A Body on Pine
A Marco Fontana Mystery
Joseph R. G. DeMarco
Published by Lethe Press at Smashwords
Copyright ©2011 Joseph R. G. DeMarco
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally; and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by:
Lethe Press, 118 Heritage Ave, Maple Shade, NJ 08052.
lethepressbooks.com lethepress@aol.com
Cover by Niki Smith
Book design by Toby Johnson
ISBN 1-59021-345-9 / 978-1-59021-345-2
______________________________________________
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
DeMarco, Joseph R. G.
A body on Pine : a Marco Fontana mystery / Joseph R. G. DeMarco.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-1-59021-345-2
ISBN-10: 1-59021-345-9
1. Gay private investigators--Fiction. 2. Masseurs--Fiction. 3. Gay men--Violence against--Fiction. 4. Murder--Investigation--Fiction. 5. Philadelphia (Pa.)--Fiction. I. Title. II. Title: Marco Fontana mystery.
PS3604.E449B63 2011
813’.6--dc22
2011013043.
For Jason Li
And for my mother, Caroline
Acknowledgements
Fortune is found in those you love and who love you. I am very fortunate.
I have to thank Jason Li, my closest friend, who believes in me, gives me confidence and critique, and is the best friend a person could ask for; my mom, Caroline, who has been an unfailing source of support and love; Michele Hyman who saw me through some dark times; Steve Berman whose friendship, guidance, and sense of humor has been invaluable; Barbara Ryan and Chuck Lyons, friends who provide loyal support, comfort, and who put up with a lot; Skip Strickler, a friend whose quiet wisdom is a comfort; Margaret Rohdy and Eric Mayes whose advice and critique have been so very helpful; Louise, Tom, Sal, Jody, Howard, Geneva, and a host of others who keep me grounded. There are some who I know are watching and guiding still, whose presence I miss: my father, Fred; my aunt Mary; Rusel; Harry L. and Harry M.; and most of all of these my late partner William Phillips. There are others. I am grateful and thankful and I’ll never forget.
Contents
Chapter 1 – Start the Novel
Chapter 1
I tried forgetting Stinky and his sordid life as I climbed the steps to my office. Sometimes being a P.I. makes you feel as dirty as your clients. But, the Stankowitz case was over and done with. A long, hot shower would wash it all away.
Anton stood at the top of the stairs, arms folded across his broad chest, like a sentry on duty. Tall, blond, and square-jawed, he looked down at me and smiled. I hadn’t seen him much in the past three weeks since I’d been on stakeout and I felt happy at the sight of him.
Anton is my right-hand when it comes to running StripGuyz, the male stripper troupe I own, so it was no surprise finding him outside my office at Bubbles, the bar we use as the troupe’s base. The strippers and my work as a P.I. bring in enough money to pay the bills but both jobs keep me running. Having Anton manage the dancers and their schedules makes a big difference.
“Marco! You’re early. Did you give up on Stinky?” Anton had dubbed my target “Stinky.” It was a name that fit.
“You know me better than that.” I reached the landing and every knotted muscle the stakeout had caused tightened painfully. “Stinky is history.”
I took Anton in my arms and planted a kiss on his mouth. Surprised at first, he responded wrapping his arms around me and pressing me close. His warmth felt good and I wanted more but Anton had his rules and I had no choice. We stayed in each other’s arms a while, then he gently pulled back. Turning toward the closed office door, he swung it open.
“The office is all yours.”
Walking into the small room, I felt liberated after the long stakeout. It wasn’t my regular office, which was bigger and lots more comfortable, but this one would do for now. I moved to the desk, dropped into the chair, and let out a sigh. The battered old desk chair felt like heaven after a couple of weeks bent behind a steering wheel or peering out the car’s window. Sam “Stinky” Stankowitz, the sex-addled whacko, slipped into more places more quickly than anyone I’d ever followed. I was right behind him every minute, watching, taking pictures, and making notes.
“So, you’re all finished with the Stankowitz case?”
“Stinky’s not gonna give his wife a problem ever again.”
“He’s not… um… you know…?” Anton paused. “…is he?”
“The slime ball is still alive. But once his wife gets my report, Stinky will probably want to be on a slab somewhere.” A sharp pain stabbed at my leg. Leaning down, I massaged my left calf which had a knot the size of Kansas. Grudgingly, the muscle relaxed. Eventually, it’d be back and with friends. “Think you can lend a hand and massage a kink or two out of my shoulder?” I smiled then winced feeling the pain in my calf again.
Anton tossed me a sympathetic smile, moved behind me, and placed his hands on my shoulders. He gripped them gently at first and I leaned back and sighed.
“Feel good?” Slowly he began to press and squeeze until I felt an exquisite but painful relaxation of the muscles. “Got yourself all scrunched into knots.”
“F-feels…unh… feels great…,” I drew a sharp breath when he hit a particularly sore spot. “Ow…”
“Sorry, big boy…”
“No… Feels… feels great… yeah… yeah… do that again.” In seconds, my shoulder muscles turned from angry to blissful.
“Now that you’ve finished snooping and taking whoopee photos, you’re turning them over to his wife? Poor woman.” He gave me an extra hard squeeze to punctuate his remarks and I yelped. Anton knew the investigative drill but something about this aspect of P.I. work rankled him.
“Snooping is such an ugly word. I was gathering intel. Besides, Mrs. Stinky hired me and demanded color close-ups. She can have them. I’m glad I won’t have to see Stinky’s face again. I’ve had enough of him to last three lifetimes. I won’t miss the little porker.”
It’d be satisfying pulling Stankowitz out from under his rock, watching him blink in the sunshine. Satisfying but not much fun because everybody gets hurt. The wife, the kids, even Stinky himself, not that I had a speck of feeling for him.
Spying on cheating partners wasn’t my favorite kind of gig, too much pain and trouble. But those cases brought in the dough. Since I’d moved my investigative offices to a newer building, I needed better cash flow.
“Until he comes after you for destroying his marriage,” Anton said and massaged my shoulders more gently.
“Hey, he’s the one who destroyed his marriage.” I said. “When he decided to cheat on his wife with any and every man he could find, he made his marriage moot.”
“You just took pictures to illustrate Stinky’s drama.” Anton smirked.
