Bodies of Work

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Jacksonville, FL

“BRIDGES,” A GRUFF voice said into my ear.

“George, Captain. What’s up, and why are you dispatching calls?”

The captain wasn’t known for excess verbiage, and without preamble, he said, “A messy murder in Riverplace Tower. Men’s room, 23rd floor by the elevators. Your team is already on the way. I just happened to be in my office when the call came in.”

“Give me a minute to change, and I’m on the way.”

“Did I interrupt something?”

“I was on the roof nailing shingles, and I’m only wearing cutoffs and a T-shirt.”

“Sorry about that, but that’s why the taxpayers pay us the big bucks. Just put on a pair of jeans; you’re going to a crime scene, not a fashion show, and you don’t have to dress to impress anyone.”

“Will do, Captain. Thanks.”

He hung up without saying good-bye, which was typical. I headed for my bedroom, where I grabbed a pair of jeans and a clean polo shirt along with my shoulder holster, badge, and shield. In the car, I placed a bubble light on the dash and headed for the expressway. When I arrived at the tower, I saw several cruisers already on the scene, as well as an EMT truck. The 23rd floor was swarming with people in and out of uniform, so I elbowed my way through the crowd and into the men’s room. Janet Sanchez was bending over a body on the floor, as was a man whose name I couldn’t immediately recall but whom I recognized as an assistant medical examiner. There was a huge pool of blood around the body.

“What have we got, Sergeant?” I said.

She stood up at the sound of my voice. “Hi, boss. The victim is James Albright, age forty-two. He was a Chartered Life Underwriter and had an office on this floor. His wallet is empty, and based on tan lines, he’s missing a ring and a watch or heavy bracelet.”

“Are you thinking robbery?”

“Could be. The guards downstairs say that he always came in about the same time every Saturday morning and spent a few hours in his office. He told them that he used the quiet time to catch up on his paperwork.”

“In other words, his habits were probably well-known.”

“Right.”

“What about surveillance cameras?”

“We’ve asked them to pull the tapes for this morning.”

“Ask them for tapes from the last two or three Saturday mornings as well. We might catch someone watching him. Do they go back that far?”

“They keep a week on tape and then transfer them to DVD format. They retain the DVDs for a month. I’ll take care of it.”

The ME stood up and looked in my direction. “Hi, Lieutenant,” he said. “At first glance, I’d say his throat was slashed with a very sharp knife, possibly one with a serrated edge. We’ll know more after we get him down to the morgue. He was probably dead by the time he hit the floor.”

“Thanks, Roger.” His name had come to me the minute he stood up, which spared me the embarrassment of asking for it. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”

“Based on liver temperature, I’d say two or three hours.”

“Security says he entered the building about three hours before he was found,” Janet said. “And before you ask, nobody saw anything unusual, at least nobody we’ve talked to so far.”

“You know the drill, Sergeant. Have your guys expand the circle until it includes everyone on this floor and everyone on both the ground floor and the lower floor. Any floor, in fact, that has an outside entrance, including the floor that opens on the covered walkway to the parking garage.”

“We’ve asked for tapes from the garage cameras, also.”

“Good. What about next of kin?”

“Working on it. I sent two of the guys in a cruiser to the address listed on his driver’s license about twenty minutes ago.”

“Who?”

“Sam and Larry.”

“Good, they’re probably the most tactful of the bunch.”

Having set all of the relevant wheels in motion, I found a place to sit and called the captain to report. He listened carefully to what I said, asked a few brief questions, and said, “Okay, George. You’ve done all you need to do. Why don’t you go back to your roof? You can assemble all the pieces of this puzzle when you come in Monday morning. If it turns out that the victim’s family knows somebody who knows somebody and starts to push, I’ll let you know.”

I found the sergeant and told her to have all the details and reports available to me first thing Monday. Then I followed the captain’s advice and was back on my roof thirty minutes later. I worked my way through all of the bundles of shingles that Mike had deposited on the roof for me and decided to take a break.

I was nursing a glass of iced tea when Mike came home. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he said, “I’ve been to the office to check on a few things.”

“Everything under control?”

Mike operated an extremely successful computer business, installing and maintaining networks and doing things that were way over my head. “Never better. Taking a break?”

“I just finished the last of those bundles you put on the roof for me and decided to have something cold and wet.”

“What are you doing later?”

“I don’t have any dinner plans, but I sort of have a date at the Metro after the last show ends around midnight.”

“Do you indeed? Is he that good?”

“The boy has an extremely talented ass.”

“Then go for it while he’s in town.”

“You bet. What are you up to later?”

“I haven’t decided. Last night was such a letdown, I’m not sure I want to risk another one. On the other hand, it is Saturday, and hope springs eternal.”

“Well, whatever happens tonight, we’re still on for our usual workout tomorrow morning, right?”

“Count on it, but perhaps a little later than usual.”

“Tell you what, if you haven’t anything better to do, I’ll treat you to dinner at Biscottis around eight.”

