Drag and Drop 12

If the idea of two men loving each other and expressing that love in a sexual manner offends you, then you have clearly come to the wrong place. Feel free to leave.

With special thanks for the editing skills of the talented TalonRider.

Drag and Drop

A George and Mike Adventure

From Chapter 11:

“Did Sergeant Johnson have any luck with the local witnesses?” I said.

“Maybe,” David said. “At least two friends of our deceased said that they had seen a porn video with the guy in it. Both of them promised to track it down, but so far, no luck. They identified the video as being heavy B & D or S & M, but they couldn’t decide which genre best categorized what they saw.”

“Really?” I said, “I shouldn’t think it would be too difficult to separate the one from the other.”

“One would think,” David said, “but both witnesses stated firmly that our deceased was bound and beaten, but they weren’t sure whether or not the screams were real or just acting.”

“As the risk of repeating myself from the other day,” I said, “what the hell have we stumbled onto?”

“I dunno, Captain,” Janet said, “but whatever it is, its heavy stuff.”

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“What’s the matter, Bob?” I said. “You have an odd expression on your face.”

“I was just thinking that I’ve never had a case that was anywhere nearly as interesting as this.”

“Hey, man,” David said, “if you want to get involved in this one, we can use all the help we can get, right, Janet?”

“Absolutely,” she said.

“Is everything set in Orlando for the sting this weekend?” I said.

“You bet,” Janet said. “Carl is going down there Friday, as an observer.”

“Great. Then if the three of you want to adjourn to a conference room, or one of your offices, I’ll get back to this.” I pointed at the stack of paperwork in my basket.

“Looks like fun,” Janet said.

“It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it.”

The three of them left, and I dove into the pile of paperwork. Mike had dropped me off at the office, and I drove my newly issued Department vehicle home. It was a two-year old unmarked Crown Vic. By Friday afternoon, I was more than ready for the weekend. There had been no breaks in the case, and the next phase of the investigation rested with Clarence Ivory’s people in Orlando. Mike and I went to the wine shop, tasted some wine, and had dinner with a half dozen of our new wine buddies. I went to bed, wondering what was happening in Orlando.

In fact, the high point of the week was a telephone call from our realtor in Maggie Valley, advising us that the owners of the parcel down stream from us had accepted our offer. And more important, were willing to do owner financing of roughly 75% of the amount we had offered, which was very good news as far as the contingency fund was concerned.

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In Orlando, Leonard approached the bar on Bumby Avenue somewhat warily. Surely the cops would be on the alert for him anywhere that Miss Henrietta was scheduled to appear. He still couldn’t believe his luck, as he had stumbled upon the bar’s announcement quite by accident.

He was also nervous as shit, because he was in drag. He despised cross-dressing, and wasn’t good at it. Still, it was the best disguise he could come up with. Hopefully, it would work. Actually, he wasn’t totally in drag. He had on a wig, earrings, and very light makeup. He was wearing a lightweight trenchcoat. He hoped that the wig, the trenchcoat, and his bare legs below the coat would give the impression that he was in drag, ready to go on stage. Actually, he was wearing a pair of shorts and a polo shirt. If he didn’t catch up with Henry this weekend, he was going to have to give up the chase. He was running out of money, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d have to relocate, change his name, and look for work.

As he made his way through the crowd, someone accosted him, saying, “What’s under the coat, darlin?” “Wait til you see me on stage, sweetie,” he purred as seductively as he knew how. He didn’t dare go backstage and ask questions, so he found a chair at a table in the darkest corner of the room, and settled down to wait for the show. God, he hated those pathetic queens and their lip synch routines. What a joke. If they wanted to be female, why didn’t they just go to Thailand or some place, and have the surgery? The show finally came to an end, but Miss Henrietta did not appear. The announcer said that she had called in sick, but might make it tomorrow.

Shit, he thought to himself. All this for nothing. He made his way to the exit in a foul mood. As soon as he was out of sight of the door, he pulled off the wig, the earrings, and the trenchcoat, tossing them into a dumpster, as he hurried to his car. That was it for him, he couldn’t afford a motel, and couldn’t risk sleeping in the car. Wait a minute, he thought, why not visit another bar and pick up a trick, one that would be so grateful he might provide accommodations for the night. He made his way to the nearest major street, hoping to find a fast food restaurant, so he could use the rest room to clean the residue of makeup from his face.

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When I woke up Saturday morning, the first thing I thought was, the phone didn’t ring during the night. I wonder if that’s good news or bad news? We went to the Y and swam laps, then had breakfast at the Cool Moose. At the house, I went straight to the den, and checked my e-mail. I read a message from Carl, and said “Shit,” just as I heard Mike’s footsteps.