“It pays the bills. Anyway, his wife deserves a good settlement when they divorce. She’ll have three kids to raise all on her own. Those illustrations will help her case. Stinky’s a chiropractor with money coming out of his ass.”
“I guess you know what you’re doing, Marco.” He gave my shoulders a few more gentle squeezes then stepped around to the front of the desk again.
“Guys like Stinky are slime. They want it all no matter who gets hurt. I’m helping him face reality.”
“Here’s some reality for you, boss man: there’s a truckload of things going on right here at Bubbles. Maybe you remember us? Weeks staked out in your old BMW made you forget your responsibilities here, right?” Anton affected a world weary look.
“Like?” I played innocent but knew full well what was coming.
“The Campaign Express is rumbling through Bubbles and you graciously agreed to co-host the event. Hot politicians trying to get the gay edge in the primary are gonna be all over you. After they crawl out the door, there’s the Amateur Competition.”
“I only recall promising to play with the politicians.” Stan, the bar’s owner, had roped me into doing the political event. With the primary a few weeks away, some candidates were visiting the bars on their “I Love Gays” tour. That’s what I called it. Love was the furthest thing from their devious political minds. Votes were what they craved. The sincerity behind their gay pub crawl wasn’t high but it was better than having them ignore us completely.
“You’re right, you didn’t promise to help with Amateur Night. I’ve already got a host lined up,” Anton said, a dazzling smile spreading across his face. “Good thing you put me in charge of scheduling and managing the guys. Especially since you spend so much time taking dirty pictures.” He winked at me. Anton was as good at keeping the schedule running smoothly as he was at managing the StripGuyz dancers.
“The politicians are all I can handle tonight. Three weeks tailing Stankowitcz was torture. I never realized how cramped my car is. There’s no way to get comfortable in that tin can.”
“You could find other kinds of cases.” Anton smiled innocently. “Or buy a bigger car.”
“Not complaining. But I’m looking forward to the massage I scheduled with Brad tomorrow.” I smiled thinking about Brad, who’d been my masseur for several years. I scheduled myself for a massage twice a month, which never actually happened twice a month because cases always got in the way.
Not only was Brad a great masseur, he was a good friend who was never bothered by my quirky schedule and last minute cancellations. I intended to keep this appointment no matter what. My screamingly knotted muscles would never forgive me if I cancelled. As if to remind me, the arch of my right foot developed a painful spasm, curling my foot and making me cringe.
“Brad again, huh? Sounds like you’re getting more than a massage with him. I’ve known lots of masseurs. When they advertise a deep massage they’re not just talking pressure.”
“Jealous?” I winked at Anton who also knew Brad. “What happens at Brad’s spa stays at Brad’s spa. That’s what I always say.” I glanced at Anton and noticed a strange expression cross his face. “Don’t worry. Brad and I are as chaste together as you and I.”
“Why should I worry? You’re a free man, tiger.”
I didn’t comment. Those words were loaded and I wasn’t about to light that tinder box.
“Brad’s totally professional with me. Whatever he does with other clients, I don’t know and don’t care. All I want is a good massage and that’s what I get.”
“All I know is,” Anton said wistfully, “when you’re on his table, he gets to see more of you than I ever have.”
“Uh, correct me if I’m wrong, handsome, but I’m not the one holding out. Am I?” I looked up innocently. Anton wanted the whole package: monogamy, cozy nights at home, a white picket fence. Short of that, we could kiss and cuddle but that was all.
Settling down sounded so permanent but at the same time, appealing. Half of me wanted to dive right in but there were issues I needed to resolve and I refused to give Anton false hope. I had strong feelings for him but something stood in the way, something in me. Maybe I was a fool thinking he’d wait.
I kept having doubts, kept thinking about all the bad relationships I’d seen. I’d watched too many broken hearted guys trudge through my office. Did I want to create one more situation like that?
Even more important, did I love him? Strong feelings aren’t love but maybe that’s how love starts. Anton was important to me, more than important. I needed to know if I loved him before I did anything. And before Anton decided to move on.
“Let’s not go there right now,” Anton said. “We’ve got politicians to coddle.”
“Who’s on the Campaign Express?” I asked.
“I think Stan has a list. He’ll fill you in.”
On my way out, I took Anton in my arms again, felt his muscular form relax against me. Our lips were about to touch when someone knocked on the door. As we slowly pulled apart, the door edged open.
“Anton? Oh! Pardon!” Jean-Claude, one of our newer dancers, stood in the doorway. The yellow office light brushed his wheat-colored hair giving him a sleepy-soft, seductive look. Tall, muscularly slender, with light brown eyes, Jean-Claude was a transplanted French-Canadian who’d started work a few months back. “Oh, desolé. I will come back.” Jean-Claude’s French accent laced his words.
“Hold on, Jean-Claude. We’ve got to talk about the contest. Marco was just leaving,” Anton said. “He’s got politicians to meet.” Glancing first at me then at Jean-Claude, Anton’s demeanor shifted from wistful to welcoming.
“Right.” I moved toward the door. “Can’t keep the pols waiting. See you later?” I looked at Anton.
“I’ll be here,” he said. “If you need me, just call.”
“Will do.”
Jean-Claude moved into the office. Suddenly they were all business and I felt invisible.
“Try and have a good time, Marco.” Anton said over his shoulder. “I’ll be swamped with this contest. We’ve got a lot of wannabes coming in and…”
“You should pay this man more, Mr. Fontana.” Jean-Claude looked admiringly at Anton. “He works too much.”
Anton smiled at me. “See? Someone appreciates my work.”
The sound of manipulation clunked in the background as I watched him try to push me into a pay-raise corner.
“Times are tough, Jean-Claude. Anton knows how much I value what he does… and him. See you guys downstairs later?”
“Uh, I… I don’t think so, Marco,” Anton said. “Got a lot to do before the contest.”
“Me neither,” Jean-Claude said. “I’ll help Anton before I get ready to go onstage.”
“I’ll face the politicians myself, then.” I laughed.
Anton and Jean-Claude quickly got back to work. Anton obviously needed an assistant, especially since I wasn’t around enough, and Jean-Claude seemed more than willing. The way he looked at Anton, though, made me feel vaguely uneasy.
I closed the door, squared my shoulders, and got ready for the political parade downstairs. Stepping into the main bar, the music hit me like a jackhammer. People laughed and talked. An air of excitement suffused the place.