“You know I never turn down a free meal.”

I returned to the roof, carrying a bundle of shingles with me. Mike joined me a few minutes later and dropped another bundle of shingles nearby. He continued to do so until he had a dozen or so bundles in place. He headed for the ladder, and I said, “Call me at seven thirty.”

“Done.”

He disappeared down the ladder, and I went to work. Barring interruptions, I felt certain I could finish the project by the end of the next day. I got so engrossed in the shingles that I lost all track of time. There was something totally satisfying in this particular do-it-yourself project. I was jolted back to reality when I heard Mike say from the top of the ladder, “It’s seven thirty. I called the restaurant, and the special of the evening is salmon.”

“Those are the magic words.”

I finished the shingle I was working on, gathered my equipment, and made my way to the ladder.

Mike and I arrived at Biscottis right on the dot of eight. The place was packed, which is normal for a Saturday evening, but we only had to wait about ten minutes for a table. The restaurant, only a little over a mile or so from my house, had opened in late 1993 and had become an instant neighborhood favorite. We both ordered the salmon baked in phyllo dough, along with a salad, and we shared a bottle of Pinot Grigio, managing to stretch our dinner experience to considerably more than an hour. We arrived back at the house in a pleasantly relaxed state.

Mike took a chair in front of the TV in the den, and I sat at my desk and spent an hour catching up on personal paperwork. Mike decided to go to Brothers around eleven, and I drove over to the Metro to catch the second and final show. To my surprise, it wasn’t a repeat of the previous night’s performance. Monique performed an entirely different set of impressions, again to thunderous applause. I was sitting at the bar nursing a soft drink, still more than a little mellow from the Pinot Grigio, when he walked up to me.

“Do you come here often?” he said.

I chuckled. “Now there’s an original line.”

“I’m ready to get out of here, how about you?”

“Right behind you.”

In his hotel room, we experienced a total replay of the previous evening, and I didn’t drift off to sleep until after two. I woke up at six as usual but allowed myself to doze for another hour. Then I woke Bob up with s*x, just as I’d done on Saturday morning. I didn’t bother to suggest breakfast this time, as I knew he wanted to rest in anticipation of the evening’s performance. At the house, I found Mike, obviously hung over and nursing a cup of coffee.

“Wild night?”

“Wild, and a lot more fun than Friday night.”

“Tell me.”

“I ran into the twins at Brothers.”

“The twins you used to play with two or three years go?”

“The same. They’re back in town, they still like to play, and they’re as insatiable as ever.”

“Was that a comment or a complaint?”

“Both… neither… hell, I don’t know. I think I may have scheduled a rematch for tonight, but I’m not certain.”

“Then we’d best go work out, followed by a hearty breakfast. You need to build up your strength.”

“Up yours, and I say that with all respect and admiration.”

I retrieved both gym bags, returned to the kitchen, and tossed Mike’s to him. “Duty calls.”

“All right, I’m coming.”

When we arrived in the locker-room, I said, “The usual Sunday drill?”

“Sure.”

We donned shorts and tennis shoes and went upstairs to the workout room, where we spent a strenuous hour using various pieces of Nautilus and other equipment. Back downstairs, we took a quick shower and settled on a bench in the steam room, which was empty at the moment. I didn’t bother wrapping my towel around me, and Mike followed my lead. I was leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, when I heard the door open. I took a quick look and through clouds of steam saw the nerdy guy from Saturday settling down on a bench. This time he was on the bench between the windows, situated such that nobody could see him from outside the room, and his towel was not across his thighs. He spread his legs and slowly began to masturbate.

In the Mists and Vapors

HE’D FOLLOWED THE two men into the steam room, having given them a couple of minutes to get settled, grateful for the fact that the room was empty. He settled down on a bench between the two windows, in one of the few spots where nobody looking in could see him, spread his legs, and began to play with himself.

He watched them through half-closed eyes. He now knew that the blond was named George and his friend was Mike. Yesterday, he’d casually walked up to the desk just after they’d left and asked the clerk to confirm who they were, pretending that he thought he knew one of them. That little ploy had yielded their names, along with the fact that they were close friends and always worked out together, either in the early morning or, less frequently, in the early evening.

They were pretending to sit there with their eyes closed, paying no attention to him, but he knew that they were watching, so he gave them a good show. The blond, George, was so hot. He got turned on just thinking about seeing him naked.

After they left the room, he waited a few minutes and went to the shower room, where he took a stall as far away from the two men as possible, but where he could still get an occasional glimpse of their nudity.

HERE WE GO AGAIN, I thought, and I closed my eyes. After a few minutes I began to hear the nerd’s labored breathing, followed by a brief grunting sound. Through eyes that were half closed, I saw him achieve his orgasm. Hoping that was the end of it, I closed my eyes again until Mike nudged me and said, “Had enough?”

“Indeed.”

In the shower room, Mike said, “Your little friend was performing for you again today.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. How does it feel to have a stalker, sort of?”

“That’s not even remotely funny.”

