Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (100 page)

The Keening Edge

Dan looked around from the embrace of a rocking chair, taking stock of the home he and Ked occupied. It wasn't big, but it was cozy and comfortable. Even the backyard, glimpsed through the kitchen window, was an extension of their living space, at least in the temperate months. Compared to others, their lives were the envy of much of the world. They could eat and drink without fear of contagion, travel where they wanted, love and marry whom they chose, educate themselves, take up professions, aspire to public life without fear of assassination, spend or save as much as they could manage, and fall asleep without fear. What must their existence seem like to those outside the tiny bubble in which they lived? An impossible dream? It was difficult even to comprehend such good fortune while standing at the centre of the charmed circle.

Ralph nuzzled his fingers, hinting that a treat would be appreciated, or even a walk should he feel so inclined. Dan and Ralph had long since made peace from their days of mutual antagonism. Dan suspected a good deal of Ralph's newfound submissiveness had come with age rather than any testosterone reduction resulting from his neutering, which seemed to have little if anything to do with his outward behaviour and passive-aggression toward Dan in particular. Now when there was an accident in the house, Dan knew it was a senior moment on Ralph's part rather than any youthful rebellion.

Dan had several hours to kill before nightfall. They took a long, leisurely walk, with Ralph stopping to sniff at every opportunity and Dan taking time to reflect on the tranquility of his neighbourhood, still amazed by its growth spurt over the past decade. When he first moved there, Leslieville was in a deplorable state of physical and aesthetic decline. He'd been the first on his block to landscape. The following year, a few tepid attempts by the neighbours showed initiative to at least try to match his. Rotting roofs were replaced, paint splashed on walls. The skinheads at the end of the block moved out and a lesbian couple moved in. But it was a beginning. Now there were trendy cafés, film studios, and even — sign of the times — gelato shops.

After unleashing Ralph, Dan went up to his office and dug out the file on Domingo's son. His last correspondence on the subject had been more than four years earlier, when he sent out circulars with Lonnie's photograph. All his queries were returned with nil responses.

Dan reread the file, but nothing came to him. Without a fresh lead, there was simply nothing new to try. He'd have to ask the old questions again, hoping things might have changed on the other end. The Quebec area code was still the best bet.

He sent of a couple of emails and set the pages aside. His mind turned to Santiago Suárez and his recent interview with his girlfriend, if indeed she was his girlfriend.

He called Lionel, giving a rundown of his conversation with Rita St. Angelo.

“So she did exist,” he said.

“Didn't you believe in her?”

Lionel laughed. “I thought it was just one of those rumours. I'm pretty sure he's gay. I guess you can fake anything if you try hard enough.”

“She claimed he was with her the entire week Yuri Malevski was murdered. I don't know if I believe her, but at least he has an alibi.”

Dan described his discovery of Ziggy's hideaway behind the panelling, but made no mention of the diary or the entry detailing Ziggy's tryst with Charles.

Lionel was silent for a moment, and then said, “I guess it's all right to let him stay for now, seeing how he's been there all along. I'm legally in charge of the house until it's sold, but I doubt there's any point in making him leave.”

“I don't have any advice to give you on that count,” Dan said.

He hesitated on the next point, Lydia Johnston's request to be told the names of Dan's clients. Lionel surprised him by being forthright on that one.

“I spoke with Charles about it and we both agree it's all right for you to use my name in your conversations with the police investigation, so long as they can guarantee confidentiality. We don't want them to feel we're being uncooperative or subversive in any way.”

“Good, that'll be helpful,” Dan said. “Are you okay with being contacted by them directly, if they request it?”

“As long as you're confident it's the right thing, then I have no problems with it.”

“Thanks, Lionel. I appreciate your trust.”

The conversation concluded. Dan was left sitting in the vacuum of his home, contemplating a similar feeling he'd had in Yuri Malevski's empty mansion.

Afterwards, he called Lydia Johnston and told her his client had reconsidered his request for anonymity.

