Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (12 page)

That particular Saturday, he’d been about to leave when a nicely built guy in jeans and a sweat-top caught his eye. The man pushed himself off the railing, tumbler in hand, and lurched in Dan’s direction. Blue eyes and brown hair. Toothy gash for a mouth. Casual and assured. He might have been handsome except for the squat nose that brought out the petulant teenager in him, the one who always yelled “It sucks!” louder than anyone else.

His new acquaintance was quick to be physical, running a hand over Dan’s chest and sizing up his biceps with a practiced grip. Another guy wanting a weekend rough-up, Dan thought. The more they talked the more Dan expected him to lose interest, but in fact the opposite was true. If the guy thought he’d met trouble, he was pleased to discover it had a mind.

They exchanged names. Talk came around to work.

“I cut out hearts for a living,” Bill said.

“I can beat that,” Dan boasted. “I resurrect the dead.”

Explanations ensued: Heart Surgeon meet Missing Persons Investigator. They clinked brews right there, leaning against the railing over the john. It never occurred to Dan there was a reason Bill had planted himself there.

Bill leaned in for a kiss wreathed in alcohol. Dan let it happen, playful at first. A hand reached out, massaging his nascent erection. Bill pulled back. His face said “impressed.”

On-stage, a drag queen pantomimed giving head to some lucky eighteen-year-old. The boy looked anything but amused, though his expression fell short of frightened. Even the suburban kids were jaded these days.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Bill suggested.

In another minute they were outside and on the way to Bill’s car. When Dan mentioned his address, Bill gave him a toothy grin.

“Really? You live in Leslieville? We’d better go to my place then.”

“Why? Are you closer?”

“No. That’s just a bit low-rent for me. I don’t have a visa to go past Riverdale.”

Dan stopped. “Since when is it acceptable to insult someone’s neighbourhood?”

Bill’s mood shifted to surprised innocence. “Sorry — I wasn’t insulting you.”

“No? What were you doing?”

Bill grabbed Dan’s arm. “I was trying to be funny. C’mon.”

Dan stood there, not moving.

“C’mon,” Bill urged in pacifying tones. “I’m a little drunk. Forget what I said. Here — this is me.” He pointed to an Audi R8. He dangled the keys. “You know you want to.”

Dan relented. “All right, but I’m driving.” He snatched Bill’s keys and slid behind the wheel.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your neighbourhood,” Bill said, leaning against the headrest.

“I live in Leslieville by choice,” Dan said. “Chances are I wouldn’t like your neighbourhood either.”

“I live in an expensive part of town….”

“Case closed,” Dan snapped. “I generally don’t like rich people.”

Bill made a face. “Okay, I get your point.”

They drove in silence for a while. Bill put a hand on Dan’s chest, tweaking his nipple through the soft cotton. “Do you like your neighbourhood? I’ve heard good things about it.”

Dan turned his head toward him. “Drop it, okay?”

They slid up Mount Pleasant and along St. Clair to a four-storey townhouse complex that made Dan think of ornate birdcages. He wanted to ask if they had a dress code but realized he’d be the one forcing the issue. The car slid underground and inside the building.

Bill took Dan on a tour of his house. In the living room, the skyline stretched before them like a giant mural. Bill waited a beat before turning on the lights to give Dan the full effect. A Persian carpet rolled across the floor like a miniature sea, dotted here and there by chic aluminum furniture with translucent frames and rare wood finishings. They were the kind of pieces people bought to impress others as much as themselves. Bill suddenly seemed a lot less drunk than he had in the bar as he related tales of buying sprees and exorbitant prices. He tossed designer names casually about — Paola Lenti, Herman Miller, Breuer Wassily — as though he knew them personally, and gave the impression he did. Dan was clearly supposed to be impressed by the show, so he purposely kept his face impassive.

Dan followed him to a bedroom where a four-poster bed took centre stage. A water feature trickled in a corner. The walls were hung with pictures arranged to catch the viewer’s eye from every angle. Bill had obviously paid a great deal for his taste.

Bill had them both undressed in seconds, pushing pillows and linens onto the floor. Dan had been right: Bill liked it rough. He was all slither and slink, posing in positions that suggested submissiveness-to-order copied from the best porn videos.

“Get you rich boys out of your clothes and you’re all the same underneath,” Dan said.

For the most part, he went along with Bill’s fantasy, though he refused to bareback when Bill asked.

