Hotline to Murder (12 page)

Tony knew what was coming and stepped aside
as Josh tossed a can of beer to him, so that most of the ice water
flying in formation with it missed him as he reached out and deftly
caught it with one hand. He had always had good hands. If he had
only been taller and about twice as fast, he could have been a wide
receiver. He popped open the beer and took a swig.

Josh aimed his remote at the TV and put the
movie on Pause. “Noodles, I want you to meet two of my buds.”

Josh named two names that didn’t register in
Tony’s consciousness. He did shake hands with them, not bothering
to apologize for having a wet and cold hand from the beer, because
their hands were equally wet and cold.

“There was a time when Tony would have been
here partying with us,” Josh said. “But, alas, that doesn’t happen
anymore. Because Tony has been saved. Speaking of being saved, how
went the battle tonight? Did you convince any queers with AIDS that
were about to blow their brains out not to, even though that’s
probably a mistake? And was that underage babe working with you
tonight? What’s her name—Sarah?”

“Sally.”

“Sally.” He turned to his friends. “Tony has
a tough job. He answers telephones and listens to the problems of
people more fucked up than we are, all night. So you think you
should feel sorry for him, right? But what you don’t know is that
while he’s doing it, he hangs out with these teenage babes who
don’t wear any clothes.”

“Cool,” friend one said. “I wish I could get
a job like that.”

“The only problem,” Josh said, standing up,
“is that they have their bodies pierced in so many places that you
can’t touch them without getting stabbed.”

“That’s not true,” Tony said, realizing how
dorky he sounded.

Josh ignored him and said, “It’s not just
their ears, although some of them have enough metal in their ears
to build a tank.” He lifted his T-shirt and said, “Belly buttons.”
He pointed to his own belly button, which stuck out, along with the
rest of his belly. “Wouldn’t I look great with a navel ring?” He
moved his belly in and out, using more muscles than Tony had seen
him use in a while.

The friends laughed. Tony wondered how he
could put a stop to this.

“Nipple rings.” He pushed his T-shirt higher
and grabbed one of his nipples with the same hand. The other hand
still held a can of beer. “How do you suck on that with a ring in
your mouth. Ugh. But worst of all is the clit ring. Does Sally have
a clit ring, Tony?”

Tony had to restrain himself to keep from
throwing his beer can at Josh. He said, “I want to talk to you in
the other room. Now.”

Josh was still playing to his friends. He
shook his head and said, “When Noodles uses his school-teacher
voice, I have to listen. It won’t be pretty.” He unpaused the movie
and said, “I don’t want you guys to have to hear it.”

Tony led the way through a short hallway
into the family room and then turned left into the kitchen, placing
the maximum amount of distance between them and the living room. He
turned to face Josh, who had followed him. He was seething so much
he couldn’t talk. Josh stood and sipped beer, an innocent look on
his face.

“First of all,” Tony said, finding his
voice, “you’re not supposed to have guys over during the week.”

“Oh, yes. Dumb me.” Josh struck himself on
the forehead with the heel of his hand. “Dorm rules. But I figured
since you weren’t here, it would be okay. I planned to kick them
out before you got home. Sorry. I lost track of the time. What time
is it, anyway?”

“It’s ten-thirty. And I don’t care whether
I’m home or not. You disturb the neighbors with all your
noise.”

“Okay, okay, I know when you’re provoked.
I’ll tell them to leave now.”

“Wait. I’ve got something more to say. I
don’t like the way you talk about the girls on the Hotline. In
fact, I don’t like the way you talk about all women. You know what
you are? You’re a misogynist.”

“A what-gynist? Is that anything like a
gynecologist? Tony, my boy, you have flipped. You have absolutely
flipped. Do you know what that job has done to you? It has made you
into a wimp, a wuss. A goddamned wuss. You are not the same Tony I
knew. And I don’t like the new model.”

“Well then, maybe you should move out.”

This stopped Josh in his tracks. He became
quiet. Gone was the bluster. His face became as red as his hair. He
stared at Tony. “Move out? You want me to move out?”

