Authors: marshall thornton
“You left out the part where Lenny died.”
He looked away, blinked a few times. “Oh, I almost forgot. I finally bought Blondie’s new album. I know it’s been out -- ”
“Stop it,” I told him. We sat quietly for a few moments.
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“I talk too much when I’m nervous.”
“No kidding,” I said. “How did you find me? We didn’t exchange numbers.”
“You’re not the only one who can detect things.” I waited. “I went back to your apartment and got your name from the mail box. Then I looked in the phone book under private investigator. It wasn’t rocket science.”
I almost asked, “Why me?” but that was pretty obvious. A straight private investigator might not have given Lenny much more attention than the police. And there probably weren’t many other private investigators Bobby had slept with.
“I need to ask you a few things about Lenny.” After my walk around Water Tower, there were some things I should try to clear up, and Bobby was probably the person to do it. He waited.
“How tall was Lenny?”
“Not tall. Five seven maybe. Why?”
I ignored his question, thinking instead that at five seven there were a lot of men big enough to throw Lenny off the seventh floor of Water Tower Place. “Did he talk about his sex life with you?”
“Of course, we were sisters.”
“Was he likely to pick someone up in a restroom?”
Bobby gave this some thought. “He never told me about anything like that. Lenny liked to be adventurous, though, so... maybe. The thing is, though, he liked to get fucked, and I can imagine him giving someone a quick hand job or even sucking a guy off, but getting fucked in a mall men’s room? That seems a bit... elaborate.”
I nodded. It made sense. Lenny being killed by a pickup was still a possibility, but a more remote one.
“What do you know about Campbell Wayne?”
“Lenny thought he was like a character in a movie. Good looking, great dresser, charming. He’s dating the boss’ daughter. I couldn’t tell you whether it’s the J, the T, or the M. But it’s one of them. Lenny was always doing things like making reservations at the trendiest restaurants, responding to charity events and art openings. I think the guy was even on the society page a couple of times.”
“Do you think he and Lenny had something going on?”
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Bobby shook his head. “Lenny thought he was a closet case, but he thinks that about everyone.”
He frowned at his mistake in tense, but didn’t correct himself.
“Freddie said you and he used to be boyfriends.”
“For about five minutes. I love him dearly, but we’re not what you’d call sexually compatible.”
He studied me for a moment, then burst out laughing. “You don’t think Freddie had something to do with Lenny’s death?”
Actually, I didn’t. Freddie was far too short to throw Lenny over the railing at Water Tower.
He’d need to have brought a stepladder. Still, I didn’t like loose ends. I told him, “Sometimes it’s my job to ask stupid questions.”
Bobby looked at his watch. “We should get going. Our appointment is at one.”
Carolyn’s Crew Temporary Agency was located on the second floor of a small office building on Superior. Basically it was one large office with two desks and a half dozen filing cabinets on one wall. Each of the desks had a large, elaborate phone with multiple lines. The larger desk was arranged by the window and belonged to the owner, Carolyn O’Hara. Every available wall surface was covered with framed eight-by-tens from the actors she’d gotten temp jobs for.
When we walked in, both Carolyn and her secretary were on the phone. Bobby led me over to a couple of chairs sitting in front of Carolyn’s desk. I took a good look at her while she finished her call. She was in her mid-forties. Clearly she’d been a beauty when she was young; her bones were strong, and she was still handsome. Her hair was dyed a flaming red, and her make-up was too heavy for fluorescent lighting. She wore a silky, wrap-around dress that would have made a splash at any disco five years ago.
Setting down the phone, she looked at us expectantly. Bobby introduced me, and she gave me an appraising look. “Bobby told me what you’d like to do, but I’m not sure. I could lose a client if you’re found out. I could lose a lot of clients. A lot of people rely on me.”
That’s when I noticed Carolyn’s eight-by-ten in the crowd of actors above the window. The photo looked to be about ten years old. I nodded. She was right; a lot of people did rely on her.
“Bobby recommended me to you, and you sent me out on an assignment to give me a try.
Nobody needs to know more than that.”