“The chief was right,” she told him. “He said your client would turn out to be the accountant. My money was on the bar manager.”

“I won't take any bookie tips from you then,” Dan said.

“Gambling's not my thing. I only go for sure bets anyway.”

He updated her on Santiago's girlfriend.

“So you think it likely there wasn't much in the nature of true romance there?” she asked.

“I'd call that a sure bet,” Dan said.

Downstairs again, Dan heard Ked breeze in and out, stopping long enough to turn down Dan's offer to make supper. He was on his way to meet his girlfriend, Elizabeth, who had more or less become a permanent fixture in his life. Dan was glad he approved of her; he'd hate for a woman to come between him and his only offspring. He'd heard enough of the sort of tales that divided families to ever let that happen to his.

Ked stood at the door looking guilty. “I'm sorry I won't be here for supper.”

Dan almost laughed. “Go. Enjoy yourself. My greetings to Elizabeth.”

Ked lit up with a smile. “Okay. I won't be late.”

Alone again, Dan turned to the kitchen. Cooking for one was high on his list of dreary tasks to avoid. Just one notch above that was eating alone in restaurants. While he wasn't a fan of cooking for its own sake, he had over the years become a decent hash-slinger with some culinary coaching from the ever-capable Donny. If need be, he could spend a half hour in the kitchen and retreat with a fairly respectable meal for his efforts.

He opened the cupboard, picked out an unopened jar of pesto and a bag of pasta. A plateful of greens scooped from a plastic container did not dampen his enthusiasm for salads, fortunately, as this was the easiest way to balance his diet without a great deal of washing and chopping. In his estimation, food should be fun and not a chore.

While waiting for the water to boil, Dan went to the living room and drew out the final volume of Proust's
In Search of Lost Time
, which he was diligently making his way through for the second time. Proust's love life hadn't been all that successful, Dan knew. Mostly, it had been obsessive and unrequited. As a consolation, he reinvented and endlessly replayed it out in the pages of his massive epic. If he'd lived in the age of television, he probably wouldn't have written nearly as much.

Dan drained the pasta and poured pesto over it. He ate quickly and without relish, then washed the dishes and put them away. Duty done.

He stopped for a moment and glanced at the cupboard over the fridge. Once it had contained his stash of liquor bottles. Now it held cleaning products. After he resolved to stop drinking, he hadn't tormented himself by keeping alcohol within reach. While he considered it a battle largely won, he thought it wise not to stock up on temptation.

Whenever he felt the twinges of loneliness, as he did on days like this, it would have been simple to console himself with a drink that could easily turn into a second and a third. Back then, it seldom stopped with one. That was the problem. Not the passing through, as with Jane and Finch, but the stopping and staying.

He picked up his book and read till the light dimmed outside the window. Just as the words on the pages were becoming incomprehensible, he reached overhead and clicked on the reading lamp. Despite his obsessions, Proust was a good companion, equally lost as Dan when it came to love. Dan was pretty sure he'd known the same loneliness, the melancholy of azure skies at twilight. But Proust was dead; Dan was still alive and living his solitariness every day. Maybe Ked was afraid of more than abandoning his father. When it came to alcohol, leaving Dan on his own was not a good option.

Ralph had retired to his bed in the kitchen. He lifted his head and sniffed when Dan came in again, resting his chin on the side of his basket. Dan poured himself a glass of cranberry juice, plunked in several ice cubes till it threatened to overflow, then lifted the drink to Ralph. It looked like a cocktail, but it would taste very different.

“Here's to independence, Ralphie.”

Ralph sniffed at the air, decided it was nothing he was interested in then let his chin sink back onto the pillow. Dogs were fine companions, Dan thought. And usually they were easier to get along with than humans; they just didn't have a lot to say. Still, there was his date with Hank to look forward to Friday night.

He eyed his glass of cranberry juice. At least he knew he wouldn't be waking up sprawled on the sofa, an empty bottle of rye on the floor beside him in the morning. Sometimes not giving in was as good as it got.