“Marco!” A short guy in an expensive gray silk suit, stuck out his hand.
I had no idea who he was as we shook hands. “Hey, how are you?” I said noncommittally.
“You don’t remember me, do ya?” He winked at me. “I was involved in that case you handled in South Philly coupl’a years back. The one with the widow…?”
“Oh, right. Right!” I remembered everything now. Shorty was a deep pockets businessman who’d been helping out a boy toy he’d taken under his wing. I presumed he’d dug into those same pockets to back one of the candidates tonight. “How’s… um… your friend?”
“Y’know, I can’t remember his name either. We split a while back.” He didn’t seem bothered by the break-up. “I’m here supportin’ Nussbaum. Been in that seat a long time and I wanna keep him there.” He winked again.
“He’s got a tough young opponent, from what I hear.”
“That’s why I’m spreadin’ some cash around.”
“Gotcha,” I said and moved off into the crowd.
None of the politicians had arrived and it was getting late. I wondered who’d organized this whole thing. I found Stan yuckking it up with some patrons, waving his hands like an old helicopter. He loved owning Bubbles and the high profile it gave him.
“Ready for the Attack of the Politicians?” I asked.
“The Campaign Express, Marco. We gotta play the game. It’s not every day politicians come begging to gay voters.”
“Yeah, like we really matter,” said a guy I didn’t recognize. He rebalanced himself on his barstool and gulped his drink.
“Who’s supposed to be here?” I asked.
“Somebody named Nancy has a list, she’s organizing it. Far as I know, most of the heavy hitters like Terrabito, Kelley, Nussbaum, Clarke and some newbies. Nancy what’s’ername hinted some surprises might even show.”
“And I’m supposed to do what?” I asked. Stan knew my feelings about political soirees. I hoped he also knew how much he’d owe me after this event.
“Turn on the charm with Nancy. Help her introduce the big dogs to us regular slobs. Schmooze with them. Let ‘em see that gay people are real live voters, too. I’d do it but you’re a hell of a lot prettier and you know more people.”
“When’s this happening, Stan?”
“Right about now.” He glanced at his watch then peered at the entrance.
A tall, neatly coiffed man entered accompanied by a small, grandmotherly woman. Helen Bell was the State Representative for the district. One of the few politicians I almost trusted. She was running unopposed but never missed an opportunity to meet constituents.
Some well-dressed guys trooped through the doors one or two at a time. Too stiff and slick to be patrons. I had to admit, though, some political types were attractive, even hot. I’d could enjoy the eye candy and ignore the hot air.
“Who are these jokers? I don’t recognize any of them.” I nudged Stan who shrugged.
One suit after another entered gazing around tentatively. All of them dressed in clothes that cost more than I made in six months. The older ones looked like lost sugar daddies, the younger ones seemed ready to bolt. They wore their suits like armor, ready to fend off unwanted passes.
“I don’t know their names, Marco. Hell, I don’t even know their faces. I was countin’ on you…”
“Must be the advance team paving the way. Or staffers.”
“You’ll have to get their names, introduce them around. Where’s Nancy? I don’t see Nancy.” Stan shot glances all around then gave me a gentle shove in the direction of the nearest suit, a dark-haired number, wide-eyed and nervous.
I stuck out my hand. “Marco Fontana,” I said and smiled. His spicy cologne floated over the odor of stale beer but wasn’t overpowering.
“Josh Nolan.” He shook my hand. His palm was sweaty but his grip was firm.
“You’re running for…”
“Running? No… funny. No. I’m Senator Terrabito’s chief of staff. Got here ahead of him I guess. You haven’t seen him, have you? I didn’t get to the other bars. I thought he’d be here.” The words tumbled out with an edgy quality.
“Never been in a gay bar before?” I asked as soothingly as I could. “How about a drink? That’ll help.” I signaled the bartender.
“Th-thanks. And no, I haven’t ever been in a gay bar before.” Despite the slight edginess, his voice was like thick honey.
“It’s the same as any other bar except it’s different. If you know what I mean.”
The bartender slapped down a napkin. “What’ll it be?”
“How about a Long Island Iced Tea?” I winked at the bartender.
“That should do it.” Nolan seemed grateful for the suggestion.
“It’ll settle your nerves.” It’d more likely knock him for a loop. “On the house.”
The bartender gave me a knowing smile. I knew from experience just how the powerful drink could sneak up on you after a while. I was betting Nolan knew it, too. Maybe he wanted to loosen up for some reason. If he could stand after a couple of Long Island Iced Teas, he might even have a good time.
“Comin’ right up.” The bartender turned and got busy.
“Been a long day,” Nolan said. His eyes betrayed his attempt at seeming calm and nonchalant.
The bartender placed the drink on the bar and Nolan slipped him a five. Which raised him a few points in my book.
“When’s the Senator getting here?” I asked, trying to relax him.
“Truthfully,” Nolan glanced at his watch, then snatched his drink from the bar and took a long gulp. “I thought he’d be here by now. He said he had some business to clear up and would meet me here.”
“He’s not the only one who hasn’t shown,” said a stubby man who’d sidled up to us. His suit was as expensive as the others but looked like a cheap tablecloth marred by wrinkles and stains.
“Marco Fontana,” I said sticking out my hand again. “You are…”
“Stu Henderson, on the Governor’s staff.” He turned to Nolan. “How you doin’ Nolan? You’re lookin’ a little green around the gills.” He laughed, a sandpapery sound, and it seemed he’d already had more than the legal limit. “Don’t worry, kid. Anybody makes a pass at you, tell ‘em I’m your boyfriend.” He laughed louder this time.
Nolan said nothing, gulped more of his drink.
“You were saying, Stu… about Terrabito not being the only one?” I asked.
“Yeah, ‘ats right. Uh, what was your name again?”
“Fontana.”
“Yeah, Fontana. I don’t see Nussbaum or Kelley or some’a the local boys?” Henderson got the bartender’s attention. “Scotch, neat.”
“We all agreed to be here by 10:30,” Nolan said. He swiped a hand through his thick dark hair and finished his drink.
I wanted to be around later when that drink knocked him on his cute ass.
“Senator Terrabito will be here. He never breaks a commitment. The man is a machine,” Nolan added.