“C’mon — I can tell you’re healthy,” Bill pleaded.

“Uh-uh,” Dan said, his cock see-sawing between Bill’s legs. “This little traveller doesn’t go underground without a protection suit.”

“That’s no ‘little’ traveller,” Bill said, wriggling into position. “Please! I want to feel you in me.”

There were condoms on the bedside table. Dan picked one up. “You’ll feel me. I promise.”

Bill grabbed his hand. “Just put it inside me for a second,” he said. “Just one second!”

Dan gave what he hoped was a reprehensible stare. “What kind of attitude is that for a doctor? Besides, I’m a responsible dad. I can’t get sick — I’ve got a kid to take care of.”

“What?” Bill’s mouth was agape. “You mean your sperm has fathered a child?”

“That’s right.”

“A real live daddy? Now I
really
want you inside me!” Bill exclaimed, gripping Dan’s erection.

Dan slapped the hand aside and unpeeled the condom over his cock. “If you want this to happen, you’d better behave. And I need extra large next time.”

Bill gasped as Dan wedged himself in with no niceties. “Oh, yeah!” he exclaimed. “You wonderful beast!”

It was over the top, but at least Bill hadn’t made him feel like a mercy fuck for being the victim of a radiation leak, the way others had. The sex always went fine, but usually that was the end of it. Dan could tell by the looks on their faces. The more satisfied they were during, the sooner they hoped he’d pack up and leave afterwards. Somehow, covering up his prizefighter’s body always brought attention back to that face.

It’s not that it was ugly, and it’s not that it wasn’t. In school, Dan had been taunted by the other kids. A cruel scrawl on a washroom wall claimed he’d been the victim of a nuclear attack, conjuring images of holocausts and radiation mutation. He had a brooding quality, an intensity that scared people. The eyes were what held you — grey-blue, ghostly. Like they’d seen too much. There were fine features — the broad cheekbones, sharp brow, and long lashes — but the overall effect didn’t add up to a pretty picture. The broken nose and red scallop racing from his right cheek up to his eye told part of the story. It begged wariness on the viewer’s part. So did the rough skin that bore the traces of a memorable battle with acne, the permanent outline of a beard and the jaw that was rugged at one angle but menacing at another. It was the face of a man you might enjoy being roughed up by — a well-aimed slap, a welt or two — and then escape before one or both of you took the fantasy too far. It was a face you might expect to see inset in the tabloid coverage of sex crimes, with an earnest police report warning area residents to lock their doors at night and to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity. It was a face your mother would tell you to stay away from.

Bill’s mother must have been an exception.

Dan sat up and reached for his jeans. Bill lay against the pillows, running a hand over his belly. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Dan said without looking over. “It’s late. I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Oh no, you’re not!” Bill rolled over, wrapping his arms around Dan, his fingers toying with the cum-smeared, sweat-matted hair on his chest. “More, please,” he whispered, pulling Dan’s face down for a kiss that was unexpectedly genuine.

Even more unexpectedly, Dan stayed.

Dan woke to a still house. He was sprawled in the living room chair next to the fireplace, his feet extended, an empty tumbler on the floor beside him. He dragged his tongue across his teeth and felt the resinous coating. He stumbled to the kitchen for a drink of water. It was five thirty. Ralph lay in the corner on his bed, a paw tucked over his eyes.

Ked’s shoes were on the front mat. Obviously he’d returned at some point and gone off to bed without waking him. On the way back to the living room Dan saw the red flash.

“Hey, lover boy! Guess I missed you.” There were party noises in the background. “We’ll figure out the driving thing, don’t worry. I’ll call you at work tomorrow.”

The time on the message was 4:43. It was Donny who’d suggested that Bill’s almost inhuman ability to go without sleep was pharmaceutically related. Dan had never seen any trace of it other than the drugs Bill preferred to beer at parties, but it would be easy for a doctor to disguise such things.

The message ended. Dan stood and waited, as if expecting more. Ralph raised his head and whimpered a question. Dan played the tape a second time then pressed
erase
. He waited while the machine made its satisfied clicking noises as it ate up the recording before continuing up to bed.

Nine

Death by Haunting

They were surrounded by mist. The monochromatic outline of trees and barns drifted by like ghosts on either side of the road. Rain had dogged them all the way from Toronto, only now giving way to something finer, a damp chill that got right inside their clothing. Passing cars fanned plumy sprays across the windshield, making the wipers do double time.