Let's Dance

It was a nice evening, the spring air slightly cool on his skin as Dan arrived at Hank's condo. He felt a slight trepidation when he realized he couldn't recall his last date, but the feeling vanished as Hank greeted him with a chaste kiss, dressed in nothing but a towel. Before anything could start, Hank whisked himself off to the bedroom, returning coiffed and neatly dressed in chinos and a crisp navy T-shirt. This time he gave Dan a longer, more intimate kiss.

Dan breathed in Hank's subtle scent, relishing the minty taste of mouthwash on his lips. Hank pulled back and abruptly left the room again.

“I can't forget I'm your host as well as your chef,” he called over his shoulder. “Besides — we need to get through the main course before we try the dessert.”

Enticing aromas wafted in from the kitchen. Dan followed and leaned up against the counter. Hank uncorked a bottle of wine, splashed the contents into two glasses, then handed one to Dan.

“To passion,” he said with a wink.

Dan smiled. “To passion and its possibilities.”

“I'm making Peruvian chicken with fennel ragout.” Hank grimaced. “I didn't ask. Do you object to eating animals?”

“Only if they're still alive when I eat them.”

“Not a vegetarian then. Good! I hate pandering to other people's weirdnesses. I'm a complete carnivore myself, but I like to experiment. And not just with food, by the way.” He leaned in and kissed Dan again, pulling back with an intoxicated expression. “I'm tempted to forgo dinner and drag you off to the bedroom right now, but I put a lot of effort into this meal.”

“Then let's not waste it,” Dan said. “Besides, I came hungry.”

“I promise you will go away fulfilled.” Hank downed his glass and poured a refill. “I did a little asking around about your problem. Although my bosses were not entirely forthcoming, they told me a few things. They tried to laugh it off and make it sound negligible, but I gather they get squeezed regularly. Nothing too outrageous. After all, you don't want to squeeze the bar owners out of business. You just want to get them into the habit of coughing up when they can.”

“Do you know if anybody ever gets threatened if they don't make the payments?”

“I think it's been suggested that it wouldn't be wise to turn down a request. On the other hand, I don't think anybody was worried about being killed. Just being shut down for a few days.”

“That was my first thought,” Dan said. “As you noted the other day, it's a win-win situation if everybody plays nice. So why upset the apple cart?”

Hank shook his head. “Ego, maybe. Nobody wants to be told what to do. From what I heard, Yuri could be headstrong. If he decided he didn't want to play the game then maybe he just opted out and thought to hell with it. He was probably prepared to have his place raided and would have had a good doorman for the weekend crowds — there's always a million guys waiting to get in and have fun on a weekend. But I doubt he would have expected to be murdered because of it.”

“I agree,” Dan said. “It doesn't make sense for them to kill him. Why risk a murder investigation?”

Hank shrugged and drained his glass again. He held up the bottle. Dan shook his head. Alcohol, he knew, was like sex. The first kiss was magic, the second sloppy, and then it was all pretty much down to business after that.

Hank smiled indulgently. “Chef's prerogative. I cook better when I'm drunk. We need to speed you up a bit. Otherwise I'm going to be too far ahead of you.”

“It's not a race,” Dan said. “You take things at your pace and I'll go at mine.”

“Ah, you really aren't a drinker! I was right. We need to loosen you up.”

Dan had no intention of telling this attractive man that he was a former drinker who had faced the abyss only recently. First impressions were better edited with time. In the past two years, it had become a badge of honour to imbibe without overdoing it. He could have a single drink and stop. In good company he allowed himself two, with a long wait between the first and second. Seldom had he advanced to a third. A fourth was out of the question.

Dinner went well. The ragout was followed by a salad of butter lettuce topped with roasted walnuts, shaved parmesan, and a citrus dressing. Dan was on his second glass of wine, sipping slowly, when dessert arrived straight from the oven: a flourless chocolate-bourbon cake. Hank had gone all out to impress him.

“Ready for the next course?” Hank asked when they finished the meal.

“Your move,” Dan said, setting his glass down.