“None of ‘em break commitments. Never.” Henderson laughed, a loud and uncontrolled sound. His wide-open Irish face was too blotchy-red and more than a little lined. “Unless they gotta break a commitment, that is. Right?” He elbowed the more elegant Nolan who edged away. When Henderson’s Scotch was delivered he gulped the whole thing and motioned for another.
“The Senator never breaks commitments,” Nolan said, obviously trying to maintain his cool.
“The Governor gonna be here tonight?” I asked not so subtly changing the subject.
Henderson’s red face exploded into a smile. “Nah. I’m just here keepin’ tabs. He likes to know what’s goin’ on.”
Nolan rolled his eyes and motioned to the bartender for another Long Island Iced Tea. Boy, did I want to be around later.
As Henderson nursed his drink, a medium height, barrel-chested woman stared then approached me. Dressed in a peach-colored pants suit with a hunter-green silk scarf at her neck, she walked with authority and purpose.
“Nancy Gonzalez.” Flashing a prefab smile, she reached out her hand. “StonewallVotes. We put this event together.”
“Nice to meet you, Nancy. Where are the big names hiding?” I asked and watched her smile fade. “If your politicians get here any later, they’ll end up in our Amateur Strip Contest.”
“Amateur? There’s a…?” Nancy looked confused. “Nobody said there’d—”
“Ha!” Henderson let out a honking laugh. “Good one, Fontana. Can you imagine some’a these political types in g-strings?” He inhaled his second scotch and snorted.
“We’ve got a contest every Friday, Ms. Gonzalez. It won’t cause a problem and it can start late if necessary,” I said.
“Well, I hope so.” The phony smile didn’t return, instead her lips stretched into a thin tense line.
At that moment Nussbaum, big-boned, and slovenly, loped through the doors followed by Clarke and Murphy both dressed to the nines.
“Where’s Kelley and Terrabito?” I asked Nancy.
“Don’t ask. They’ve been trouble all night. They refuse to appear together anywhere.”
“I’ve heard about the rivalry. Intense.” I may not like political events but I pay attention to politics.
“They’re more like enemies. The party is backing Kelley. Terrabito is furious. He’s been a state senator for twelve years. Thinks the party owes him.”
Sounded to me as if StonewallVotes had taken sides, which wasn’t so unusual.
“Whereas Kelley just thinks he owns the party because of his name, right?” I said. Kelley was the scion of a family of politicians spread across the state. His father was a one-term failure of a governor. One uncle had been Pennsylvania’s only Democratic senator in the fifties and another had been Pennsylvania Attorney General. Kelley, himself, was an undistinguished state representative from a district spanning Philly’s northern suburbs. He was rich though, and getting richer, from the businesses his family controlled. He had no trouble raising money while Terrabito struggled for every cent.
“Kelley’s family has done a lot for the state and he’s pro-gay down the line.”
“Oh?” I needled her. “Did he change his position on gay marriage and I missed the announcement?”
Nancy tossed a dark look my way. “Come on, let’s get this show on the road.” She pulled me along to greet the politicians and introduced me to each one.
As we moved, I glanced back at Nolan to make sure he was still standing after all the liquor he’d downed and noticed one of our regulars sidle up next to him and conspicuously press an arm against the hunky Nolan. To his credit, Nolan smiled and nodded. Perhaps the Long Island Iced Tea was working its magic.
Nancy gathered her brood of candidates onstage where she introduced them to the patrons. Visibly tired, she finished her mercifully short speech with, “The candidates would love to discuss your concerns.” Then she plugged StonewallVotes and exhorted people to get out and vote.
It took a while for the politicians to wend their way around the bar, chatting, shaking hands, and pretending they enjoyed themselves. I couldn’t help but notice their nervous glances and the way they winced whenever anyone took their picture.
Around 11:15, State Senator Bob Terrabito rushed into the bar looking disheveled and out of breath. Josh Nolan, floating on the liquor he’d consumed, brought Terrabito to meet me. Middle-aged, balding, and swarthy, Terrabito—known as Senator Smiles because of the permanent smile on his moon-round face—gave a wan version of his signature grin and gazed around the bar. Like the others, he wore an expensive silk suit, accented with the almost-required blue tie. It should have looked good but it was a bit mussed and smudged. For a State Senator, he wasn’t very imposing.
“Mr. Fontana. I’d like you to meet Senator Terrabito.” Nolan’s velvet voice was getting slurry.
The state Senator dutifully thrust out his hand and smiled.
“Great to meet you, Senator.”
“Yes… uh… who can tell me what’s going on here?” he asked a little shakily. There was an arrogance beneath the ruffled exterior. Terrabito turned to Nolan. “Can I get a drink or do you think that would look…”
“It would look like you’re a human being,” I said and waved over a waiter. Terrabito ordered gin. “Looks like you’ve had a rough night, Senator.”
“Wha…? Nothing of the sort. Not at all. I’ve been up since three this morning. I’m still on the go. Politics isn’t for siss…” he started, then caught himself. “Politics is tiring work and I’ve had a tough day. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
Before I could speak, Casey Kelley, Terrabito’s rival, stumbled through the door.
“What’s he doing here? I should never have agreed to this nonsense.” Terrabito glared at Kelley, then pinned Nolan with a stare. “I thought I told you not to let this—”
“But… you arrived…I—” Nolan stuttered.
“You bungled it, Nolan.”
“Let’s walk over there, Senator.” Nolan steered Terrabito away from his rival.
I watched Kelley move around the bar peering at customers. He was younger than I’d thought he’d be, but disheveled and harried. The Senate wannabe gave the general impression of being gray, not because he was old and gray, which he wasn’t, more like the gray of dull and boring. He stared tensely as if he had no idea where he was and expected someone to guide him through whatever it was he was supposed to do. When he spotted Nancy, a look of relief relaxed his features.
Nancy flew to his side and beckoned me over.
“This is State Representative Kelley,” she said, all smiles and obsequiousness. “Mr. Fontana.”
We shook hands and Kelley smiled weakly, looking distracted as if he’d lost something.
“Anything we can do for you, Mr. Kelley?” I asked. “A drink maybe? Need to freshen up?” He certainly appeared to need freshening up, as tousled as he looked.
“I’m fine, thank you.” Kelley seemed annoyed. “Has anybody seen Shuster?”
“Your campaign manager?” Nancy asked. “He was with us earlier, I think. Yes. I remember seeing him at The Westbury.”