She thought about it for a moment. “I don’t think anyone will believe it. I wouldn’t.” She sighed heavily. “If I was smart, I’d call my lawyer and get his opinion.”
“If you want to do that, I understand.”
“Lenny made me laugh every time I talked to him. I think that’s all that really matters. Do you type, at least?”
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“Yes,” I told her. I’d taken typing in high school. Police work requires a lot of paperwork, much of it typed. Private investigation is even worse. My skills weren’t too bad.
“Okay. I’m going to give you a typing test and have you fill out an application, just to keep things official. On the application, I’d appreciate it if you don’t put down anything I could actually check. I don’t think this is illegal, but I could probably get myself sued.”
I nodded. She led me to a tiny room, which was really just a closet, where there was a small table with an IBM Selectric on it. Bobby squeezed in with me, and we began to make up names for companies I’d previously worked for. Most importantly, I had to make up a name. I’d left my name with Campbell Wayne’s temp. He might not remember it, but I couldn’t take that chance.
“Lance,” Bobby suggested. “You look like a Lance.”
“I don’t think so. Ted,” I said as I wrote in on the application. Theodore was Daniel’s middle name. I didn’t explain that to Bobby.
“Ted what?” he asked. “Jones?”
“Duda,” I said.
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” exclaimed Bobby.
“It’s not ridiculous, it’s Polish. It’s my mother’s maiden name. If I show up as Lance Lamour, it will be a little suspicious. Don’t you think?”
Bobby shrugged in defeat.
When I finished the typing test, Bobby and I went back to Carolyn’s desk. She glanced at the application. “Nice to meet you, Ted Duda. You need to work on your typing. You scored forty-five words a minute, but your accuracy is not good. Fortunately, he’s asked for light typing. You start on Monday. I had Shelly call Brice and tell him another client requested him. Had to give him a twenty-five-cent raise to make it sound legit.” She eyed me like that part was my fault.
Something occurred too me. “You always send a guy. Don’t most offices prefer women for secretarial work?”
“They do. It’s not exactly legal, but that doesn’t stop them from asking. To be honest, I’d rather not send my people anywhere they might not be comfortable. It’s a temp job, not a crusade.”
“So why does Wayne ask for a guy?”
“His fiancée. He says she’s the jealous type.”
* * *
That evening when I got home, I spent about twenty minutes wandering around my neighborhood looking for my car. Other than moving my car from parking space to parking space, I hadn’t really used it in about two weeks. So its location wasn’t exactly fresh in my mind.
I finally found it on Elaine Place.
The winter had taken a toll on my 1974 Plymouth Duster. Rust had continued to devour the baby blue paint job, and there were several spots where I could see right through my side panels.
Another winter and I might not have fenders at all.
There had been a thick layer of heavy gray clouds all day, but so far it hadn’t rained a drop. Now that the sun had set, it was a dark, starless night. As I headed out to Niles, I could have taken the expressway, but it seemed more trouble than it was worth. Instead, I went up Lincoln Avenue until I got to Touhy and took that into the suburb. The Borlocks lived in a small, modest neighborhood. Their house was a two-bedroom brick ranch on an eighth of an acre.
As I pulled into the driveway, Helen opened up the screen door and came out onto the stoop. She had a tea towel in her hand, as though she’d just been washing dishes. She greeted me like I was a family friend and ushered me into the living room. Mr. Borlock sat in a brown Naugahyde recliner watching a show with Robert Wagner and a redhead. I’d heard of the show before, but couldn’t remember its name. It’s the one about a rich couple who get so bored, they solve crimes.
Helen introduced me to her husband, but he never looked up. “Don’t pay any attention to him,”
she said. She sat me down at her colonial dining table and asked, “Do you like beer?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“But do you
like
beer?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Good. You’re having one.”
She went around the corner into the tiny kitchen, I heard the refrigerator pop open, and a moment later Helen came back with two glasses and two cans of beer. She poured them out and pushed one in my direction. Then she sat down in a chair and eagerly pulled it up to the table. “So, what have you found out?”