In the bedroom, they shed their clothes without awkwardness. Hank's touch was surprisingly gentle and expertly tuned to his pleasure. As his toast had promised, he wasn't a man who kept his passions on a leash. Lips met lips as erections probed each other's thighs. As it turned out, Hank was well-endowed.

They were just beginning to get into it when Dan's phone rang. He grabbed it and saw Lydia Johnston's number.

“Sorry, I should answer this.”

He heard Lydia's soothing voice asking for him. When he identified himself, she said, “Thought you'd like to know we've had a Santiago Suárez sighting.”

Just then, Hank's lips met the head of Dan's penis.

“Oh!”

“Yes, I knew you'd be excited,” Lydia went on as Dan tried to control himself.

“That's, um … great news. Was he in touch with the girlfriend?”

A pair of hands cupped his balls and gave them a good yank. Dan let out a little sigh.

“What?” Lydia asked.

“Sorry, just catching my breath. I've been jogging.”

“Hey, good to hear. I'm a jogger, too.”

He hoped she wasn't about to launch into a casual conversation about their mutual fitness interests. Dan looked down to see Hank grinning up at him, working his shaft with one hand. Dan shook his head, but didn't push Hank away.

“So. The sighting?” he managed.

“It was pure coincidence. One of my officers went by Rita's place to do a follow-up and saw Santiago coming down the stairs as he arrived. Although the man denied being Santiago, my officer swears it was him.”

Hank's actions were having a telling effect. Dan could barely keep his mind on the conversation. He tried to control his breathing.

“So he's sure it was him?”

“As sure as he could be from having seen him only in a photograph.”

Dan bit his lip to keep from gasping.

“So he didn't actually get much chance to talk to him?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“Mm,” Dan murmured as Hank's tongue hit a hot spot.

“I know, it's a drag,” Lydia said. “By the time he got back to his car the guy was gone.”

Dan exhaled. “Did he talk to the girlfriend?”

“Yes, she answered when he knocked. He said she still had a fresh smile on her face. She was wearing a very flimsy nightgown. She probably thought it was the boyfriend coming back.”

“So they … they were enjoying a moment of pleasure together?”

“No doubt Santiago wanted to make sure he still had a place to stay if he needed it.”

“You think?”

Dan felt the pleasure building. He tried hard not to groan. Hank was expert at what he was doing.

“It seems likely. We know he isn't staying there full time or we would have caught him by now. I wonder if your little visit the other day triggered something. All that poking around you've been doing. Anyway, that's my theory.”

“Right!” Dan exclaimed, a little too loudly.

“Are you okay?” Lydia asked.

“Very,” Dan said. “And I agree totally.”

“Good.”

Hank stepped up the pressure with both tongue and hand. Dan felt himself getting close. “I …”

“Sorry? What?”

“I better let … let you go.”

“Okay,” she said. “I'll keep you informed.”

“Yes,” Dan said. “Thanks very much. Thanks …”

“Talk to you when you're a little less busy.”

The cell clicked off.

“Oh, gawd!” Dan's body bucked as he dropped the phone on the bed and lay very still. Hank's face hovered above him. “You are very, very wicked,” he managed.

“Said the bishop to the altar boy,” Hank chimed in. “Ba-
dump
!”

They showered together. Hank stood back, apprising Dan's body as they towelled off. “Very, very nice!”

“Thanks,” Dan said. “You, too.”

“It's been a fun evening. Would you like to continue at the bar? I could do with a little dancing!”

“I'm not much of a dancer,” Dan said apologetically.

“I can teach you. You know what they say: dancing is an art.”

“I don't mind coming with you, but can't I just appreciate it from a distance?”

Hank grinned. “I want to see you live a little. You need to learn to relax, Danny boy.”

Dan considered. “All right. But not too late.”

“Of course not. We need to get you back home before the Great Pumpkin comes calling for you.”

Zipperz specialized in music from his youth, as Dan discovered. He hadn't been on a dance floor in years, but slowly he let go and began to enjoy himself. Hank bought him a beer. It was his third drink of the evening and Dan was dead set on making it his last. It was all a matter of self-control.