“He should have been here by now. He lost track of me, of course. He assured me he’d call when Terrabito left here.” His face took on color as his anger ramped up. “Terrabito’s still here. Why didn’t anyone let me know? Shuster had instructions. He should have called.”
Nancy smiled, undoubtedly embarrassed. “Sticking to the schedule has been a challenge. Senator Terrabito arrived a moment before you,” she said. “If Mr. Shuster were here, I’m sure he’d have called you.”
“A competent campaign manager would be on top of things. If my father could see the sorry state of things and what a failure Shuster’s been, he’d collapse.”
“He’ll be here,” Nancy said, her voice soothing, her manner gentle.
“He’d better be,” Kelley snapped.
“How about that drink?” I slapped him on the back. He was only a State Rep after all, you could slap them on the back. He looked up at me with his version of a withering stare. I found it comical coming from such a gray, ineffectual man.
I eventually left him in the company of the loud-mouthed businessman who’d talked to me earlier, whose name I still couldn’t remember. They chatted cozily, though Kelley never lost the frosty expression planted on his face.
As I turned to get a drink for myself, someone banged through the front doors noisily and in a hurry. I recognized tubby Denny Shuster. Eyes wide, he lighted on Kelley immediately. Funny how these guys sense their masters. He moved swiftly to the representative’s side and I edged closer to hear what they’d say. Hey, listening in is second nature to me. Never know when you hear the juicy.
“Where were you?” Kelley hissed.
“I-I must’ve lost track… I thought you were…”
“You thought…” Kelley noticed people subtly turning in his direction. “Let’s hash this out elsewhere.” He placed a hand on Shuster’s back and turned him toward the doors. Outside, I saw Kelley’s arms waving and Shuster looking like a whipped dog.
Eventually they returned, and I noticed Shuster gaze around the place until he spotted someone. I looked in that direction and realized Shuster was staring at Nolan across the room. Josh Nolan turned, looked at Shuster, then, as if embarrassed or afraid, quickly turned away. I wondered how that little affair would ultimately play itself out.
The rest of the night went off without further problems. Stan was happy with all the candidates and the crowd of drinking patrons. After the last of the politicians filed out the door, Nancy gripped my hand as she thanked me. I suddenly felt the weight of the long day dragging me down. I also felt relieved that I’d finally get to go home and sleep.
“I’ve gotta get outta here, Stan. Tell Anton I’ll call him tomorrow.”
Turning, I collided with Jean-Claude who looked at me questioningly.
“Jean-Claude, what’s up? Need some help?” Not that I could contemplate anything other than taking a long hot shower and slipping into bed.
“Uh, no… not… for the contest. I need to… to ask…,” he fumbled. Jean-Claude Favreau usually a no-nonsense guy, couldn’t get his question out. “A while back you said we could… have the talk… yes? About work? This is still possible, no?”
“Sure, Jean-Claude. Right now I’ve got a date with my bed.”
“It will not take long. I promise.” Undeterred, he stared at me, his light-brown eyes bright, expectant. Jean-Claude had performed as a stripper in Montréal where guys knew just how to work a crowd for the money they made in the strip clubs. He’d learned to be persistent without being pushy, which isn’t easy.
“We’ll talk tomorrow. No interruptions. Whaddaya say?”
“You’re sure you cannot talk now?” Jean-Claude battered my resolve with the saddest hungry-puppy stare.
“What’s this about, Jean-Claude?” I tried keeping the annoyance from my voice.
“About working… for you. At your…”
“You already work for me.”
“I mean in your P.I. firm. Like I have mentioned before. You remember this?”
Jean-Claude had moved from Québec to study criminal justice at Temple. He wanted a career as an investigator and was dying to work with me as an intern. I was hoping to avoid complications.
“I haven’t had time to think about it.”
“But—”
“Tell you what. First thing tomorrow night, we’ll discuss it. Deal?”
“Oui. Deal. I’ll be here, Mr. Fontana. This is for real, no? You are not just playing the games?”
“On the level, Jean-Claude.” I smiled. “None of this ‘Mr. Fontana’ stuff.”
Jean-Claude nodded, and I was out the door before anyone else could stop me.
I walked slowly back to my building. I was too tired to enjoy the breeze kicking the air around and the pleasant drop in temperature that came with it. Tired as I was, though, I felt like I was floating and that everything was possible.
Grace was on the front desk in the lobby as I trudged through. I nodded a good night to her and headed for the elevators.
When I got to my apartment, I skipped the shower and headed straight for bed. The silence was bliss after hours of pounding music. I undressed in the dark, closed the vertical blinds, and fell into bed.
Chapter 2
The morning sun filtering into my bedroom roused me from a deep sleep. I stretched out enjoying the feel of the cotton sheets against my skin. Rolling away from the light, I tried falling back to sleep, then I remembered the massage I’d scheduled. I smiled, yawned myself awake, stretched again for good measure, and glanced at the clock. Enough time for breakfast and a long, hot shower.
Anticipating Brad’s massage propelled me into the day. He’d worked magic before, when I’d injured my back on a case. He’d iron out all the knots Stinky Stankowitz had caused and flush the rat out of my system for good.
My usual oatmeal was more than enough breakfast. I read the newspaper and lingered over coffee, while keeping thoughts of work at a distance. That was step one according to Brad. He insisted clients free themselves of thoughts, worries, and desires. Step two was a long, hot shower to relax my muscles for the pummeling they’d get.
By the time I finished I was floating. I slid into a pair of jeans and my favorite Phillies t-shirt, threw on a light jacket and walked out the door as if I didn’t have a care in the world. Which I didn’t. With Stinky out of the way, I’d decided to wait until Monday before even thinking about work.
I hit the pavement with enough time for a slow stroll down Pine Street to Eleventh Street where Brad located his mini-spa. May was gently breezy and elegant, like Spring should be. I took a deep breath and ambled toward Broad. As I neared the Doubletree Hotel, I noticed Bob Terrabito, barrel-chested, neatly attired, his salt and pepper hair well-coiffed unlike the night before when he’d run into Bubbles so late. His signature smile on his face, he shook hands with voters and was the picture of a politician. Reputed to be tough, fair, and honest, if any politician could be said to be honest, he campaigned as if he was ahead in the polls and not hanging on by his fingernails and desperately trying to solidify his base.