“Bad news?”

“Carl and Jim are in Orlando for the weekend. I told you about the sting we have going on down there, right?”

“And?”

“There was no sign of our guy last night, according to Carl. Someone did say that they saw a guy in drag leave the bar in a hurry, after it was announced that Miss Henrietta had canceled her performance due to illness.”

“So much for that, then.”

“The OPD is going to keep an eye on things tonight, just in case, but Carl and Jim are coming home today. He says they’ll most likely see us at Gorgi’s tomorrow morning.”

Something about his tone sounded off, so for that matter, had his footsteps. He must not be wearing shoes, I thought, as I turned around to look, and found him standing naked in the doorway, his flag flying at full mast.

“Race you,” he said, and he disappeared down the hall.

I didn’t bother signing off the computer, and dropped various articles of clothing along the way to the bedroom, as I hurried to catch my man.

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Saturday night in Orlando, Leonard was having a less than wonderful evening. The little twink that he had picked up at a bar in the wee hours Saturday morning had been insatiable, from the minute he had seen the size of Leonard’s erection. He had fucked the kid repeatedly, until they were both too tired and too sore to do it again.

They had slept until late afternoon, cleaned up, and gone out for some fast food. After that, they had gone back to the apartment and fucked again. The kid wanted more, but Leonard had insisted they go see the show at Summer Nights, first. He had promised to screw all night long, after that, and the kid had agreed.

It had been a risk, going back to Summer Nights, but he couldn’t take the chance that Miss Henrietta would be there and he would miss catching up with him. He had endured an hour of drag, along with an hour of the silly little twink clinging to him as though he were the best thing since sliced bread. Finally, the show had ended, and they went back to the kid’s apartment, where he had indulged himself to his heart’s content.

He had taken a pee break during one of the acts, and a guy had stood at the adjacent urinal, blatantly admiring Leonard’s equipment, as he relieved himself. He started to tell the guy to fuck off, but before he could do so, the guy had handed him a card, saying ‘if you want to make some money with that thing, give me a call.’ ‘Make money how?’ He had asked. ‘With a dick like that, I can make you a porn star,’ the man had said. He had left the restroom without another word.

On the drive back to Jacksonville, he had thought long and hard about the man’s offer, and decided to give him a call in a couple of days.

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We ran the bridges both ways Sunday morning, and arrived at Gorgi’s with an appetite. Carl and Jim were already at a table, but they had evidently waited for us before ordering anything other than coffee.

“Hi guys,” I said, “waiting for us?”

“You bet,” Carl said.

“What if we’d been late?” Mike said.

“You guys always show up in the same thirty minute time frame,” Jim said.

“God, are we that predictable?” I said.

“I prefer to think of it as a comfortable little rut,” Mike said.

We ordered, and while we waited for our food, Carl gave me a rundown on Friday night in Orlando. “Sorry it was a bust,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, “we’ll work on a plan B, tomorrow at the office.”

“What’s going on with you two?” Mike said. “I detect a certain amount of tension in the air.”

“Just a little disagreement,” Jim said.

“Little?” Carl said. “That’s an understatement.”

“Talk to us,” I said.

“Jim hates his job,” Carl said, “that’s the long and short of it. It’s time for him to go out on his own, but he can’t make up his mind.”

“So what’s the problem, Jim?” I said.

“The expenses. Rent, overhead, etc. etc. I’ve got a fund set aside to carry me once I go out on my own, but it just doesn’t seem to be big enough.”

“How expensive can it be?”

“Have you priced decent office space lately?”

“You got me there,” I said.

“Where have you been looking?” Mike said.

“Downtown, Southside, Arlington,” Jim said, “you name it.”

“Whom do you think your target clients will be?” I said.

“I’d like to target the gay community. As far as I can find out, there isn’t another openly gay CPA in private practice in the entire county.”

“And where are your target clients to be found?” Mike said.

“Riverside, Avondale, San Marco, places like that.”

“So why waste time looking for office space downtown and in Arlington, for example?” Mike said.

“Have you got a better idea?” Jim said.

“Actually, I do,” Mike said, “but I’m going to finish my breakfast before I tell you.”

We finished our breakfast quickly, talking about anything and everything except office space. We paid our checks, and stepped outside the restaurant.

“Okay, guys,” Mike said. “Follow us.”

We went to the truck, and Mike got in the driver’s seat.

“We’re going to your office, aren’t we?” I said.

“Yep. Maybe we can help our friends, and generate a little cash flow at the same time.”

