Gumshoe Gorilla (45 page)

I closed the door behind us, and collapsed into a big overstuffed chair, with the shoe box in my lap. Eddie sat on the edge of the bed, looking at me.

"So what do we do now?" he asked.

"We wait. See if anything happens."

"Oh."

He looked around, obviously bored. Out of habit, his eyes settled on the TV screen. Even turned off, the idiot box had a certain magnetism. Unfortunately, the blackmailer had specified that this was to be a no-TV night for Eddie. I wondered if the guy knew what a cruel punishment that was.

"You want to play cards?" Eddie asked.

"Sure," I said.

"You got any?"

"No. You?"

"Sorry."

"Oh."

He sat there looking at me for a while.

"Can I play with your cat?" he asked.

"Sure."

I passed him the shoe box. He picked up the little runt and started scritching it behind the ears. Well, at least that would keep the two of them busy for a few minutes. I had other things to worry about.

I'd spent the afternoon running down everything I could find about Mr. "Vincent Price". There were still some gaps in the story, but it made for interesting reading.

I'd started with National Demographics, a company that's sort of the Big Brother of marketing firms. If you're living in the US and you've got a credit card, then they've got a file on you. They'll definitely have your home address and phone number, and the odds are good that they'll also know your taste in music, what newsites you subscribe to, and what kind of porn you secretly watch at two in the morning.

"Vincent Price" first came up on their system in 2030, when he filled out a form for a frequent shopper card at a grocery store in Austin Texas. At the time, he claimed to be 21, although that was probably a lie so that he could buy beer. And once National D had his basic info, pretty much every purchase he made went into his file. From the look of it, Vincent was spending about $30K a year on rent and goodies, with no visible means of support.

In 2032, he abruptly moved to Orlando Florida. Here, I got a bit of luck. A search of his name in the local newsites turned up an arrest for shoplifting from an Old Navy store. The incident was mentioned only briefly in the "police blotter" section of the news, but it gave me enough info to set up a search through the court records. According to those, Vincent's bail was posted by a third party named Robert Saunders. A brief examination of that individual's bio revealed an unmarried man in his early fifties who owned a vacation house on Fire Island. I could connect the dots on that score.

I tried calling Saunders, but when I mentioned Vincent's name he hung up. I called back a few times, but the guy wouldn't answer. Not in a big hurry to hear about his former boyfriend, apparently.

In 2034 Vince's address shifted to an apartment in Miami Beach. His National Demographics file now estimated his spending at around $60K per year, still with no known source of income. In September of that year, Vince was arrested for prostitution.

I was puzzled by that. The Miami PD is pretty laid back about such things. Heck, the hustlers there advertise in the newsites, posting pictures of themselves and explaining their "special talents". It was hard to imagine what a guy would have to do to get arrested in that town. My bet was that the local cops had pegged Vince for something else, but couldn't prove it. So they'd used the vice rap to run him out of town. I'd seen similar things done in Atlanta when I was with the force. "Vincent Price" was released on bail, and promptly disappeared from both Miami Beach and National Demographics records. All just a few weeks before "Vince Jett" turned up in Atlanta.

So now I knew where Vince had been for the last few years, and I knew that he was "in the business". But I still didn't have the one piece of his history that I really needed: When had Vincent and Montague crossed paths?

The most likely explanation was that Montague had hired Vincent's services at some point, maybe on a business trip to Orlando or Miami. But then why was Vincent going to so much trouble to take Montague down? What was the source of Vincent's colossal grudge against Montague? It's hard to work up that kind of anger over a one night stand, and there was no evidence that the two of them had ever seriously dated. Quite the contrary; according to the records, they had never even lived in the same city.

So why was Vince so angry? And why wasn't Montague aware of it? I mean, normally you know it when you've made an enemy. You make a point of avoiding that person in the future. You don't invite them to parties. Even if the party is a vampiric sex orgy.

The whole thing didn't make a lick of sense. I banged my head against the back of the chair a few times, but the cushions were just too damn soft to work up a satisfying thud.

I noticed that Eddie was staring at me.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked.

"What? No. Why would you think that?"

"You look mad."

"I was thinking about something else. Another case I'm working on. It's not going well."

"Oh. You wanna tell me about it?"

"I can't. Client confidentiality."

"Oh."

He rubbed the kitten's tummy for a few seconds, then looked back up at me.

"You sure it's only a case? You look pretty upset."

"Yeah. It's just frustrating."

I paused.

"Eddie, let me ask you a hypothetical question: How can two people be enemies, and one of them doesn't know it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean one person hates the other's guts. Hates him so much that he's trying to ruin the guy's life. And the other person doesn't know a thing about it."

Eddie laughed. It was the first time I'd seen him smile. In person, anyway.

"Well, you came to the right person. People are always mad at me, and I never know why. Could it be a mistake?"