Standing near him was Josh Nolan, whose slightly puffy red eyes were the only visible sign he’d had too much to drink the night before. This morning he looked as calm and confident as his boss.
Terrabito nodded and smiled as I passed by and, distracted by his charm display, I bumped into Denny Shuster, Kelley’s whipping boy.
“Hey! Watch where you’re…,” Shuster exploded, then did a double take when he saw me. “Fontana. Prowling for cases?”
“You lookin’ for a new job after your boss unloaded on you? Or are you thinking about jumping onto Terrabito’s bandwagon?” Needling him was so easy, I should’ve been ashamed of myself. But I wasn’t.
“Checking out the opposition, is all,” Shuster said, avoiding my eyes. “Last night meant nothing. Kelley is high strung. This campaign’s been rough on him.”
“So you let him abuse you to take out his frustrations?”
“Listen, Fontana, why don’cha go twirl your g-string or whatever it is you do when you’re not snooping into people’s lives.”
“You and Nolan both look like you could use a vacation. After watching you guys trying to keep up with your candidates last night, I know for sure politics isn’t my game.”
“I got Kelley squared away last night. That’s all that matters.” Shuster played things close to his vest. That’s what campaign managers do. That, and spin like a top.
“Good thing you settled him down. Kelley was about to bust a gut.”
“Whatever.” Shuster moved off into the crowd.
I was about to continue toward Pine when I heard a commotion rumbling over the sidewalk toward the crowd.
Five people on Segway knock-offs rolled down the pavement followed by a small crowd chanting something I strained to hear over the traffic and street noise.
“Clean up the mess! No more hypocrisy. Clean up…” They went on and on.
Someone in the crowd tossed a roll of toilet paper which unfurled like a giant streamer through the air toward Terrabito.
Nolan caught it and threw it at one of the charioteers. The lead “rider” was Ricky “Dead Snake” Sorba, the city’s longest-lasting, most outrageous radio talk show personality. Got his nickname because he often sent a dead snake to his enemies or people he just didn’t like.
“Hey! Terrabito! Gonna clean up the mess your predecessor leaves when he goes?” Sorba’s grating voice cut through the street noise and got Terrabito’s attention.
The politician smiled and waved but said nothing. Terrabito’s supporters turned and spat angry insults at Sorba, not realizing it was like mother’s milk to him and they’d only fed his ego.
“Just so you know, you’re in our crosshairs. We’ll be watching.” Sorba shouted. His followers cheered. “I only play hardball.”
“Yeah, Dead Snake! Tell ‘im!” came a growl from somewhere behind the rabble rouser.
Another roll of toilet paper sailed over the crowd as the Segway knock-offs trundled away. The ragtag followers shouted: “We’ll be watching. No more hypocrisy. We’ll be watching!”
Terrabito smiled and shook hands appearing unfazed. His crowd loved his non-response because they chanted his name as I walked toward Pine Street.
Politics. Gotta love it.
The closer I got to Brad’s spa the better I felt. My muscles started singing the Halleluiah Chorus just knowing they’d be getting a massage. I turned onto Pine at Broad and headed for Eleventh three blocks away.
Pine is an edgy urban mix of residential and commercial properties like Giorgio’s Restaurant tucked away on the corner of Juniper. Further down the Grounds for Coffee café caters to a crowd that some days looks like disaffected dissidents waiting for the revolution that’ll never come, and at other times houses a tattooed and pierced artsy crowd. Today it was the revolutionaries. I sauntered by Giovanni’s Room, the gay bookstore, and one block later, entered Antiques Row. On Pine, just past Eleventh Street, lined with old plane trees and stretches of uneven paving, I found Brad’s DreamSpa.
The mini-spa occupied a four-story, red-brick commercial building. Pine Street has a laid-back, easy-going feel making it a perfect spot for a quiet, relaxing day spa. Opening the etched glass door of DreamSpa, I entered. A chime sounded when I stepped into the empty reception area. Brad didn’t want a receptionist, choosing instead to greet his clients personally. He occasionally allowed other masseurs to rent space but he concentrated on building his own repeat clientele. No one answered the sound of the chime. Not unusual if Brad was with another client. My muscles, however, didn’t care how busy he was and ached for attention.
Brad’s appointment book lay open on the desk. He claimed, once, that having a computer at the front desk was a jarring note in a spa, so all his digital records were stored at his home. Quirky but that was Brad’s way.
I took the opportunity to look at what he’d written. Leaving an open book in front of a P.I. is an invitation. There was no one listed ahead of me which made me wonder why Brad hadn’t come out to meet me. On the page for the night before were sets of initials, but nothing other than my name for the morning. Brad probably hadn’t heard me enter. He’d be out when he was ready.
I took a seat and waited. The only sound was syrupy new age music. A relaxing lavender scent floated on the air and had me wanting to drift off. I lazed on the couch anticipating the massage. Visions of Stinky dropping his pants in back alleys quickly faded into the recesses of my mind. Nothing mattered as I melted into the soft cushions.
Something shook me awake suddenly and I realized I’d dozed. I didn’t like letting my guard down. I looked at my cell phone and saw that I’d only been snoozing a few minutes. Everything was still and silent. Brad was being unusually slow and I felt edgy. Looking around I noticed the reception desk was measurably better than the one that’d been there before. Polished cherry wood with brass fittings and an expensive lamp were luxuries I didn’t think Brad could afford. It piqued my curiosity. So, after having waited fifteen minutes, I moved past the reception desk to the doorway leading to the massage rooms.
“Brad? Brad, you back there?”
No response. Not a sound. I felt the hair rise at the nape of my neck. Something wasn’t right.
“Brad. It’s Marco. You forget about my appointment?”
Nothing.
Slowly I moved through the doorway. Without my gun, I was extra cautious. At the first massage room, the door was ajar and I pushed it open. White walls, low lights, massage table at the center. But no Brad. I moved on. The second and third massage rooms were exactly the same. All of them empty, their dim lights shining.
A shiver ran down my spine as I approached the door to last massage room. The door was closed and the air smelled vaguely of something familiar. The odor was out of place in a spa. It was faint, probably hours old, but recognizable: the pungent odor of a gun having been fired.
I carefully edged my way against the wall to the door. This would be the largest of the rooms. Standing to the side, I placed a hand on the doorknob and turned slowly until it opened. Carefully I pushed it inward.