Not only had Dan not danced in public for a decade, it was probably the first time he'd danced with an alcoholic beverage in hand since his twenties, around the time he met Donny. He stopped to consider: it actually felt good. Hank was right — he needed to unwind and relax. Otherwise he would petrify, becoming a fossil before his time.

The lights rippled as the music enveloped him, reminding him of how much fun he used to have before the responsibilities and worries and everything else that dragged you down with time. For just tonight, he wasn't that person anymore. He was free to be who he wanted.

Hank walked off the floor and returned with two more bottles. Dan shook his head, but Hank pouted. How many years since he'd had such meaningless fun? Dan wondered. He was flying now, his feet lifting with the beat pulsing around him. Everywhere he looked, people were having fun. Healthy, normal people were enjoying a night out with a little beer and companionship to tide them over. He could manage it, he thought. It wasn't asking too much. And it was better than staying alone at home. He nodded and grabbed the beer.

Hank gave him a contented smile. The student was coming along nicely.

“But this is absolutely the last drink tonight,” Dan shouted in his ear.

“Absolutely! You're fantastic, buddy!”

Hank gave him a thumbs-up and Dan drifted off to the centre of the dance floor. He could have done a back-flip out of sheer physical enjoyment. The man next to him glowed. Dan looked around in amazement at all those smiling, happy people pressed into one small space. He felt euphoric and wanted to hug them all. He turned to look for Hank and saw him shimmying with another man across the room. Others were coming on to the floor now. How could he have forgotten there was so much joy in dancing?

It was during the next song that he felt his pulse racing. It accelerated so quickly he wondered if he was having a heart attack, but then it slowed again. He stepped off the floor, feeling flushed. He waved to Hank to say he was going to take a break. Hank smiled at him and kept dancing.

Dan staggered to the bathroom, reaching out to the walls to steady himself. At the urinal, he released a dark stream of piss and watched in fascination as it discoloured the ice before flushing away. He felt better, but only momentarily. The heat and the pressure in his head were building again. He lurched into a cubicle and bent low over the toilet, forcing himself to his knees as he gripped the rim. The sudden stream of alcohol mixed with the remains of Peruvian fennel ragout were disgusting, though he felt immediately better.

Once he could stand again, he carefully exited the stall. Hank stood just inside the entrance, watching him with concern. Dan propped himself against the wall, taking deep breaths to quell the fire inside. A security guard looked him over: if this guy was going to give him trouble, he'd be one hell of a dude to mess with.

Hank put an arm around Dan's shoulder.

“I think we'd better take you home, cowboy,” he said softly in Dan's ear.

Music pounded in the background. For a second, Dan thought he was going to be sick again.
Wimp!
he thought. Not drinking for a couple years had rendered him a complete washout. The irony!

He let Hank lead him from the club then stumbled into a cab when Hank opened the door, all the while apologizing for the scene he was making. He tried to talk, but he wasn't making sense. If he didn't lie down, he felt he would collapse. Finally, he gave in and sprawled across Hank's lap.

“Sorry, sorry …”

“No worries, big guy,” Hank said soothingly.

The cab took them to Hank's condo. The driver scowled even as he took the twenty Hank proffered through the window. Whether he disliked drunks or faggots, they were both and his distaste was clear. The cab swerved off again.

Dan was a contestant on a game show. Someone asked him to guess the identity of the people who loved him, but one after another the doors slid open on empty space. He felt a sense of despair as he approached the final door. At last, it opened with a flourish. There was his son, with Donny and Kendra. Relief flooded over him. Better late than never.

Pain split his head like an axe stroke. He sat up and looked around, but he wasn't in his room. The events of the evening started to come back, shadowy and vague. He was back at Hank's condo after being out at a dance club. A used condom lay on the floor beside his castoff underwear. That meant they'd had sex upon returning, though Dan couldn't recall taking part in the event. This was like so many wasted nights of his youth.