I wished I’d had time to type up a report for her and reminded myself to take care of that over the weekend. “I’ve met with Lenny’s roommates, Bobby and Freddie. They agree with you that Lenny wasn’t showing any outward signs of depression.”
She nodded, happy they agreed with her, although she probably knew that already.
“I visited the detective in charge of the case, and he was nice enough to let me look at the file.
He didn’t have to do that. He’s hoping that I’ll agree with him that it’s suicide and get you to stop calling them.”
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“But you aren’t going to agree with him,” she asserted.
“There are some things I’m uncomfortable with, but that doesn’t mean it won’t eventually turn out to be suicide,” I explained as honestly as I could.
She frowned.
“Are you sure this is going to make you feel better? I mean, even if someone did hurt Lenny.
He’s still gone. Nothing really changes.” I felt I had to say this. I couldn’t keep taking her money if she had unreasonable expectations about what the result might be.
She took a deep breath and then let it go.
“My son was twenty-three years old. It’s a terrible thing to die that young. But Lenny... he was a happy child, a funny man, always smiling. Always wanting to make other people smile. He made up jokes for me, ever since he was a child. Terrible jokes. Stupid, really. And that made them funnier in a way. I’d always laugh at them. I think he had more happiness in his twenty-three years than most people have in eighty. If he killed himself... that means he was in pain. Probably for a very long time, and I didn’t know. I’m his mother, and I didn’t know. I’m not sure I can bear that.”
We sat there for a few moments. Sipped our beers. The TV in the other room played a commercial for the Buick Regal.
“There’s a curious deposit in Lenny’s bank account. It’s for three thousand, five hundred, and sixty-four dollars. Does that make sense to you?”
“No. It doesn’t make any sense.” She lowered her voice. “Last year, Lenny got into some money trouble, and his father gave him five hundred dollars. Every month for the last six months, he’d give his father twenty-five dollars. If he had that kind of money, he’d have paid his father back.
With interest.”
I nodded. There was definitely something wrong about the deposit.
“The man Lenny was temping for has refused to take my calls or see me,” I told her. “It seems suspicious, but it could be nothing.”
“No, I think it’s very suspicious.”
“I’ve arranged with Lenny’s temp agency to send me there and work the same assignment Lenny had.”
Helen’s eyes grew large. “You’re going undercover?”
“Only if you approve. I’m hoping -- ”
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“I approve!” Helen said.
“Okay, just wait a moment. I’m hoping it will take a week or less to get the information I need.
However, it might take longer. It might also be a dead end. Just because someone’s uncooperative, doesn’t mean they’re guilty.”
She smiled. “Your plan is just like on
Charlie’s Angels
. Lenny would like that. He loved that show.”
* * *
Ross and I had a habit of getting together after work on Friday or Saturday nights, since his boyfriend was likely to be with the wife and kids in Naperville. Even without work, the habit had continued. Ross smelled like sleep and sweat and stale beer, so I couldn’t resist when he whispered, “Fuck me,” in my ear.
A lot of guys came to Paradise Isle just to watch Ross work. Like the other bartenders, he spent much of the night shirtless. Uniformly, they all had well-defined chests and bulging biceps. What Ross had that they didn’t was a disarming, boyish charm. He had freckles sprinkled across his nose and onto his cheeks, and a cowlick on the left just at his hairline.
We kissed deeply, and I held both our dicks in my hand. Mine was longer and thicker, while his curved out away from his body at the top. Ross was largely a top, and I’d only fucked him one or two times. Usually when we got together, he’d blow me or we’d jack each other off. My gut said his request meant something was up, but I put off worrying about it until later.
He wrapped his legs around me and whispered, “I want you in me, now.” I scrambled for the Vaseline and got us both ready. He grimaced a bit when I entered him. His ass was tight and clamped down on my dick. I kissed him around the neck and whispered, “Relax,” into his ear.
He closed his eyes, and I kissed his eyelids. Slowly, I moved inside of him. Pulling my hips back a bit, then pushing them forward. His breathing caught each time I pushed.