"I don't understand."

"Well suppose this one guy-- can we give these people names? It's too confusing to talk about two guys without names."

"OK. Let's call them Joe and Bert."

"Fine. Which one's angry?"

"Bert," I said. "He's got a mean streak."

"OK. Well suppose Joe made a mistake. He does something that ruins Bert's life. Maybe he drops a cigarette that burns down Bert's house. Or maybe he backs his car over Bert's dog. Or maybe he sleeps with this woman that he doesn't know is Bert's wife."

"Are we still speaking hypothetically here?"

"The point is that Joe doesn't even know what he's done. But Bert does, and he's all steamed up about it."

"That actually makes some sense."

I tried to think it through. As far as I knew, Vince didn't have a dog and his house had never burned down. But the bit about the wife made some sense. From what I'd seen, Montague was in the habit of acquiring pretty boys. Could he have stolen away the love of Vince's life? Or worse-- what if Montague had accidentally killed someone during one of those bloodletting orgies. And what if it was someone that Vince cared about?

I turned the idea over in my head. It was purely theoretical, but it did fit the facts. Maybe my brain could stop chewing on it for a while now.

Eddie's phone rang, and he took it out of his pocket.

"You're not supposed to answer it," I reminded him.

"I know. I just want to see who it is."

He glanced at the caller ID screen.

"Mom. Figures. Probably wondering why I haven't called this week."

He put the phone away, and rubbed the kitten's tummy some more. It opened its mouth in what I've decided must be the "I'm hungry" signal.

"I'll be right back," I said.

I went into the adjoining room and got the milk. Then I came back and sat next to Eddie on the bed.

"OK. Just hold him like that. I want to see if he'll eat something."

I gave the little runt a taste of the eyedropper, and he finally expressed some interest in it. He sucked down a couple spoonfuls.

"He's cute," Eddie said.

I looked at him skeptically.

"OK. He's ugly as hell," Eddie admitted. "But he's still cute. Where'd you get him?"

"That's kind of a long story," I said, refilling the dropper.

"Good," Eddie responded. "I like stories. And it's not like we've got anything else to do."

"Well..."

I don't talk about cases. But what I was doing for Daniel wasn't exactly a case. I mean, no client, nobody paying my fee. So no confidentiality issues.

"I guess. But you've got to keep it a secret. OK?"

Eddie agreed. I started telling him the short version of the story, beginning with me on the roof across the street from the vampire club. But he kept asking questions, and I kept filling in more details. Stuff I hadn't meant to tell him. He was a good listener, and I... I was tired, and I'd been keeping all this in my head for way too long.

Back when I was a kid "in the business", I used to get these weird clients every once in a while. Guys who just wanted to talk. I mean, they're paying $300 an hour for my time, and all they want to do is
talk
? At the time it seemed bizarre to me. But as I get older... well, I still wouldn't pay $300 an hour for it, but it doesn't seem as strange. Normally, I talk cases over with Jen. But like I said, this wasn't a case. And I didn't think she'd understand.

Eddie and I wound up talking for almost an hour. Well, I did most of the talking, and Eddie asked questions. I realized after a while that he was smarter than he let on. He kept picking up on little details that I hadn't realized I'd said, making guesses about what I was leaving out. Around the time that I started getting hoarse, he asked how I knew so much about the escort service that Daniel works for. And for some reason, I admitted to my scandalous past.

"You?" Eddie asked. "Really?"

"Don't look so surprised."

"It's just that..."

"I know. I was a lot younger and cuter then."

"No, I mean... why?"

"I was fifteen. I was on my own. It paid the rent."

Eddie laughed.

"It's funny," he said. "All this time, I though you were... you know. Looking down on me because of the stuff in the video."

"Oh yeah. My job is so glamorous that I can afford to sneer at what other people do for a living. Have I told you about the time I was on a stakeout and I spent a whole day in a dumpster?"

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. But what about you? Why are you in the business? You must have better options."

"Better than what? It's not like my job sucks, Drew."

"I didn't mean to..."

"No really. I mean... OK, it's not like these women are supermodels or anything, but... well like when they first open the door, and they see me there, and their whole face lights up. Like they are just so happy to see me. Do you know what it's like to have someone want you that much? It's like..."

He stopped talking, as the kitten chose that particular moment to pee all over him.

"Shit!"

"Sorry. He's not litter box trained yet."

"It's OK," Eddie said, handing me the little stinker.

He jumped up and sprinted into the bathroom, where he pulled off his shirt and threw it in the sink.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Sorry," I said. "Next time I'll just spill wine on you."

"Huh?" Eddie said, as he filled the sink with water.

"You know, the pickup line? Where you spill wine on someone and then say, 'Maybe if you soak it right away, it won't stain.'"

"Oh yeah, that one." Eddie pulled off his shoes. "So the cat piss was just an excuse to get me naked?"