“That’s weird—he warned me right off.” He sounded puzzled. “I mean, he had to know the freaks and weirdos would come out of the woodwork when you posted your profile.”
“He—he doesn’t know.” It wasn’t a lie. And it fit in perfectly.
Jude laughed long and hard. “That’s pretty ballsy, man, especially when you named him in your profile! He’s probably already gotten a couple of emails from guys he knows who saw it. I know I did!” He got serious. “Oh, man, I hope I didn’t get you in trouble.”
“Um, it’s okay.” I said, thinking fast. “He’s out of town and won’t have access to his emails for a while. I’ll tell him before.” I swallowed. “What about these freaks and weirdos?”
He sighed. “Wrestling is so much fun, and there are so many cool guys into it—but not everyone is…you’re going to meet up with the lunatic fringe sooner rather than later, especially with those pictures posted.”
“Lunatic fringe?” I prompted.
“The liars. The freaks. The guys who don’t show. The guys who send you a picture of themselves when they had hair and teeth. The guys who send you a skinny pic. The guys who talk all big and then never show up. The guys who send other people’s pictures—that’s happened to both me and Paul, it’ll happen to you too—the ones who you meet and are fricking crazy; the ones who decide after one match you’re their boyfriend, the stalkers…there’s this one guy, in Mississippi, that scares the shit out of me.”
“I can’t imagine why Paul didn’t tell me about this guy.”
“Paul always laughed it off, but I think he was scared of the guy, and not in a wrestling sense, if you know what I mean. Paul could take care of himself wrestling, man. He’s one of the best. He only lost a match when he wanted to.” Jude said. “This guy was totally obsessed with Paul. He used to email him pictures all the time, offer to pay him to wrestle him, stuff like that.”
“Offered to pay him?”
Jude laughed again. “Dude, when people offer money or to pay your airfare to come wrestle, the alarm bells need to go off. There’s something wrong with that person—no social skills, really ugly or something, or just plain crazy.”
“Which was this guy?”
“Crazy.”
“How do you know.”
“I met him.” I could practically see Jude shiver. “He came to Dallas specifically to wrestle me. He got in touch with me, and he seemed cool, you know, we talked via email and on the phone a couple of times. He didn’t like that I wouldn’t let him stay at my house—I could tell he wasn’t happy about that, but hell, I don’t invite anyone I don’t know to stay in my house—and at that time, you know, Paul was just laughing it all off. Paul went out of town that weekend—later, I realized he left town on purpose.”
My heart was pounding so hard I could barely think. Paul hadn’t been exaggerating—he did have a stalker.
I wanted to punch myself.
“So, anyway, this guy shows up, right? I mean, he was okay looking and all, but he was white. I’ve never seen anyone so white, like he never saw the sun or something, and his eyes were blue but kind of pinkish looking too, you know what I mean? He had a nice body and all, and right away he starts bitching about how much the hotel room is costing, you know? Jesus!”
“Sounds like a jerk.”
“I should have told him to leave then, but no, I figure he came all the way in from Mississippi, so I should wrestle him, right? So we go into my matroom and we change into bikinis, and all of his skin is pale like that, fish-belly white, it was really kind of gross, you know? I’ve never seen anyone that white. And we start wrestling, and you know, he’s not a bad wrestler. Then I start to realize he gets off on pain, not wrestling, and not just getting it, either.”
“Oh.”
“That’s pretty scary, you know, when you realize you’re wrestling someone who’s really into pain, you know? He would get me into a hold and try to hurt me, and I was getting madder and madder, and then he really pissed me off, so I jerked out of the hold and my elbow caught him square in the mouth….”
“What did he do?”
“He backed off for a bit and put his hand up to his mouth, and when he took it away he just fucking grinned at me. His mouth was bleeding, man, his teeth were covered in blood and it was dripping out the side of his mouth and he just fucking grinned at me and says, 'That’s how you like it? Me too.’”
“Oh my God.” This guy had been stalking Paul? Why hadn’t he told me?
