeling.”

Bienvenue touched Toliver's arm. “No. I'm not into S and M, really. I want to kill a guy, pretend kill, then fuck him after he's pretend dead and get it on video. You try to get someone to role-play that fantasy.”

“That's fucked up. You a necrophiliac?”

“Sort of. I've never fucked a dead body, but I fantasize about it.”

Silence.

“That's pretty easy to stage. It's too bad you're fucked up, being so gorgeous. I can arrange something that I think you'll like. Do you want to kill a burglar? Your boss? I got a good-looking guy who can play the victim, and I can video it for future enjoyment. He'll even take a few real hits.” He paused. “Two thousand dollars.”

“That Army stunt I heard about was cheaper.”

“I don't know you. If this works out and you visit us again, then the price can be adjusted in the future.”

“How soon can you set it up?”

“We can do it tomorrow night. I'm off, and I know this guy's available.”

“What's he look like?”

Good question, Bienvenue,
I thought. Then I spotted a fight break out in the distance. If cops arrived, they would most definitely recognize our gay mole.

“He's good-looking like me but not as hot as you.”

“Perfect. Where do we meet?”

“In front of the St. Louis Cathedral at ten o'clock tomorrow night. If you don't have the cash on you, then we don't do business. Plus, I frisk for weapons, so don't bring any. I'll supply what you're going to use. What do you want? A plastic knife or a cap gun? A Wiffle bat, maybe?”

“A knife. Definitely a knife.”

When the coast was clear, Bienvenue climbed into the truck, and we all squeezed over to make room for him as if we were sitting around a campfire.

I was so amazed by his performance that I had to address him first. “Damn, man. How did you come up with all that shit? You were just supposed to get to know Toliver. Maybe get invited back to his place and get him to talk.”

“He wasn't that type,” Bienvenue said. “Once I found out he was a whore, I had to change my approach. I figured the sooner the better. You heard the bartender. Toliver's a role-playing prostitute. He sets up fantasies. He could have set up your double homicide.”

“That's what you're going to find out,” Wayne said. “If this was a botched role-playing fantasy by Toliver, then others are involved. You have to see how far he'll go.”

Ron laughed. “Just how far are you willing to take it, Bienvenue?”

“I won't kiss anyone, and if he goes for my dick, he's going to regret it.”

“Don't worry,” Wayne said seriously. “You'll be set up with this same equipment. If something goes wrong, we'll be there in a matter of seconds. If you can't get him to bite, pardon the expression, then just fake like you're sick and get out. We'll assess how it went and determine if we should proceed with the suspect.”

This was everything I thought it would be. I truly loved this shit.

I
woke up at 8 a.m. with Jennifer snuggled on my right side and the comforter pulled up to our chins. The sunlight made a hazy glow at the edges of the curtains, which barely lit the room. The air conditioner was on full blast, and the room was pretty chilly except for the side where Jennifer was. The heat from our bodies circulated around us when I lifted the comforter to slide next to her in a spooning position. She had the day off, and I wasn't going into the station until late.

“Morning,” she said without moving.

“Morning.” I kissed her neck.

Jennifer put her arm on top of mine, which was lying between her breasts. This had to be one of the best positions to be in. She rolled herself a few degrees until she was on her back, then smiled at me.

“I didn't get a chance to tell you last night, but my parents are coming over for an early lunch since you're not going in till later. Do you mind?” Her expression told me that I better not care because it was going to happen no matter what.

“That's fine. They know I'm going to be here?”

“Of course. They're coming around slowly.” Jennifer kissed me and rolled over.

“What time are they coming?”

“Ten thirty. They're bringing gumbo. We'll eat around eleven.”

I felt myself become tense. But I knew if I was going to be with Jennifer that I'd have to ingratiate myself with her parents, and maybe they might loosen my noose a bit also. I told myself that these lunches, dinners, birthdays, and holidays had to be done if the awkwardness was going to end. Time would heal all wounds, right?

“I'm going to shower.” I kissed her again, then got out of bed.

Richard and Carla Wilder arrived right on time with a huge pot of okra gumbo, carried by Jennifer's dad who looked almost too frail to bear its weight. He also looked like he hadn't cracked a grin since the Nixon administration.

“Hi.” I kissed Carla on one cheek. Her hair was up in a bun, and she wore a nice light green sundress that went well with her dark complexion. Jennifer was definitely her child.

“Let me get that.” I took the pot of gumbo from Richard.

“Thank you.”

“You guys sit down and I'll heat it up,” Jennifer said from the bathroom.

Great, just me and the parents, but I suspected that Jennifer had planned it that way. We entered the dining room and took seats. Carla smiled politely at me, and Richard just stared straight ahead. I was dying for a drink.

“Can I get you something?” I said, hoping for an excuse to get up.

“I'll take a Diet Coke,” Carla said. “Richie only drinks water.”