Silence and stillness.
“Brad?” I called his name before making myself a target in the doorway. There was no response. No movement. I had no choice but to enter the room.
When I did, a nightmare situation stopped me cold. A man lay dead on the floor. It appeared he’d been shot. Blood spattered the walls and pooled around his body.
It wasn’t Brad.
Chapter 3
Fully dressed, the victim was an elderly man. It appeared he’d been dead for hours. Only the medical examiner could pinpoint a more exact time of death.
I knew I should call 911, but I needed to search the room. Brad was missing, maybe wounded or bound or… I didn’t want to think about that. I needed to look around.
Two doors, both shut, were at the back of the massage room. I knew one was a shower room and the other a walk-in closet. I moved cautiously to the closet first and, standing against the wall, threw the door open. Except for sheets and towels and massage supplies, it was empty.
The showers would be more tricky, plenty of places to hide in there. Three shower stalls and a couple of sinks were what I remembered. I moved to the door, pounded on it, then pulled it open while standing to the side. Darkness. Antiseptic soapy odors wafted out of the room.
“Brad?” I listened for even the slightest sound. A weak breath, a faint murmur.
Nothing.
Feeling for the light switch, I remembered being on the left, I flipped it and fluorescents crackled to life. The room appeared empty but I checked each shower stall anyway. Everything was still. No one hid in the windowless room.
I decided to search the rest of the building before calling the police. Brad might be depending on someone to find him. I located a box of rubber gloves in the supply closet, and took two pair so I could search without leaving prints.
Turning to leave the room, I considered checking the body for ID. Technically I’d be disturbing a crime scene, but if I could to do it without the police noticing, then what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. The dead guy lay face up. Moving the body would be noticeable. I stared at him. Gray-haired and dapper, the man’s elegant features were ruined by the grimace frozen on his face. The blood pooled under him. He’d probably been shot in the back. I didn’t need to feel for a pulse. I’d seen enough bodies to know this client was dead.
Though there were signs of a struggle, the dead man seemed to have been shot before the fighting occurred. Brad must’ve grappled with the intruder after his client was killed. The sequence of events wasn’t clear but the evidence of a struggle was massive, making it look as if a tornado had ripped through.
The massage table was overturned, broken bottles of massage oils leaked their contents over the floor, a lamp and a small table had been tossed aside, and towels littered everything. Blood smeared the walls and floor along with the usual mess that accompanies a death.
The unreality of the scene was emphasized by utter stillness, as if someone had set up the violent, gory tableau for a lurid murder museum exhibit.
I can’t say it didn’t disturb me, but I was no stranger to a crime scene. What worried me most was that Brad was missing. That could either be good or it might mean something very bad. I didn’t want to think about that yet. Instead, I surveyed the room once more, taking a few pictures with my cell phone.
I pulled on a pair of the rubber gloves, then searched the first floor again. Neither Brad nor anyone else was anywhere there.
Finding the stairs to the second floor, I stood at the bottom listening for something, anything. There was only silence.
I resigned myself to a quick search before calling the police, in case Brad was incapacitated somewhere.
Starting up the steps, I tried avoiding renovation debris. Brad had big plans: a dry sauna, a steam room, relaxation rooms, even living quarters. I was about to see how far he’d gotten.
On the second floor, I saw the changes Brad talked about had been nearly realized. Almost forgetting I was searching for Brad, I moved between a state of the art dry sauna through two sleek relaxation areas and into a steam room with elegant fixtures and intricate tiling. Where had he gotten the money, I wondered. The last time I’d visited he struggled to make ends meet. He seemed to have raised a lot of money somewhere. There was no one in any of the rooms. I moved back to the stairs. The two upper floors remained sealed off. There was no way up without breaking through a heavy door.
There was a basement, as I recalled, and I headed back down to check that before calling in the police.
Glaring lights turned on when I flipped the switch. The rickety stairway to the basement barely held me as I clambered down. There was nothing but an old heater and built-in shelving.
Sadly, I climbed the stairs back to the reception area. As I looked around I realized it had been given a subtle, rich-looking, and probably expensive facelift.
I suddenly remembered a back door leading to a patio garden which Brad had transformed so clients could relax with herbal tea after a massage, weather permitting. The door was open, one of its windows broken. Evidence that the conflict spilled through that door and onto the patio jumped out at me. I stepped into the pint-sized garden.
The struggle had wrecked the place. Every café table was overturned. Marks on the ground indicated someone had been dragged against his will to the rear exit. The wrought iron gate hung open. There was no sign of Brad or anyone else. A napkin trapped under a fallen table fluttered helplessly in the breeze. The fragrance of flowers scenting the air and the bright sunshine seemed incongruous.
Brad had obviously struggled like a demon with the intruder. He was strong. I’d often seen him lifting weights at the gym, heavy sets, and without strain. Whatever had happened at the spa, I was sure he gave as good as he got. It was obvious though that whoever attacked him must’ve won because Brad was gone.
Inside again, I gazed around feeling the helplessness that people experience in these situations. Except I didn’t intend staying helpless. Before calling the police, I took out my cell phone and speed-dialed Brad just in case. His phone went straight to voicemail. Not a good sign.
I considered calling his sister Emily to see if she knew anything. They lived together and were as inseparable as twins. I didn’t want to worry her. If Brad was at home, then it wouldn’t matter. If he wasn’t… I dropped the idea.
The only thing left was to call in the police and wait. Before I did, something told me to take another look at Brad’s appointment book. Still wearing the rubber gloves, I turned a few pages. Names, times, and often cryptic notes along with them.
Flipping out my cell phone I photographed a few of the pages for future reference.
Then I slipped off the rubber gloves, pocketed them, and dialed 911.
***
Police sirens blared their way down Pine shattering the morning peace and replacing it with tension and fear. I’d told them the place was cleared, there was only one dead body, and I’d be waiting for them. There was no need for a splashy, all out, sirens-blasting entrance. But that’s how they rolled in and I had a good guess who might be behind the display.
When Detective Gina Giuliani strode into the spa, I knew I’d been right. Gina wanted to make sure people knew she was on the job. Moving up in the ranks, she grabbed onto whatever helped facilitate her rise to power. Thing is, she was great at her job, more than competent, and just the kind of person you’d want heading up the force. She didn’t need the showy stuff, she’d make it without that.