“If you don’t like what you call the new me.
If you don’t like the rules around here. If you can’t become a
civilized member of society. Don’t you think, Josh, that after all
these years, it’s time for us to grow up? If you can’t handle that,
then yes, you should move out.”

“I’ll be out of here in thirty days.” Josh
turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.

***

Tony couldn’t sleep. He was having second
thoughts about Josh moving out. For financial reasons. How was he
going to make the payments on the townhouse without Josh? He might
have to get another housemate. And as obnoxious as Josh was, at
least Tony knew him and his habits.

He knew that although Josh might spill beer
and potato chips on the living room rug, he wouldn’t completely
trash the place. He had a steady job and paid his bills. He might
bring in loud friends to party with, but at least they wouldn’t be
drug dealers and hoods. He was a bigot, but Tony could ignore that.
Most of the time. He might badmouth women, but he didn’t physically
abuse them. He might belittle Tony’s job on the Hotline, but he
wouldn’t actually interfere with anything Tony did.

Maybe he should talk to Josh in the morning.
Well, he probably wouldn’t see him in the morning because Josh
would still be in bed when he left. But tomorrow evening for sure.
This thought didn’t give Tony peace. There was something else.
Something unresolved. He had called Josh a misogynist. A woman
hater. He had never thought of Josh as hating women before. Was
this true?

Tony started remembering things. Josh
aggressively pursuing women in college. But did he do it because he
liked them? Sometimes it had seemed to Tony as if he had a score to
settle. Josh had been his hero because he could get the girls. Tony
had learned from him. Learned very well from him. But in spite of
the reputation he had gained of picking them up and then dumping
them, Tony’s relationships had lasted longer than Josh’s.

Tony couldn’t remember Josh ever dating the
same woman for more than a month or two. When the romances fizzled,
it was always the woman’s fault—never Josh’s. Tony had met many of
them. They were personable, good-looking, smart. No, Tony didn’t
believe that the women were always at fault. It was something about
Josh.

Tony remembered things Josh had said. “Women
were put on earth for our pleasure.” “A broad lying on her back
with a sack over her head and her legs spread is pretty much like
every other broad.” Were these the statements of a man who liked
women?

And Josh’s nickname for him—Noodles. It
dated from college. A bunch of the guys and gals had been eating
sushi and drinking sake at a Japanese restaurant. At some point,
one of the guys and one of the gals went outside to the guy’s van.
The guy came back a while later and said the girl was in the van,
stripped and waiting for anyone who wanted to have her. Josh had
immediately volunteered.

When he returned, he tried to get Tony to
go. “She’s hot to trot, Tony. Never pass up a free piece of
ass.”

The prospect had sickened Tony. She was
probably too drunk to know what she was doing, and the idea of
following Josh and another guy almost made him puke. One or two
others may have gone; Tony didn’t remember. But Josh had never let
Tony forget that he had failed, in Josh’s eyes. Thus the nickname,
Noodles. Tony would rather eat a bowl of noodles than get laid.

A thought struck Tony like a bolt of lightning. Did
Josh hate women so much that he would murder a girl? A girl he
envisioned to be part of a plot to alienate Tony from him?
Impossible. But Josh did call Carol about him and that was out of
character. He knew that the Hotline closed at ten p.m. because of
the hours Tony had been working. Yes, but he didn’t know where it
was. Or did he?

Tony turned on the lamp beside his bed and
sat up, more awake than ever. He got out of bed and walked silently
from his bedroom into the study across the hall. He could hear Josh
snoring behind the closed door of the third bedroom. Loudly. Snore,
snore, then break for a few seconds. Then snore some more. It
sounded like the snort of a mad bull before he charged. Josh always
seemed to snore after he had been drinking.

Tony turned on a light in the study and
stood in the doorway. From here he could see his bookcase. Standing
on a shelf of the bookcase, in plain sight, was his notebook for
the Hotline. It contained all his notes from the class. Tony went
to the bookcase, picked up the notebook, and set it on his desk. He
opened it up. The first page, neatly three-hole-punched, had
printed on it the address of the Hotline and a map showing how to
get there.