“I told him to get in the bathroom and we’d put some ice in it, apologizing, but he wasn’t interested—he wanted to keep fighting.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him we had to stop and take care of his mouth, or he had to leave.” He laughed. “And he fucking freaked, man. He started ranting and raving and screaming at me, saying he was going to have me arrested for assaulting him, or he was going to sue me, and I said if he didn’t get dressed and leave I’d call the cops and he just kept screaming—and then he just got real calm. He picked up a towel and wiped his mouth, put on his clothes, and left. But before he walked out my front door—he turns back to me and says, ‘Be seeing ya.’ I locked the door the minute it closed.”
“Where in Mississippi was this guy from?.”
“Some little town on the coast, Louis Bay?”
Bay St. Louis was an hour and half drive away.
“Yeah, watch out for that one—Chris Fowler. If you ever hear from him, don’t answer.” Jude said. “So, what are you up to today?”
The switch was jarring. “Well, I have to go to work in a bit.” I said, needing to get off the phone as quickly as I could.
“I’m off today.” He practically purred into the phone. “I wish you were here so we could wrestle.”
“Well, you’ll be in town soon enough.”
“Yeah, I’m just laying here in bed naked…..wishing you were here. What are you wearing?”
“Jeans and a t-shirt.” I replied without thinking.
“Take ‘em off.”
“What?”
His voice was low and seductive. “I’m lying here naked with a hard-on. Why don’t you join me here on the bed?”
I didn’t respond.
“Afraid you’ll lose, big guy?” he taunted.
I looked up at my computer screen. His picture, stark naked, grinned at me.
“No.” I said. “I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.” He whispered. “You might have thirty pounds on me but I’ve taken apart bigger guys than you.”
I didn’t know what to say. I knew I should get off the phone, but I couldn’t just hang up.
He laughed. “You’ve never done a phone match, have you?”
“Um, no.”
“Okay, never mind then. I’ll just pop in a video.” He yawned. “Okay, man, I’m glad we met. I can’t wait till we meet in person and I am gonna kick your ass.”
“Bring it on.” I said. It seemed like the right thing to say.
“I will. My love to Paul.” He hung up.
I sat there, staring at the phone receiver for a moment, then set it down. I got out my atlas. I’d never been to Bay St. Louis. My landlady had a beach house there she escaped to in the summers to get away from our stifling heat.. I opened the map to Louisiana and traced I-10 out of New Orleans with my finger past Slidell. Bay St. Louis was on Highway 90, just past Waveland and before Pass Christian. I closed the map and went back to my computer.
Jude’s naked body was still on the screen, winking at me, holding his hard-on in his right hand. I stared at him for a minute before closing the windows.
Maybe I won’t let Paul keep making videos
, I thought,
guys like Jude and Joe Bob would be way too tempting.
Hell, I’d be tempted to cheat too if I was rolling around in a speedo with them. I logged back onto the Internet and pulled up the phone directory for Bay St. Louis, and plugged in CHRIS FOWLER into the search engine. After a few moments, a window opened.
FOWLER, CHRISTOPHER 1736 FOREST DRIVE…..555-9078.
I mapped out directions from my house to his, then printed them out. It was a long shot, but what else did I have to do? It couldn’t hurt to check him out.
My phone rang. “MacLeod.”
“Hey, Chanse, it’s Venus.” She sounded tired. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but the sperm on the bed and the blood in the kitchen—they didn’t match up. They came from two different people.” She sighed. “I’ve put out an all-points on Paul. I also checked with his job and he didn’t fly out anywhere.”
My heart sank. “So you think it was foul play.”
“It looks like it. I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Can you meet me somewhere this afternoon? I don’t want to talk on the phone.”
I looked at my watch. It was close to nine. I added up the time in my head. I could probably be back from Bay St. Louis no later than two. “Say about three? At Goodfriends Bar?”
“Yeah.” She hung up.
I got my keys and headed out the door.
I-10 East was packed but traffic was still zipping along at 70 miles an hour.