She also hated me but that was another story.
“Surprise, surprise,” Gina said when she saw me, her brassy voice laced with contempt. “You turn up in the nicest places, Fontana.”
“Strange. I always meet you in the same exact spots.”
“Wise ass. You never change. Unlike your brother who changes with the wind,” she said. “What’ve you got for me?”
“One stiff and a missing masseur. How’s that for a peace offering?”
“The body I see, but how do you know the masseur is missing?” Riveted on me, she ignored the crime scene workers already processing the place, like carpenter ants swarming over everything. “You have an explanation?”
“Well, for starters, he isn’t here.” I couldn’t help myself.
“Doesn’t mean he’s missing,” she said giving me a cross look. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.”
I opened my mouth to begin, “I got here…”
“And don’t leave out a thing.”
“You want everything. Even the…?” I teased, knowing it would annoy her.
“Even what you did once you had your pants off.” She paused. “That’s what this kind of place is all about, right?”
I ignored her. “I arrived for my ten-thirty appointment fifteen minutes early.”
“Hungry for it, huh?”
“After sitting in reception for a while, I got this feeling…”
“Sounds familiar. Your brother got a lot of feelings, too.”
“So, as I was sayin’ I got this feeling. I called out to Brad who usually meets clients and takes them to the massage room.”
“And?”
“And no answer. It was too quiet. I got suspicious.”
“So naturally, you being the hero type, you went back to investigate.”
“Naturally. I needed that massage after being on stakeout for three weeks. I wanted to see what the delay was.”
“And you didn’t?”
“Find him? No. I didn’t. I called out, went from room to room, kept calling his name. Until I got to the back massage room and…”
“That’s where you found the db.”
“That’s the long and short of it, Giuliani.”
“Detective Giuliani,” she snapped and looked at her watch. “You say you got here at ten-fifteen?”
“About then. Why?”
“Your call to 911 came in at ten-fifty.”
“If you say so,” I stayed nonchalant. I knew what she was getting at and I was ready.
“So, let me ask you, Fontana,” she paused for effect.
I jumped in, refusing to give her the edge and maybe just to show her I wasn’t as dumb as she hoped I was.
“You’re gonna ask, why did it take so long to call it in? Right?”
“Make it good, Fontana.” There was disappointment in her voice.
“Like I said, I waited before I called out to Brad. So, maybe it was ten-thirty before I went back there.”
“Okay. That still leaves twenty minutes…”
“I searched the place. Slowly.”
“It’s not that big a joint, Fontana.”
“Two floors and a basement, lots of spaces to search. I took it slow. When I found the body, I checked to see if the guy was still alive then gave the room a good once over. Then I searched again. In case Brad was hiding somewhere or hurt. I went back over everything. He was nowhere. I called his phone.”
“Any answer?”
“Nope. I’m figuring whoever did this took Brad for some reason.”
“Or, maybe Brad did the murder and ran,” she smirked. “For some reason.”
“You can’t be serious.” I looked her in the eye. “Brad couldn’t do this. Besides there are signs of a struggle all around. He fought but he lost and they took him.”
“Could also mean your guy Brad snatched a third party who was also here. Brad shoots one guy then takes the other against his will. They struggle, Brad wins.”
“Why? What reason would Brad have? You’re nuts, Giuliani.”
“Who knows his reasons?” She looked up at me, her eyes intense. “Let me tell you, Fontana, when we find your friend, and we’re going to find him make no mistake. If we discover the tiniest piece of evidence linking him to this, he’s ours.”
“I’m telling you there’s no way Brad did this. It’s just not in him.”
“Everybody’s got a dark side we never see. Until it’s too late. Trust me. You’ve been around, Fontana, you should know this.”
“Not Brad… he’s…” I stopped and thought. I didn’t doubt Brad but Gina had a point. I’d put a different spin on it, though. Everybody snaps when things get too much. Everybody has a breaking point. If that’s what she meant by a dark side, then, sure. We’ve all got ‘em.
“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.”
Before I could say anything, a uniformed officer arrived and stared at Giuliani, obviously aware she hated being interrupted. Young and innocent, his skin had that twenty-something, touch-me sheen. His eyes trained on Giuliani, he reminded me of a puppy waiting for a treat.
For a millisecond, he flicked his baby-browns at me then snapped them back onto Giuliani as if I were verboten territory.
Giuliani looked over at him like he was ruining her good time attempting to browbeat me. She nodded at the unie and he responded, eagerly moving to her side, his face still deadpan serious.
He leaned in to whisper something to her. I noticed Giuliani glance in my direction as he spoke, her expression remaining neutral.
The unie finished, nodded crisply to both of us, and turned to go.
Giuliani peered at me and I imagined she was carefully choosing her next barb. The light pouring into the reception room windows made her dark hair glisten. Her deep brown eyes held me in a stare.
“Your friend...”
I refused to give her a chance to implicate Brad without evidence. “Look, Giuliani, I’m telling you. Brad didn’t do this. He couldn’t have.”
“I know.”
“He’s not that kind of… what?” I didn’t think I’d heard her correctly.
“I believe you.”
“That’s a switch. What changed…” I stopped. I had a sickening feeling about what she was going to say.
“They just… Your friend is dead, Fontana. They just found his body a couple of blocks away.”
“Dead? How?” It’s what I feared. It’s even what I figured would be the probable outcome, but hearing it didn’t make it any easier to accept.
“He was beaten. Pretty severely. They shot him, too… just to make sure. Nice people, whoever they are.”
“They…?”
“Question is, Fontana, why’d they shoot one without any fuss but take your friend and beat him before they shot him?”
“Makes no sense, does it?” I said, my mind running the possibilities.
“Does anything like this ever make sense?”
“Guess not. But I can’t leave it at that.”
“Let the big boys handle it, Fontana. This one is…”
“Detective?” One of her crew approached.
She turned to him. “What’ve you got, Doc?”
“Looks like that one’s been dead twelve hours or so. Liver temp indicates at least that much but the AC is on and that’s bound to affect things. We’ll know better once we get him back to the morgue.”
“Anything else?”
“The techs picked up some trace. They’re still combing through everything. There’s no weapon. Doesn’t look like any of the shots were through-and-throughs, so we’ll have to wait until we dig out the slugs.”