Before we finished our showers, the nerd came into the room and took a stall at the far end. I paid no attention, but I have very good peripheral vision, and he was definitely staring at me.

Back at our lockers, Mike said, “Told you so.”

“All right. Point taken. Let’s get out of here.”

In the car, I said, “Since you need calories for energy, how about the Derby House?”

“Works for me.”

The Derby House was a fixture in the Five Points business district and a popular gay hangout, especially on weekend mornings. We were at a table for two, eating our breakfast. I was being sensible and had limited myself to juice and a toasted bagel. Mike, on the other hand, was plowing through a short stack, complete with bacon and eggs. He smacked my hand when I attempted to snag a piece of his bacon.

“My greasy bacon isn’t compatible with your healthy bagel.”

“Perhaps, but it’s so tempting.”

He looked up and said, “Don’t look now, but we’re about to be invaded.”

I didn’t have to look up, as I heard a loud voice from two tables away saying, “Oh, I feel soooooo safe. Jacksonville’s finest is on the job.”

“Geez,” Mike said in a stage whisper, “it’s the neighborhood fag hag.”

“Hi, Deb,” I said to Deborah Cantrell, who was my closest female friend, despite the fact that she was loud, boisterous, and deliberately outrageous most of the time.

“I am not a fag hag.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Debbie,” Mike said, “with whom do you normally hang?”

“Gay men, and don’t call me Debbie.”

“Do you have any female friends?”

“Not really.”

“Do you ever hang with straight men?”

“Not usually, unless I’m dating them.”

“I rest my case.”

“Get stuffed. It may be true, but it’s not ‘nice’ to say it.”

“Geez, Debbie,” Mike said. “When were you ever PC?”

“Don’t call me Debbie.”

“Sure, Debbie, anything to please.”

A bystander would have concluded, based upon that exchange, that Mike and Deb didn’t like each other. In fact, the opposite was true. Good-natured repartee was their shtick, and they spent a great deal of time attempting to outdo each other, one-upmanship being the name of the game.

“Deb,” I said as she pulled up a chair, “I love you like I love my lunch, but what the hell are you got up as today? You look like a bag lady in training.”

She was wearing a faded purple dress, which was so shapeless that it was impossible to determine her gender, the oldest and loudest (they were a bright shade of diarrhea green) sneakers I had ever seen, and a bright red hat that had gone out of style long before my grandmother had been born.

“I’m trying to get in character for a part I want to audition for. Please excuse the dangling whatchamacallit, but that’s in character as well.”

“Let me guess,” Mike said, “it’s a part in one of those terribly earnest and totally incomprehensible productions your buddy Lance just loves to do.”

“Sort of.”

“Dressed like that, you could be playing the part of queen mother in the pauper’s division of the Red Hat Society,” he said.

“Care to join us?” I said.

“I just did,” she said. “See if you can get your waitress’ attention.”

“Deb, in that garb you’ve already gotten the attention of everyone in the room.”

“Do you think so?”

“Don’t be disingenuous,” I said.

Our waitress appeared at the table. “Can I get you anything?” she said.

“Coffee, orange juice, and rye toast,” Deb said.

The waitress left, and Deb looked at me. “You look a bit more relaxed than you did last week. What’s new?”

“He’s f*****g a drag queen,” Mike said.

“Say what?” Deb said.

“He’s not a drag queen,” I said. “He’s a female impersonator who actually does his own singing.”

“Oh, you must be talking about the visiting artist at the Metro. I’ve heard that he’s really good at it.”

“Yes to both questions, including the double entendre.”

“Good for you. Anything to get your mind off of and over the prick.”

“That’s not all,” Mike said.

“Tell me.”

“Our George has acquired a stalker.”

“Really? How so?”

“There’s this nerdy little guy who follows us into the steam room at the Y, where he makes puppy dog eyes at George and jerks off.”

“That’s sick.”

“Not exactly sick,” I said, “but more than a bit sad and pathetic.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she said.

“Ignore him. What else can I do?”

“You could lure him into a dark alley and beat the crap out of him,” she said.

“Deb!” I said. “Surely you jest.”

“Maybe. What I should have said is that you could lure him into a dark alley and f**k his brains out.”

“That wouldn’t work,” Mike said. “I know the type. He’d love it and just come back for more. George would never shake him off after that.”

Deborah’s order arrived, and we finished our breakfast in relative silence. Afterward, she went her own way, and Mike and I returned to the house. I put on my work clothes and climbed the ladder to the roof. Mike carried another dozen bundles of shingles up the ladder for me, and I started to work in earnest. I was wearing my watch so I could keep an eye on the time, and at two I went downstairs to get cleaned up.

Mike was leaving the bathroom as I entered it. “Going somewhere?” I said.

“The twins called. They want me to come over for a late lunch, and other things.”

I laughed. “Enjoy. Take your vitamins.”

“What are you up to?”

“I have a date for a late lunch.”

“Go for it.” He headed to his bedroom.