This information had been given to the
students after they graduated from the class. Tony had never
thought about hiding it from Josh. As far as he knew, Josh never
went into his study. But Josh had been upset when Tony wouldn’t
tell him where the Hotline was. After all, they were supposed to
tell each other everything, like fraternity boys. Of course, Tony
had stopped telling Josh everything years ago, but he had never
told Josh he wasn’t telling him everything.

Where was Josh on the night of the murder?
Tony realized that he didn’t know. He hadn’t seen Josh all evening.
In fact, Josh had returned home after he had. After he was in bed.
And as far as Tony could remember, Josh had never said anything
about that evening, which wasn’t like him. Because he still told
Tony everything. Or did he?

There was nothing Tony could do about it now.
Reluctantly, he went back to bed. But his mind wouldn’t shut up. He
did manage to get a few minutes of restless sleep before the alarm
went off.

CHAPTER 14

Tony was running on coffee. It had been a
long day, with several intense sales calls and a lot of driving.
That, coupled with his lack of sleep and the late summer heat, made
him feel as if he couldn’t take another step. Or even get out of
his car. And getting out of a Porsche was no mean feat.

He was parked in front of the Church of the
Risen Lord. He had looked up the address after Nathan had said he
was a member, out of curiosity more than anything else, since he
had never heard of it. And today, after his last call, he had been
in the neighborhood, if you could call being within five miles the
neighborhood. He had gotten here with the help of his
Thomas
Guide.
“Here” was somewhere northeast of the Los Angeles
Airport.

It wasn’t much of a church. The small
building had obviously been used for something else before the
Risen Lord had occupied it. It had no steeple or visible cross. No
stained-glass windows. It did have a crude sign on the small,
weed-infested lawn in front, announcing its name and telling when
it had services. There were Thursday evening services at 7 p.m.,
which tended to support Nathan’s story of where he had been during
Joy’s murder, assuming they went on for three hours.

Since he was here, he should do more than
stare at the front from his car. Tony opened the car door and
laboriously lifted himself up from the seat. It was hot in the open
air after the coolness of the air-conditioned car, but evening was
coming and with it cooler temperatures. That was something you
could always count on in Los Angeles. He shut the door and locked
the car, looking around at other cars parked on the street. None
were Porsches, but some were new. There was no indication that
people feared that their cars would be stolen. And it was still
broad daylight.

A small gravel parking lot sat beside the
church, with weeds poking through the gravel. The only car in the
lot was a Chevrolet that had a few miles on it. Maybe a few hundred
thousand miles. Tony walked up the cracked sidewalk to the
dilapidated front door. A coat of stain would help it, just as a
coat of paint would help the stucco walls of the church.

Tony tried the door; it was unlocked. He
opened it and stepped into the gloomy interior. The only light came
from several windows along each side wall. He could make out wooden
pews and a raised platform at the other end. In addition to a
lectern, the platform supported a table with candlesticks and a
picture of a man, probably Jesus. It was too dark to tell for sure.
Some seats at one side of the platform might be for a choir. A
small organ stood near them.

Nobody was in sight. He wasn’t sure he
wanted to talk to anybody, anyway. He stood at the back, wondering
why Nathan was attracted to this particular church. It didn’t look
very substantial. He was about to leave when he heard footsteps
resounding from contact with a hard floor, coming from somewhere
behind the platform. He hesitated, wondering whether it would look
as if he were up to something if he left now.

A man came through a doorway that Tony
hadn’t seen before, in the wall behind the platform. He was a big
man, and he walked rapidly, with a purpose that gave Tony a moment
of trepidation, until he realized that the man hadn’t seen him. He
took a step to attract the man’s attention.

The man stopped halfway down the aisle that
went between the rows of pews and said, in a deep voice, “How can I
help you, brother?”

Tony’s first thought was to wonder whether
Shahla would claim that the man should have said, “How may I help
you, brother?” He hesitated for an awkward moment and then decided
that truth was the best policy. He said, “I know somebody who
attends services here and I was curious.”