When I got the chance, I pulled over into the middle lane and settled into the flow. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and NPR was playing Rachmaninoff.
This might be a wild goose chase
, I thought, rolling down the window and letting fresh air in
, but where could he be?
He didn’t have any other friends in New Orleans I knew of—but then I hadn’t known about Mark Williams either. He never talked about his job or his co-workers, so it was possible he was close enough to one of them to “hide out” with at their place for awhile. But surely he would have taken his car…and that didn’t explain what I’d found in his apartment. This ‘stalker’ was the only possible lead I had, and I’m not a patient person..
It was disconcerting to think how little I knew of Paul’s life. Just a few days earlier, if someone had asked, I would have said that I knew him inside and out. But now I hadn’t the slightest idea of where he would have gone voluntarily.
The car’s transmission groaned as I urged it to climb the high bridge over the industrial canal connecting Lake Pontchartrain to the river. “Come on,” I said out loud, pushing the gas pedal to the floor and listening to the engine whine. Cars and trucks zipped past me, making the car rock in their wind wake. The speedometer needle began slipping down below 70 miles per hour. I began to sweat. “Come on, come on, come on.” I envisioned the car stalling on the rise, started to roll backward into the oncoming traffic. Finally, I reached the top and let out a sigh as I started down the other side. I should have taken the car in right away, but I hate mechanics. Who knows if they’re telling the truth?
The traffic thinned as I got closer to the city limits, heading out past Jazzland Amusement Park and heading for the lake bridge to Slidell. Slidell is one of those outlying small cities most New Orleanians think of contemptuously as the ‘burbs’, with its neon signs, motel chains, and fast food hell. There was an outlet mall just off the second Slidell exit, which was the only thing that ever dragged the nice Uptown ladies out this far—though none would admit it. Paige loved to shop there, but I’d never bothered. I hate to shop anyway, and outlet shopping wasn’t enough of a savings to drag me out of the city proper.
A few miles past Slidell the countryside changed as the ground got higher. Instead of swamp and marsh, the earth solidified with massive pine trees reaching for the sky. The highway cut through some hillsides and rose and fell with others. I’d driven through here at night once. It was creepy, the huge trees blocking out any light on either side. I always wondered if I was going to have a UFO sighting. There were several places that looked like the cover of that old “Time-Life” book about alien contact. I kept waiting for a silvery being with slit-like black eyes to attach itself to the side of my car and look through the windshield at me.
As I drove toward the state line, I went over my phone call with Jude again. He seemed nice enough, and like he was telling the truth. There was no reason for him to lie to me about this Chris Fowler. If he’d been harassing Paul for a while, it stood to reason he might have escalated. I wondered what exactly he had said or done….and if Paul had ever thought about telling me. He could very well be harmless, but I’d brought my gun just in case. If the guy was crazy, and somehow had managed to abduct Paul, I was ready. Never again would I go face a possible suspect without my gun. It was cool enough that wearing a jacket to hide my shoulder holster wouldn’t look strange.
I passed the “Welcome to Mississippi” sign and the tourist welcome center. Once over the state line, the cars became spare. Instead of nice new looking cars, the vehicles I passed were dilapidated pick-up trucks. I never felt completely comfortable in Mississippi; almost like I have a big neon sign on my car flashing “FAG”. Sure, I knew the image of the uneducated redneck Mississippi bigot was a stereotype just like the mincing make-up wearing queen, but it didn’t make me feel any safer.
I got off I-10 at the 607, then a few minutes later switched to I-90, which would take me into Waveland and then finally Bay St. Louis at about the time I lost connection to the NPR station. I searched through the stations and finally found a strong signal playing Johnny Cash’’s “Ring of Fire.” One of my best-kept secrets was my liking of country music, especially the classics. Paige liked jazz and blues, and Paul was primarily into dance music, that techno stuff with the driving bass line you usually only here in gay bars. He called it “Ecstasy music,” and while listening in my apartment, would indicate what exactly each change in the music signified while making dinner.