He pulled out into traffic, and slowed down while Jim and Carl caught up with us. Then he went over one block from Park Street, to Herschel Street, drove the two blocks to Mike’s office, and parked in front.

Mike led us to the front door, unlocked it, and we stepped inside.

“Here’s the deal,” Mike said. “This is a three-bedroom house. My helper and I use the smallest bedroom as our computer shop, and I have an office in the second bedroom. The master bedroom is not being used, except for storage.”

“The living room and adjacent dining room are basically one large space, as you can see, and they’re more than adequate for a secretary, and a client waiting area.”

“What are you saying, Mike?” Jim said.

“That I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse for rental of the third bedroom and the living/dining rooms. My clients don’t come to me - I go to them. Actually, there is an unused garage apartment out back that’s full of junk at the moment. If you outgrow this space, I wouldn’t mind setting up my office back there, it’s much quieter.”

“What about zoning?” Carl said.

“That’s not a problem,” Mike said. “This house is zoned for mixed use, or whatever they call it.”

“How would we handle the utilities?” Jim said.

“We could split them, based upon actual square footage used,” Mike said, “or whatever formula we come up with. We could also share in the cost of the alarm system.”

“Go for it, Jim,” Carl said. “It’s perfect for the kind of clients you’re hoping to snag. We could spend a couple of weekends painting, buy a couple of desks and filing cabinets, and you’re in business.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, “that’s true, but Mike hasn’t mentioned actual numbers yet.”

“As it is,” Mike said, “this space isn’t producing any revenue, so I’m thinking the rent should be increased in stages, so much a month for the first year, a little more the second year, and a little more the third year. By that time, you should be up and running.”

“You still haven’t mentioned any actual numbers,” Jim said.

“Try this on for size,” Mike said, and he named monthly figures for years one, two, and three, “Plus you do our taxes, and I mean our personal taxes, and the tax returns for the three corporations we currently have, and any future ones we set up.”

“Go for it, Jim,” Carl said, “you won’t do better than that anywhere.”

“I’d want it in writing,” Jim said.

“Shame on you,” Carl said, with some indignation.

“No, Carl,” Mike said, “he’s right. This is business, and it has to be reduced to writing. You’ve got it.”

Jim was visibly nervous.

“It’s a big step,” I said, “walking away from all that security, and venturing out on your own.”

“Yeah,” Jim said.

“Been there, done that,” Mike said, “got da T-shirt.”

“With the raise that came with my promotion,” Carl said, “I can carry us for a while, if it comes to that.”

“What’s the deadline for the new telephone directory?” I said. “Does anybody know?”

“Actually, I do,” Jim said. “It’s just three weeks away, that’s why I’ve been trying to make up my mind.”

“Then, go for it,” Carl said.

“Okay, I will,” Jim said.

There were hugs all around, and Carl and Jim left to make plans.

“I want to see that garage apartment,” I said.

“Why?”

“Just wondering why it’s not generating any cash flow.”

“Probably because I never gave it any thought. Follow me.”

He led me down a short driveway which ended in a two-car garage with what were obviously living quarters over the garage bays. We climbed the steps and did a quick walk through of the apartment.

“Babe,” I said, “with a little carpentry here, and a little paint there, this place could command a premium rent this close to Five Points.”

“What about my future office plans?”

“When you get ready for that, I’ll enclose the garage, and make you a great executive office space.”

“Okay, I’m sold, with one stipulation.”

“Which would be what?”

“As soon as the cash starts flowing from Jim’s rental of part of the house, and this new apartment,” he said, “I want to plow all of it into buying more properties.”

“Where?”

“Here or in Asheville,” he said. “Preferably Asheville for now, because for at least the next year and a half, we’ve got our own little labor force of four hungry young guys up there to help, and we ought to tap into it, if we can.”

“No argument there, and the contingency fund is back in my comfort zone, at the moment. However, we’re going to have to spend some of it fixing up this apartment.”

“It won’t take that much, babe, and we’ll recover it in three or four months, tops.”

Monday started out like any other Monday, and managed to remain so until I met with my three Lieutenants. They outlined their individual items of interest in order of seniority. When Janet’s turn came around, I beat her to the punch, saying, “Did anything happen in Orlando last weekend?”

“You know there was a sighting of a guy in drag on Friday night who might have been our guy.”

“Sergeant Johnson told me that much over the weekend,” I said.

“A trenchcoat, a wig, and a pair of women’s earrings were found the next morning, in a dumpster behind the bar,” she said, “and some partial prints were lifted.”

“Sounds like it might well have been our guy,” I said.