“How much farther?” Bill said, staring out at the passing landscape.

“Not much.”

They were in Bill’s car. Dan drove, despite a hangover. He’d barely made it through the morning at work. When Bill arrived to pick him up, he tossed his canvas bag into the trunk alongside Bill’s leather ones, climbed into the driver’s seat, and headed for the Don Valley Parkway. An hour out of Toronto, they left the 401 to join the stretch of coastal highway running south through Hillier and Bloomfield and on to Picton. The mist thinned momentarily as a forlorn strip of trees appeared on their right, water in front and behind it like a film backdrop, one-dimensional, floating in the middle of a never-ending lake.

“This is boring,” Bill declared. “Where are we?”

“We’re in Prince Edward County on the Loyalist Parkway,” Dan said. “It’s a considerable bit of Canadian history.”

“Do people actually live out here?”

Dan glanced over. “Not everyone wants to live in Forest Hill.”

Bill was looking worn. He had the beginnings of a bald patch, shadows beneath his eyes, and a paunch he self-consciously sucked in. Still, he had an undeniable charm, like a jock dad gone to seed. Despite his impatience and shifting moods, there was a boyish eagerness about him that held Dan. Even Bill’s casual cruelties — like when he ignored Dan’s calls for days — only sank the hook in deeper.

Other than an ecstasy habit and a fondness for dancing in dimly lit after-hours clubs, there was nothing noticeably gay about Bill. Dan suspected he was making up for a missed adolescence. He seemed overly fond of the kind of clubs where you climbed into darkened rooms via fire escapes or sat on rooftops while thrash music blared and incomprehensible films were projected on the walls of neighbouring buildings. Once, he brought them to a party that got shut down by axe-wielding police as guests escaped down back alleys or onto neighbouring balconies. Another had featured a live sex show. Dan watched as a black substance was poured over the participants, becoming more and more of an adherent as the bodies, both male and female, grappled and copulated in various permutations on a makeshift stage. Still, it was nothing as artful as a good porn flick, Dan thought as he went off to get a beer.

Bill twiddled with the FM dial as the mist closed over the shoreline again. Sounds faded in and out, white noise, the burps and farts of radio emissions. A ragged voice shot through for a second then disappeared in a snarl of static.

“Hey — that’s Shaggy!” Bill exclaimed. “I love Shaggy.” His hands twisted frantically. “Gone,” he announced mournfully, as though Shaggy had vanished forever.

“We’ll find you another one,” Dan said. “You want Shaggy, we’ll get you Shaggy.”

“I love all kinds of music,” Bill said in a proprietary way.

Bill was proprietary about many things. His taste in clothes always seemed an advertisement for the latest trends, coming straight out of one catalogue or another — J.Crew, Harley-Davidson, Hugo Boss. He always had the newest CDs and DVDs. Style filled his cupboards — he could well afford it. It was Donny who’d pointed out Bill’s pretensions as they left his rooftop patio one evening after a catered meal and some pricey wine shared by a gathering of Bill’s overly loud, fawning friends.

“Ghetto fags,” Donny sniffed. “I’ve never seen them north of Bloor before.”

He was working out an irritation. There’d be no stopping him till he was done.

“Nice place, though,” Dan said.

“That man thinks he invented ‘cool,’” Donny said. “Did you catch the reference to ‘Coal Train’?”

Dan shook his head.

Donny rocked with barely suppressed laughter. “When Roger asked what music was playing, Bill said it was ‘Coal Train’ by the Africa Brass.” Donny looked at him. “Ring any bells?”

“Not really.” Dan shook his head. “Wait! Not John Coltrane? Surely not!”

Donny rolled his eyes and laughed. “Yes! It was Coltrane’s
Africa Brass Sessions
. He hadn’t a clue what it was. The pretentious twat!”

“Hey! That’s not fair — Bill’s a brilliant surgeon. He can’t know everything.”

Donny made a face. “Oh, right! Excuse me whilst I slag your current
amour
, since you don’t have the good sense to do it yourself.”

At the time, Dan hadn’t expected Bill to last beyond the summer, but here they were a year later driving Bill’s car along the Loyalist Parkway. Picton swept past, a colonial town in miniature. Ten minutes later the highway came to an end, turning abruptly down to the Bay of Quinte. Apart from the brewery and a former gristmill that housed the current Ministry of Natural Resources, there was little to see.