“It gets better, or worse, depending on your point of view,” she said. “The body of a young gay man was found Sunday afternoon in an Orlando apartment. He had been shot in the eye.”

“Ballistics?”

“OPD is rushing it. Hopefully by tomorrow, they will have results.”

“Fingerprints?”

“Lots of prints in the apartment,” she said, “but it’s going to take time to sort them out.”

“What else?”

“The victim showed signs of having had anal sex before he died, possibly rough sex.”

“Consensual?”

“Inconclusive. All the ME is saying at this point is, that something very large was shoved up the guy’s rectum.”

“In the interview we conducted in Savannah,” I said, “we learned that Leonard is ‘hung like a horse’ and ‘likes to play rough.’”

“Yeah. I read that part.”

“Any sign of Leonard at Summer Nights on Saturday evening?” I said.

“Nothing conclusive.”

“They were watching for a guy on his own,” I said, “what if he went there with someone, perhaps the latest victim?”

“I’ll pass that along to Orlando,” she said. “This case is so frustrating.”

“I think it’s time we started advertising our interest in Leonard,” I said, “now that our trap didn’t work.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“You have a driver’s license photo from the DMV, right?”

“Yes, Sir. But they don’t have a record of any vehicle titled in his name.”

“Relatives’ names?”

“We’ve tried, but so far, no luck.”

“What about former boyfriends or roommates?”

“Ditto.”

“Okay. Where do we stand with the case on which the three of you have been collaborating?”

She looked at David, and he took the ball, “It just keeps getting more and more bizarre,” he said. He handed me the latest printout of their spreadsheet, and I looked it over for a long couple of minutes while they waited.

“We still need something that will tie these cases together,” I said. “There must be some place where their lives intersected, if not with each other, then with the killer or killers.”

“Yeah,” David said.

“What about the alleged porno film in which our victim appeared?” I said.

“That’s the good news,” Janet said, “one of the witnesses is supposed to have it for us by the end of the week.”

“Why not now?”

“Because the guy who actually has it in his possession is out of town until Friday,” she said.

“I think it’s time we escalated this whole thing.”

“Escalated how?” David said.

“Whom do we all know who can operate freely in all of these different jurisdictions?”

“Oh God,” David said, “not the FING.”

“Can we please have a little more time before we invite them to come in and screw things up?” Janet said.

“How much time?” I said.

“First of the year?” David said.

“How about the first of December?”

“If that’s the best you can do,” he said.

“That’s the best I’m comfortable with right now, and that is subject to Chief Bridges okaying it. This is the sort of thing that could blow up in our faces in a heartbeat.”

“When can you talk to him?” Janet said.

I held up one finger, and then punched a button on my telephone. “Bridges,” came the familiar gruff voice over the speaker.

“Chief,” I said, “can you spare five minutes for us?”

“Us?” he said.

“Myself and my three Lieutenants. We’re onto something big, and need a guiding hand.”

“I have a meeting with the Sheriff in fifteen minutes. If you can come up here right now, you’ve got fifteen minutes less the time it takes you to get here.”

“We’re on the way.”

“You heard the man,” I said to my group. “Head for the elevators, now.”

We were in the Chief’s office three minutes later.

“Okay, George,” he said, “you’ve got 12 minutes, talk to me.”

“David,” I said, “this started with your case.”

David recited the pertinent facts of his original case, and passed the baton to Janet, who added the information concerning her research.

When she stopped talking, I handed the spreadsheet to the Chief.

“We all feel there’s a connection here,” I said, “but we haven’t quite found it. We all know it’s there, but just beyond our reach.”

“What do you want to do about it?” the Chief said.

“I want to bring in the FBI, but these guys want a little more time to tie it all together.”

“How much time?”

“They wanted to work on it through the end of the year, and I told them they could have until the end of November, subject to your approval.”

“And all three of your Lieutenants are working on this together?”

“That’s about the size of it. The Sheriff wants more intra-department cooperation, and we’re doing it, on a small scale.”

“This is the kind of case that could blow up in all of our faces in a New York minute.”

“Those were my words, more or less.”

“Okay,” the Chief said, “the end of November it is. Come back and see me then, and I’ll decide. Meanwhile, keep me posted.”

“Thank you sir,” I said.

“Thank you gentlemen, and lady,” the Chief said. “You can go, but I need to talk to your boss for a minute.”

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-To be continued-

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Your feedback, as always, is appreciated, be it good, bad, or indifferent.

Etienne.Reynard@Comcast.net

My stories can be found on the following sites:

http://tickiestories.us/Etienne_m.htm

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